You Asked for Perfect(47)
I hope you’re okay
…Thanks for the support
I blink. Oh. Oh. Fuck. It takes all my willpower not to throw my phone across the room. I forgot about Amir’s photography show. I set an alarm to remind me earlier this week, but then I was so distracted with all my work, and then I turned off my phone…
I glance at the time. It’s six thirty on a Saturday morning. My weekend plans had been set. Amir’s photography show on Friday. Gig with Dizzy Daisies on Saturday. But then I chose my work over them. And now my sister is in the freaking ER, and I’m alone in the waiting room, having fucked up my relationships with the few close friends I have.
I can’t deal with this. I can’t.
I’m about to turn off my phone again, when it starts ringing. Startled, I almost drop it. Amir is calling. But I didn’t text him back…
I pick up. “Hello?”
“Ariel.” His warm voice stirs unexpected emotions. My eyes blur. I close them and pinch the bridge of my nose. Breathe. “I’m so sorry,” he says. “I just heard about Rachel. My mom is about to leave for the hospital. Want me to come with her? I can bring sour gummy worms.”
Oh, of course. My mom probably texted Mrs. Naeem. They’re so close. “Um, that’s okay…I mean…maybe later. I don’t know what’s happening yet.”
“All right, whatever you want. No pressure at all.”
It’s weird to talk on the phone with him. He sounds so distant.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “For all the texts. I had no idea what was happening with Rachel. I must have sounded so callous.”
“Oh,” I say. “Yeah, she was fine then, um…”
Silence.
“What?”
“She was fine earlier. I forgot about your show. I’m really sorry, Amir. I had a reminder on my phone, but I turned off my phone because I’ve been really stressed with school…”
“Oh,” he says.
“I’m really sorry.”
“I don’t want to be mad at you right now.” His voice is tight, words measured. “Your sister is in the hospital.”
“But you are mad at me.”
“I’m—it was important.”
More silence. I clear my throat. “How did it go?”
“Yeah, I don’t think…let’s not do that. I’m here if you need me later, okay?” He sounds like he wants to hang up.
“Okay,” I say.
I keep the phone pressed to my ear, wondering if he’ll say anything else, but then the line goes silent.
*
Around nine in the morning, they moved Rachel from the ER into a regular room. The second I got there, I ran in and hugged her, lump in my throat. She looked tiny in the bed—young. She’s a kid. She’s only a kid. I feel like I’m not the only one who forgets that.
Now it’s almost noon. Rachel and I both dozed for a while, but it’s hard to sleep with the beeping machines and nurses hustling in and out, so we’ve been playing Scrabble on my phone while our parents step out of the room to call family members with updates.
“Don’t do it,” I warn. Normally, I don’t let Rachel win. She’s too smart and beats me plenty on her own, but I couldn’t help but leave a triple word score open for her today. She’s alert and cheerful considering, her pain mostly gone, but the color is still drained from her cheeks. I hate not knowing what caused this.
“I’m doing it.” She grins and puts down the word: Jinx.
I groan. “You’re killing me.”
Rachel smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “You picked the game. Your turn.”
I’m taking the phone back when the doctor walks into the room. She’s wearing scrubs and sneakers. My parents follow her in. We all stare at the doctor, waiting for her to say something.
Rachel speaks first. “So,” she says. “What’s wrong with me?”
She asks it in such a perfunctory way, we all laugh, breaking some of the tension in the room. “Well, let’s see if your brother will wait outside,” the doctor replies.
“That’s okay,” Rachel says. “I want him in here.”
Why would the doctor want me to wait outside?
“Yeah.” I cross my arms. “I’m good here.”
Mom and Dad nod also.
“All right,” the doctor says. “So, good news first: all of your CT scans were clear. We’re still waiting on some blood work, but our best guess is you had a psychosomatic response last night, which manifested as sharp abdominal pains.”
“Wait,” Dad says. “What?”
“In layman’s terms,” the doctor continues, “she was upset, and it caused physical pains. It’s common for stress to lead to this sort of reaction.”
“Stress?” Mom rubs her forehead. “What do you mean—”
“Is she okay now?” Dad asks. “I don’t understand.”
“Of course she’s not okay,” Mom snaps. She then softens her voice. “It’s not physical, but that doesn’t mean it’s not harmful.”
“Right, no, of course,” Dad says.
I’m sitting there trying to take in all of the information, but the pieces don’t fit together. “Stress?” I ask. “She’s ten. What caused…”