Underneath the Sycamore Tree(55)

I’d be laughing over the ironic statement if Mama hadn’t called me crying as we walked out of the emergency room exit. Cam rubbed my back and told me she’d make me an appointment with neurology for as soon as they had an opening, and Dad had the nerve to look apologetic when I answered the phone.

At least Mama called.

After twenty minutes of her panicked worry, I finally get her to believe that I’m okay. I tell her my head hurts less, my abdominal muscles aren’t as cramped, and that my nausea has simmered.

Lo wasn’t like this, Mama.

Somehow, that point calms her. If Lo didn’t suffer from it, it must be unrelated. I believe it to be true anyway, so it isn’t like I’m giving her false information. The doctor even said migraines are common occurrence, nothing to worry about.

Doctors also thought you were anorexic.

I shove the thought away.

When Grandma tells me that she’ll take care of Mama, I disconnect the call and stare into the night. The roads are coated with a dusting of snow that the streetlights make glisten, and the wind whistles against the ice-ridden tree limbs. The heat controls for the back are on full blast, and I’m sitting on my hands as the seat warmer toasts them.

“You shouldn’t have called her.”

For a split second, I don’t think either of them will reply. Cam glances at me before looking at Dad for guidance. His shoulders tense before he loosens a sigh.

“She’s your mother, Emery.”

She’s your mother.

It’s a parent thing.

I shake my head. “You wasted money that could have gone toward the holidays. I told you I was fine.”

The car slows for a light. “We needed to be sure. You never know—”

“That’s right,” I cut him off. “You never know, Dad. I’ve spent years figuring out how to read my body. Grandma used to get such bad migraines she’d puke and then feel better. Out of everything that’s wrong with me, that much is normal.”

The car is silent as he continues down the road. As the house nears, he chances a look at me in the rearview mirror. I don’t expect to see sadness in his eyes. Maybe if I look hard enough at the dulled color, I’ll see the speckle of emerald Mama always told me about.

Dad doesn’t say a word and neither does Cam. I remain silent as he turns on the blinker and pulls into the driveway. None of us unbuckle once the car is parked, we just sit there with nothing but the heat and low hum of the radio filling the air around us.

Locking eyes with his in the mirror, I swallow past the sudden onset of emotion building in my throat. Dad is worried about me, maybe even guilty for not worrying more.

His eyes tell me he’s sorry—not for calling Mama, but for not being there. He’s making it up to me, making the most of what he can now.

I’m not making it easy for him.

My lips feel dry, so I wet them. “If it’s a parent’s job to worry, then I guess it’s a kid’s job to be annoyed by it.”

It’s my peace offering—an extended hand. Thankfully, he takes it and gives me a tiny nod before turning off the car and guiding us all inside.

Kaiden is waiting in my room, looking none too pleased. Cam said she texted him to let him know where we were, but he never got back to her. I figured he was out doing who knows what with his teammates.

He rises from the mattress and gives me a furious gaze, lips pressed into a straight line. Appraising me, I wonder what he sees. The medicine they gave me to ease the nausea and pain have helped immensely, but I probably look as tired as I feel.

“Don’t start right now,” I tell him, toeing out of my shoes and grabbing my sweatpants and a sweatshirt from my dresser.

He holds his hand out. “Give me your phone.”

My brows pinch. “Uh, why?”

His steely voice tells me his patience has worn down hours ago, so I dig out my phone from my back pocket and place it in his palm. He fingers the keyboard, getting past the lock in ways I don’t want to know, and then passes it back to me without one ounce of emotion other than anger on his face.

“Use my fucking number.”

That’s all he says before he walks out.

I stare at my phone screen, the new contact set as the number two speed dial next to my voicemail system. He moved Mama and Grandma to third and fourth, making sure his name was the first I’d see.

Looking over my shoulder at the open door, I shake my head, shut it, and change. After washing up for bed and brushing my teeth, I curl under the blankets and nuzzle the pillow.

My door cracks open sometime later, but the mattress doesn’t dip right away. Without turning, I assume Dad or Cam is checking in on me. I appeased them earlier by eating a couple pieces of dry toast from the hospital cafeteria while we waited for me to be discharged. I didn’t bother eating more when I got home, nor did I feel like arguing with them on the matter.

According to the hospital scale, I’m a few pounds heavier. It took me by surprise considering my lack of appetite these days, but the ten pound difference was shown on two different scales when I mentioned my doubt.

Cam said it was my clothes, since I wear more layers this time of year and Dad seemed happy that I was gaining weight. After dropping too much to be considered healthy without really trying, I suppose it shows that I’m finally turning in the right direction.

When the bed dips after what feels like forever, the comforter is pulled out from around me until a warm body is nestled against my back.