“Agreed.” A beat of silence passes. “Night, Val.”
“Night, Jabari.”
I end the call, a smile still on my face. By the time I get to the front door, the food has been placed on a little stool outside of our door. The smell from my Chinese takeout has me shaking my hips with glee as I head to the kitchen for a bowl. If I’m smart, half of my fried rice will end up as lunch tomorrow.
“Val!” Fran shouts as she slides into the kitchen, reaching for the wall at the last second. “I got you a date tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?” Who could’ve possibly said yes so quickly? Andwhy?
Fran bobbles her head up and down. “Yes, tomorrow. It’s a guy who works for the basketball team. You game?”
I snort. “Pun intended?”
Fran tilts her head, and I see the exact moment the proverbial light bulb above her head goes off. She throws her head back. “Yeah, no. Pun not intended but great nonetheless.”
“Fine.” I hold back a sigh. “I’ll go out.”
“Great. I’ll give him your number so you can finalize all the details.”
Just fabulous. A date tomorrow is the last thing I want.
“Do you always dowhat your sisters want?”
Jabari’s question echoes in my head. Why do I always do everything Jackie and Fran ask of me? And more importantly, how can I stop? I don’t want them running my life, but somehow that’s exactly what I’ve allowed them to do.
Lord,what’s wrong with me that I keepsaying yes to things I don’t want to do?
The more I think about all the times I’ve done stuff Jackie and Fran suggested, the more irritation permeates my soul. Am I a pushover? Does it stem from esteem issues? Or do I just take people pleasing to a disturbing level?
Lord,help me please.
13
Jabari
“Mr. Hall, I’m going to be frank with you.”
I squirm at the no-nonsense tone in my occupational therapist’s voice. “Okay.”
“You should’ve been in here a couple of weeks after your injury.”
“Does that mean you can’t help me?” I wince. Was she finished talking? “Sorry, didn’t mean to cut you off.”
“No, I understand. And it’s not that I can’t help you, it’s that building new neuropathways is vital to improvement. Unfortunately, your brain has had from mid-January to now.” She pauses as if counting how many weeks it’s been. “Seven weeks of living injured without being guided on how to recover from that.”
Why is timing always my issue? Instead of bemoaning my fate—because really, it’s not her fault—I nod in understanding.
“Nevertheless, we’ll get you through this. I’ll show you the exercises I want you to do at home on your own. Then if you’re doing okay, we’ll go through the regimen you’ll complete each time you see me. After that, I’d like to schedule an in-home visit.”
“An in-home visit? What for?” Does she really need to come to my place? Somehow the suggestion feels like an invasion of privacy.
“I can bring things that make your setup easier for you to navigate since you live on your own.”
Okay, maybe that’s not so bad.
“How does that all sound?”
“Fine.”
