She turned her attention back to me. “Did it hurt?”
“It didn’thurt, but it felt weird,” I explained, dropping my shirt and taking a seat on the couch.
“Just make sure it doesn’t get infected,” Monica warned.
I nodded. “That’s why I had to wait until after my swim lessons.”
“Twenty-five years ago…”
Aunt Addy and I chuckled as we listened to Monica’s story of her “wild” youth. Hearing my aunt and her nurse go back and forth about who had more wild adventures in their twenties was hilarious and heartwarming at the exact same time. But it really made me think about my twenties, what I’d done, and the stories I’d have to share about my life.
I’m really the most boring person in the room right now.
Monica had just helped my aunt into the recliner when there was a knock at the door. I got up and opened it. I’d been so caught up in their shenanigans, I hadn’t mentally prepared for the reunion with my parents.
I loved Mom and Dad, and they were fundamentally good people. But their preoccupation with perfection and with what other people thought of them had done a number on me growing up. In my adulthood, they weren’t the most supportive when ideas or lifestyle choices didn’t align with what they perceived to be the best option. They would worry and offer help in an overbearing and oppressive way if I diverged from their path. But I never doubted they had my best interest at heart. They just never really saw me for who I was.
Or who I am.
“My beautiful daughter,” my mom greeted me as soon as her eyes landed on me. She looked me up and down in my black yoga pants and myBACKFIELD IN MOTIONT-shirt. “In her crude shirt choice.”
I rolled my eyes as we hugged. “Mom, it’s not crude.”
She walked in, and my dad looked at me and laughed. “Jazmyn!” He gave me a tight hug with one arm. The other arm held a bag of food. “It’s a football reference,” he explained to Mom.
After he came in, I closed the door behind them.
The house suddenly felt crowded.
Mom and Dad hadn’t seen Aunt Addison in a wheelchair before.They fussed over her, and she fussed at them for treating her like a child. They asked Monica a million questions, and she patiently answered each one. It was fascinating, but it was the perfect representation of how they operated. Their love was evident, but their methods were domineering.
“Why didn’t you tell us about this?” Mom asked me as we sat around the living room eating lunch. “We could’ve come back early.”
“Because you would’ve come back early,” Aunt Addy answered for me.
I burst out laughing and almost choked on my greens.
“We are not surprised you didn’t say anything, Addison,” Mom replied with pursed lips. She shifted her focus back to me. “Why didn’tyousay anything, Jazmyn? When we talked, you said you two were shopping and gardening and reading a book for a book club. You didn’t say anything about this.” She gestured to my aunt.
I lifted my eyebrows. “What was I supposed to say?”
“That your aunt wanted to dye her hair blue!”
I laughed again. “What’s wrong with blue hair?”
“You’re not some teenager, Addy,” Dad pointed out. “Don’t you think this is a little young for you?”
“What is everyone going to say?!” Mom exclaimed.
“Everyone who has seen it loves it,” Aunt Addy told them. “And the only person whose opinion matters on the subject”—she pointed to herself—“loves it.”
“I just don’t want you to need something, and they treat you poorly because they’re judging you by your appearance,” Mom explained. “If you have to go to the hospital, I don’t want them to not try to save you.”
My aunt looked from my mom to my dad. “Miranda. Richard. I’m on hospice. I won’t be going to the hospital.”
“Speaking of hospice,” Dad started, scooting to the edge of his chair and leaning toward his sister. “Jazmyn is heading home on Friday. We wanted to know how you felt about staying with us.”
Aunt Addy shook her head. “No thank you.”
