“Carole, your motto is, Pancakes are devoid of nutrition. Have a green smoothie instead. Isn’t that right?”
“Yeah, well, I thought we deserved them. Don’t you? Plus, I can’t eat another bagel, piece of kugel or smoked fish. Maybe you could make up some plates and take them around to the neighbors in the building. I don’t want this food to go to waste.”
“Um, that’s a hard pass. There is no way I’m knocking on some stranger’s door saying, Here, enjoy some of our leftover Jewish comfort food that we can’t eat. It’s from sitting shiva for my dead mother. It holds all our grief and sorrow, but I promise, it’s not poisoned or anything.”
Carole sighs and slowly nods her head. “Well, then I don’t know what we are going to do with all this food.” She stops cooking, puts her hands on her waist, and says, “All right, whatever we don’t consume in the next few days, just make it go away. Make it disappear; I won’t ask any questions. I don’t have the mental capacity to deal with this right now.”
Carole returns to making the pancakes, and I lean my head back and stare at the kitchen ceiling. I’m so exhausted. It feels like I’ve been hit by a truck, or I have the flu or something. I just need to…close my eyes for a…minute. Next thing I know, Carole is shaking me awake.
“Wake up,” she says. “Breakfast is ready.”
My head snaps back up and, like magic, in front of me is a plate of hot steaming pancakes. But it looks like Carole put M&Ms in the pancakes because they are dotted with different colored spots. I poke at one of the pancakes to try to figure out what she did.
“Uh, what’s in these?” I say suspiciously.
“Colorful, aren’t they? Don’t judge me, just try them,” she says.
With one eye closed, I slather them with butter and drizzle a bit of maple syrup on top. I cut off a bite and put it in my mouth.
“Well, do you like it?” she asks expectantly.
“Um, it kinda tastes like Fruity Pebbles cereal. What’s in these?”
“Well, the bananas had turned brown, so I threw them out. The blueberries were still good, so I threw some of them in. Then I thought, why not just keep going? Why make a fruit salad on the side when you can have fruit salad pancakes? So, let’s see, the green bits are honeydew and kiwi. The yellow bits are pineapple, and the red bits are strawberries.”
“Fruit salad pancakes, you say.” I stuff a few more bites in my mouth. “I like ’em!”
Carole smiles and sits close to me at the table. We eat our pancakes in silence until Carole puts down her fork and quietly says, “So, how did your visit with your dad go yesterday?”
I put my fork down and look up at her. I try to read the expression on her face, but it doesn’t give anything away. Does she know what Dad asked me? No point in beating around the bush, so I just blurt it out. “Dad wants me to come live with him.” Carole doesn’t say anything, but her face gives away what she is feeling…and it’s hurt.
She stands up, collects the dirty dishes, and carries them over to the sink. She drops them in with a small clank. She turns on the water and starts scrubbing the dishes vigorously. She doesn’t turn around to face me, but she says with a choked voice, “Ah, he did mention this to me when we were at the hospital. He said that he might ask you. He also asked me how I felt about it, and I told him that it was your choice. Your decision.”
Carole turns off the water and turns around to face me. A single tear trickles down her left cheek.
“Do you want to tell me what you told him?” she asks.
“I told him I had to think about it.”
“Oh, okay. Well then, let me know when you’ve decided.”
And with that, she turns away and resumes washing the dishes. My phone beeps, and it’s another text from PJ. I ignore it and shut the phone off. I get up from the table and go back to my room and close my door. I lie down on my bed and fall back asleep.
33
Thanksgiving Day
“Why can’t we just skip Thanksgiving dinner this year?” I ask Carole as we drive over to Aunt Sarah’s house. “It’s not like we have anything to be thankful for.”
“Wrong,” she says. “You still have a roof over your head, food to eat, clothes to wear, and friends and family who love you. With your mom gone, it’s more important than ever to be with family this year.”
I don’t respond. I frown and go back to brooding, looking out the window, biting my nails, and scratching the fresh hives appearing rapidly on my arms and legs. The alien turns over and over in my stomach. Neither he nor I have been getting any sleep lately. I’m not sure what’s changed; I lie awake most of the night. When I do fall asleep, I wake up soon after in a state of terror. I jump out of bed and pace the room. The alien scratches to get out. Yep, it’s back. The mourning period is over, and it wants out. Again. Is it the lack of sleep? Or is time short before it makes its final appearance and ends my life in the process?
I’m depressed. Not only is today the first holiday without Mom, but things are still frosty between me and PJ. When he finally confirmed my fear that his parents don’t know about me, I was crushed. I was hoping we might spend Thanksgiving together. I shouldn’t have been surprised knowing the relationship he has with his parents, but a boy can wish. Will I ever meet his family? How can we have a real relationship if it’s a secret one? I pull out my phone and text him.
Happy Thanksgiving, Pajamas. I miss you. Wish you were here with me today.
No response.
