Multiple sclerosis is one of those tricky conditions. My father was five when he found her with slurred speech and unable to stand. After many tests, at age twenty-three, she was told she had relapsing-remitting multiple sclerosis. As a kid I never noticed the pain she was in, but as I got older, I noticed everything. She always waved off my worries with a smile.
Then things took a turn, and I moved to Lake Anita to become her caregiver when I was fifteen.
That was when I realized her diagnosis was more than words on a page. I immersed myself in her world, researching and memorizing everythingfrom symptoms and prognosis to treatments and medications. I quoted the work of biostatisticians and epidemiologists, making sense of every piece of data I could get my hands on.
It’s the reason I changed my major before freshman year.
Stealing a bite of my cinnamon roll, she leans back. “So, what’s new?”
Nan acts as if I don’t see her every weekend, call her every day, and text her updates hourly. Even then, I indulge the nosy woman.
“Cade says hi.” If you ask Nan, she has four grandchildren. My siblings, me, and Cade. Growing up, we spent every moment at Lake Anita. His only flaw in her eyes is that he chose baseball over swimming. “He would’ve come today, but he has plans with a girl he’s seeing.”
“Seeing or sleeping with?” She wiggles her brows suggestively.
I stick my tongue out, fighting a gag. “You’re a grandma, you know?Mygrandma.”
“How do you think you got here, boy?” Nan is crass and knows it. “Now tell me about you. How was your first week back?”
“Busy. I’m excited about my public health elective.” For a multitude of reasons. “It’ll be a lot of work, and there’s an internship opportunity. A lead scientist for MS is on the mentor list.”
Studying MS isn’t just my dream. It’s ours, and Nan has supported me every step of the way. That’s why I’m confused when her pale green eyes narrow, staring at me like I’ve grown two heads.
“Kenny Boy. You look… weird. What are you not telling me about this class?”
Shaking my head, I rub away the goosebumps that appear every time she uses that nickname. It’s the equivalent of being called your full name by a parent.
“If you must know, you nosy woman, I got paired with Mallory for the internship application project.”
Nan pushes the curtain of red bangs from her eyes. “Mallory? The pretty girl you’re always fighting with?”
It’s impossible to not laugh as I crumple my cinnamon roll wrapper and toss it at her head. “Your memory must be failing you. I never said she’s pretty. I said she’s prettyannoying. Big difference.”
“My memory is perfect, boy. I distinctly remember you spending every other visit talking about your little game. Mallory won this. You won that. She’s gotta be pretty to keep playing for so long.”
Ignoring her comment, I slide out of the booth and gather our trash. Dropping it into the bin, we exit the donut shop with Nan’s hand wrapped securely around my elbow. I beg the gusts of wind to take the persisting thought that plagues my mind every time I see Mallory along with it.
Pretty is an understatement.
The walk from Cade’s and my dorm to the freshman student-athlete welcome dinner was my own personal hell. I chose that as the perfect moment to tell my father I changed my major, which infuriated him because it wasn’t part ofhisplan for my life.
On edge and pissed off, I had the misfortune of running into the most stunning woman I had ever seen.
Mallory was a rainbow blob in a room of muted colors at the bottom of the staircase. A multicolored cardigan hung loose over a cropped tank. Long and strong legs poked out of denim shorts, with yellow sneakers to seal the deal, but I couldn’t take my eyes off her hair. A mesmerizing, dark cloud of coils framed her face. Each one tight as springs and thick as wool.
I watched as she and Cade talked easily, as if they had known each other for years and hadn’t met only seconds before. I wanted that too. To be the reason for the loudest, most energized laugh I’ve ever heard. As if she was pushing all her happiness into the boisterous sound.
Comparing her outfit torainbow vomitdidn’t get the reaction I was hoping for.
But what stole the show was her brain. Did my stupid comment about her wardrobe make her list every synonym for the words prick and pretentious? Sure did, and I smiled the whole time.
I keep my eyes on the ground, maneuvering Nan around uneven surfaces and rocks. “It’s fine, Nan. We have our game and that’s enough.”
If I want her to stick around, it has to be enough. Freshman year, it was as if we silently agreed to play the Brain Bowl, compete, and nothing more. Which means if there’s no game, there’s no Mallory.
Nan sighs. “Forced companionship may be your saving grace, Fishie. I swore I’d never take Titus out of the friendzone. Then my ladies shoved us together for a dominoes tournament, and look at us now.”
I refrain from rolling my eyes at her lovey-dovey tone because I don’t want the back of my head smacked. Instead, I kiss the top of her head as we make our way back to Eberly Assisted Living.
