Above their masks, my parents’ eyes did not warm at my words.
“Is Nurse Dee new?” Mom finally asked, her voice low and muffled.
“She’s been here a while,” I responded, voice barely above a whisper.
“Oh,” mom said simply.
Dad said nothing.
The silence began to spread again.
“I got the highest grade on my last English test,” I said quickly, hoping this subject would go over better than the last.
“That’s good, Lucy.” Dad nodded slowly. “I’m glad you have that to keep you occupied.”
School wasn’t the right choice.
Because all three of us doubted I’d live long enough for good grades and graduation to matter.
“So…” mom’s voice trailed off, then she rallied, pushing word after word out from her mouth with obvious effort, “School is going well then? You still like that… that one teacher?”
She couldn’t remember Mister Donaldson. Which was fine. It wasn’t a big deal. Parents forget these kinds of details all the time. I bet she couldn’t remember all my brother’s teachers either.
“Yeah, he doesn’t bore me to tears.”
“Math can be boring,” she nodded.
I didn’t correct her. I didn’t say it was history.
“I’m pretty good at math,” I managed to hide the brittleness in my voice, “my teacher asked me to explain something to the class last week. I even qualified for a competition in Salt Lake City, but being a certified bubble girl makes that a no-go.” I laughed a little, trying to lighten the mood.
Dad checked his watch again. Mom shuffled her papers. Neither laughed with me.
I looked for a new subject. Something good, something to ease the tension. But the mention of a move circled back, pecking at my brain.
Before I could ask, a rap of knuckles on the door preceded the Omega disease specialist. He stuck his head in first, offering a smile. “Mind if a few students join today, Lucy?”
I shook my head and he shuffled into my room, a gaggle of bright-faced would-be doctors behind him.
“Ah, your family is here. Perfect. I was going to call tomorrow. I’ve been hoping you’d visit so we could talk in person. I’m set to go back to my home hospital soon.”
What the doctor didn’t say was he’d been treating me for almost two months, and in that entire time, my parents hadn’t visited.
“Yes, we’re so grateful you’ve been here to help our Lucy,” mom said quickly, “I’m sorry we couldn’t get here sooner to meet you.”
“Yes, well. Sometimes news isn’t well-suited for a phone call.” The doctor scanned my parents’ faces, then looked down at me. Sympathy shone in his gaze, and I got the distinct impression I wasn’t the first young patient to have absentee parents.
His words registered then: ‘sometimes news isn’t well-suited for a phone call’.
My heart skipped a beat.
Dad stiffened.
Mom’s face paled.
Like me, they waited for the fresh bad news to hit.
Whatever the doctor was about to say, he smiled wider as if looking like the happiest man on Earth would soften the blow. Would his words be the ones that finally broke my parents? My makeshift calendar bloomed inside my brain. The fewer visits from my parents. The way mom’s clothes hung looser on her frame and how wide swaths of gray had invaded Dad's temples seemingly overnight.
