Morena stood only a few feet away, arms crossed. “Come along, Ava.”
I let her go, elated. I had done exactly the right thing.
CHAPTER 7
Ava
The day we checked out of the hospital, I had one last meeting with the social worker, this time with Mother present. We would be given the decision on my medical competency.
I caught myself squirming in my seat like the little kids in art therapy. Were they as nervous as I was now? I’d been fine alone with the social worker, but this felt too important.
The woman was far more formal than when we talked alone. She folded her hands together on a stack of papers, her red mouth serious. “Geneva, Ava, I’m here to discuss the findings of the ethics committee on whether Ava is sufficiently capable of living independently as an adult when she turns eighteen later this year.”
Mother shifted in her chair. So she was nervous, too.
The counselor smiled at me. “Ava is incredibly resilient after her memory loss. She passed her cognitive tests within twenty-four hours of the event, and we can all see how well she was able to cope here in the hospital. Shecreated original art, as well as read books and remembered what they contained. She even made new friends.”
Mother’s eyes got narrow. “You mean that boy.”
The counselor skipped over that comment. “The new medication is working. The neurologist’s report shows that Ava’s EEG is perfectly normal while on it.”
“Of course it is,” Mother snapped. “She only has these things on rare occasions. Do you know how many EEGs we’ve done? How normal they all looked until they weren’t?”
The counselor’s smile tightened in the corners. “I understand your fear, Geneva. I’m going to include the card for a therapist who might be able to help you. I’ve also provided a list of books to give you some insight on managing an empty nest after raising a child with a disability.”
When Mother inhaled sharply, the woman added, “Of course, we expect Ava will live with you for a while. But if she does choose to leave at her legal majority, you will have no recourse to force her back.”
I refused to look directly at Mother, but I could sense how she sank in her chair. “Of course, she’ll live with me,” Mother said. Her voice had a tremble I’d never heard before. “She has no means to support herself. If she lost her memory, who would help her?”
“We understand how hard it is to raise a child with a rare condition like Ava’s. Finding ways to reorient herself to the world in the event of a breakthrough seizure will be part of the action plan we send home with you both.” The woman turned to me. “Ava, it’s very critical that you keep scrapbooks and journals to help you re-enter your own life after these events. Medication has failed you in the past, soyou should prepare for the possibility of it happening again.”
I figured that out when I was eight. “I have journals,” I said. And now I had a phone, but of course I wouldn’t mention that. I couldn’t wait to get home to a room away from Mother. I would learn how to use it. Listen to music. Talk to Tucker!
Mother’s voice wasn’t any more stable when she spoke again. “So Ava is going to be left to fend for herself? Despite everything? Even if she’s angry at me only because she doesn’t know her whole story?”
I wanted to shout,And why don’t I know it?But I wouldn’t. I had the phone. I was medically competent. I could wait until my birthday. The medicine would keep me safe. I would write on my belly to take it. To never, ever forget.
The social worker gathered her papers into a folder. “I hope the two of you will come to an amicable place and create a lifestyle that works for you both. These activities and books can help.”
Mother stood. “Right. A book. As if I haven’t read everything I could get my hands on already. If that is all, I’d like to get our things packed.”
The social worker slid the folder across the desk. “The teen years are always hard, Geneva. Ava, do your best to find common ground with your mother. She is your best advocate as you move into adulthood.”
Ha. I doubted that. When Mother didn’t reach for the paperwork, I took it myself. I wasn’t any more interested in the activities than Mother was. But I wanted any documentation I could get my hands on. It was important to hide it away for the next time I needed to figure out what the hell was happening to me.
We drove home in a banged-up car that stuttered and wheezed at every intersection. I gripped the door handle, sure the whole thing was going to blow up any minute like the cars in the cop shows.
When we arrived at a funny house with two front doors, I couldn’t get out of the car fast enough, dragging my suitcase along the ground with both hands.
Two sets of stairs led to the doors. One side was spilling over with flowers, the other bare with peeling white paint. I started up the colorful side.
“Ava!” Mother called from the car, where she was struggling to pull out her bags. “Not that one. An old lady lives in the other half of the duplex. She isn’t kind, and you don’t want to bother her.”
I hesitated, sure I was welcome among those flowers. But I backed down the stairs and headed up the other side.
As I waited for Mother to unlock the door, I compared our barren porch to the other. My mind stumbled over the names of the blooms.
Then I spotted a pot of yellow flowers shaped like stars with long fluffy snouts.
