The Names They Gave Us(88)

For all the times I wished for a sibling, I never once considered that I already had one. She’s real; she’s an adult. She’s married. And some hideous, deep-down part of me wishes she didn’t exist. I want to be my mother’s only daughter. I hate that it wasn’t me who came first. How petty. How entirely, cruelly beside the point.

Maybe even more than that, I want to see her face. I want to hear her voice. Does it sound anything like my mom’s?

Was anything ever as simple as I thought it was?





CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

When we finally arrive, my dad’s waiting outside the hospital, squinting in the unclouded daylight. Bryan pulls up to the curb, and I spring out.

I throw my arms around him, relieved by the familiarity of him. He was an accomplice to all the lying, I assume, but I can’t bring myself to be mad at him.

“Hey, Birdie,” he whispers. “It’s okay. She’s all right.”

When I release him, he ducks down to look Bryan in the face. The strangeness gnaws at me: the fathers of my mom’s two daughters, face-to-face. How can they stand it?

“Thank you for driving all this way,” my dad says, nodding at him. “Why don’t you come on in too?”

Bryan shakes his head resolutely. “No, no. I wouldn’t want to in—”

“She asked for you.” I know that tone in my dad’s voice. It says: This is not up for discussion.

“She . . . Okay.” Something in Bryan’s face changes—from determined to bewildered in one second flat. I wonder when they last saw each other. “I’ll go park, then.”

“Room 2200.”

“Well!” I say brightly, as Bryan pulls away. “That’ll be nice! A big family reunion! Everyone who’s been lying to me, all in one room!”

My dad’s face, I swear to heaven, turns gray. Like wet clay, tinged with green.

“Yep! I found a picture of Mom at camp when she was a teenager! Pregnant. That was a super fun way to find out, by the way.”

After a moment, he clears his throat. Apparently he’s collected himself, gathered up the pieces of surprise and discomfort. “I imagine that came as quite a shock. But, Luce, there’s a lot to the story. And right now we need to focus on your mom’s health.”

“I agree. But can you just tell me this one thing? Have you guys hidden anything else from me? Any other siblings? Please just tell me and get it over with right now.”

“Nothing else. Truly.”

I survey his panicked face. He’s suffered enough, I think. Too much. “Okay.”

“Okay?” Based on his tone, I don’t think he believes me.

“Yep. I just want to see Mom.” I step toward the hospital doors, but he remains frozen in place. “I’m okay, Dad. It was a long time ago. I just wanted you to know that I know.”

I wonder if anything feels as grown-up as not blaming your parents. Understanding where they’re coming from instead of waiting for them to see your side. We walk briskly to my mom’s room, where a nurse has me scrub my hands and arms with antibacterial soap. She already has an infection! I want to yell. Just let me see her! But of course I’d never do anything to put her in danger.

Rachel leaves the room as I enter, swooping in to peck my cheek. How did she get here so quickly?

My mom is stretched out on a bed by the window. It’s a muted-over scene—the off-white walls and beige plastic hospital bed and the dull blue blankets. My arms feel chilled even though I dried them off. And any anger I felt on the car ride dissolves like mist.

“Hey, Mom.”

“There she is.” Her smile curls up beneath the nose tube. “I was just thinking about you.”

Is this how it happens? So fast, one summer later, in an anonymous hospital room? It can’t be.

“Bryan drove you?”

“Yeah. He’s parking the car, but he’ll be in to . . .” Rehash the sordid details of your shared past? Discuss the daughter you mutually created? “Say hi.”

I glance away, overcome by my awkward pause, and her grip tightens. “You know, don’t you?”

Only after I nod can I look her in the eyes. “Since about an hour ago.”

Her lips make a small circle, whistling out air. It’s a sound equivalent to the phrase Oh boy. “How mad are you?”

I think I want to be mad; it would be easier. But hospitals shift things into perspective. Nothing in the outside world really matters now. “I’m not mad.”

“Would you be mad if I didn’t have a nasal cannula and a central line?”

“Maybe.”

“Fair enough. Bird, I wanted to tell you. But there was never a right time. You always seemed too young, and then by the time you weren’t . . . it felt unfair to drop it on you.”

I’ve gone over this in my mind, enough that I can truthfully say, “It’s okay, Mom.”

“I’m glad you know.” She runs her thumb across my hand. “No more secrets. Okay. Now, cheer me up. Tell me about your campers, will you?”

I obey. She’s smiling—even laughing—at the updates on Thuy’s swim lessons, about Sofia’s animals, Payton’s colors.

“It would be petty of me to say I told you so,” my mom says. “But I knew you’d be the most wonderful counselor. You’re a natural teacher, Bird.”