Break(5)

“You can’t explain this, Jonah.”

“I know I can’t.”

She’s quiet. Naomi walks this fine line between enabling me and cautioning me. Between daring me and mothering me. When she gets too close to either extreme, she’s got to shut up. It’s the only way.

“I’m fine,” I tell her.

She does this irritating sigh thing. “I didn’t ask. So my video’s f*cking awesome.”

“Yeah?” I pull my shirt up and look at the huge piece of elastic around my ribs. It feels like I’m wearing a corset, which isn’t as unpleasant as you might think. I wonder if I have to sleep in this thing. I wonder if it hurts if I poke it.

Yep.

She says, “Yeah. You look like f*cking Silly Putty hitting the sidewalk. And you can totally hear your wrist shatter.”

“It’s not shattered. Just fractured. Shatter would mean surgery.” There’s a knock on my door. “Hold on. Jess?”

He pokes his head in and waves. There’s a baby on his shoulder.

“Yeah, it’s just Jess. Come in.”

He sits on my bed and bounces, looking through the books on my nightstand. “More Confucianism?” he says.

I cover the speaker. “It’s interesting. Give him to me.”

Jess shakes his head and gives Will a squeeze. “I think he’s quieting down now.”

“You cannot keep touching him. He is giving you hives. Look at you.”

Jess stretches his arms out and examines his skin. “I’m fine.”

“Hold on a minute, Nom.” I set down the phone and hold my hands out for the baby. Jess relinquishes him. “Go wash your hands,” I order, rocking whiny Will back and forth. “Take more Benadryl.”

He doesn’t stand up, just murmurs to himself as he flips through the pages of my book. “I’m going to turn into Benadryl.”

I return to Naomi. “Sorry.”

“How’s Jesse?”

I say, “Jesse, how are you?”

He shrugs.

“He’s all right.”

“Tell her hi,” he mumbles, turning a page.

Naomi says, “Jesus Christ. Isn’t Will a little old to cry this much?”

“Well. Yeah.”

Jesse shifts awkwardly, showing no signs of leaving.

Naomi’s back to the subject at hand. “You just slam against the pavement. That’s the exciting part. The collision. The whole fall is anticipation, then—wham.”

“Do you have my groan of pain?”

“I have no groan, no. I have you whining like a little girl.”

“Edit that out.” I raise my eyebrows to Jesse and mouth, Need something?

“Uh-uh.” He’s got this little mustache growing in. It looks like he hasn’t washed his face. I mime shaving and he shakes his head vigorously.

“You’re not even listening,” Naomi complains.

“Oh, be quiet.”

She hangs up. I smile and lower the phone into its cradle. “What’s up, kid?”

Jesse stretches out with his feet on my pillow. “Checking up on you. How’s the wrist?”

“Fine.”

“And the ribs?”

“Fine.”

“And the jaw?”

“Well, you know.”

Will slips against my cast. It’s hard to hold a baby with one arm and a chest that feels like it’s collapsing.

Jesse shakes his head. “You’re an idiot. Mom and Dad are freaking out about you.”

“You should be happy they’re not bugging you so much.”

“Yeah, I would be. If my big brother didn’t have to be a broken f*cking idiot to make them leave me alone.”

Jesse won’t give up the idea that I’m doing this for him.

I really can be selfish, Jess.

“Just be careful, okay?” he says.

“Okay.”

He leaves, and I set Will on my lap so I can jot down which bones I’m going to break next. + 1 hand + 8 toes + 1 cheekbone. Total = 28.





six


I COULD BREAK MY FUCKING NECK AND MY MORNING routine wouldn’t change. Alarm at 5:57. Lay in bed until six listening to the squeaky-squeak of Jess on the rowing machine and the roar of baby Will that’s kept me awake since two in the morning. Sit up and feel dizzy.

No. Wait. The dizziness is new.

Ugh.

Will’s even louder when my head’s off the pillow.

My mouth feels like I’ve been chewing on broken glass. The wrist is fine, but my chest is vibrating, it’s throbbing so hard. God, I need a day off.

But *ing out is so not the point.

I trudge downstairs and start boiling some water. Mom’s at the table, trying to get Will to drink.

“Maybe it’s an ear infection!” I shout over his screams.

She shakes her head. “Doctor said his ears look fine.”

“Did they check his throat? Maybe it’s a cold.”

“No fever.”

What kind of cold lasts eight months, anyway?

I gesture to the milk dribbling down Will’s chin. “You’ve got to clean him up. Jesse will be coming up for breakfast.”