The image of me on-screen freezes, a smirk on my face.
I’m numb.
And the headache has spiderwebbed out to the side of my skull.
“You okay, hon?” Mom asks, rubbing my back again. “We know it’s a lot.”
“Yeah, what’re you thinking about all this, Carter?” Dad asks.
I’m thinking I’ve been hit by a metaphysical Mack Truck.
“I don’t know what to think,” I say.
Dad puts his hand on mine. “Well, like you said in the video, we’re here for you.”
“Always,” Mom says, giving me a hug. Dad joins in too.
I awkwardly pat their arms.
“And, bud,” Dad says, “we’re still doing everything we can to find a cure. So that we won’t have to do this all over again next year.”
“Pete,” Mom says.
“What?” he says. “We are.”
“I know, of course we are, but we should also be prepared to just...”
“To just what?”
“To accept!” They’re still hugging me as they have this argument.
“Sure, we can accept the situation,” Dad says, “but that doesn’t mean we don’t keep...”
“Keep what?”
Dad has noticed the horrified look on my face.
“Let’s... talk about this later. Sorry, Carter.” He pats my shoulder and looks away.
“Yeah, sorry, sweets,” Mom agrees, giving me one last squeeze before releasing the hug. “It’s easy for us to... get caught up in our frustration. That this happened to you. But like you said in the video, this always feels the worst on the first day. It will get better.”
“It does feel really bad right now,” I say.
“That’s normal,” Dad says. “I mean. In its abnormal way.”
I peer around at the kitchen, trying to spot differences from yesterday as if it’s a puzzle in a kids’ magazine.
“So what happens now?” I finally ask.
“That’s up to you,” Mom says. “You can stay home and adjust to this situation—Dad and I both took off work to be here with you—or... you can go to school.”
“Can we go to the movies? What’s even playing? Do movie theaters still exist?”
Mom and Dad look at each other. “Wecouldgo to the movies, in theory,” Mom says, looking back to me. “They still exist. But maybe, for today, let’s keep the options to either home or school.”
I feel an overwhelming urge to move around, so I stand up and start pacing the kitchen.
“What grade am I even in?” I open the fridge. Mostly the same old stuff. There’s a brand of oat milk I don’t recognize.
