“Asher asked if he could have ice cream, and Millie wanted to know if she could go back to playing with her Barbies.” He chuckles. “They were kids. I didn’t expect them to say ‘gee, thanks, Dad; you’re so cool,’ but when the time finally came for Millie to come out—which, to be honest,was no surprise—she told us during family dinner. The whole spiel was matter-of-fact, like she was telling us about her favorite television show.”
Imagining such a safe space for Millie warms my heart just as much as it pains me that Kane wasn’t afforded that same experience by his own father.
“She didn’t open up about how confusing that time was for her until later,” he says. “But she did eventually. I’ll take it as a win.”
That kid tells me every nutty detail about working at Bubbe’s. That’s a good sign, right? “I think he’s more comfortable around Millie than he is with me.”
“That’s understandable. My daughter’s a gem.”
“The brightest.” I beam. She’s been a safety net for mybrother in so many ways. No one could ever replace his mother, but Millie has been the next best thing.
“From what I’ve seen, you’re doing an incredible job. Try not to be so hard on yourself.”
Kane returns then, walking stiffly and with a hand on his abdomen.
“You okay?”
Clutching the back of his chair, he doubles over. “I don’t feel well. Can we leave?”
“Of course.”
We say a rushed goodbye to Ethan, then we catch a train back into the city. Kane is somber, resting his head on my shoulder the whole way home. When we return to the apartment, he refuses to eat, though I do coerce him into taking a pain reliever before he lies down.
When dinner time rolls around and he’s still sleeping, unease washes over me. But when I wake him, he swears he’s just tired. He reluctantly drinks water and eats a few crackers, then goes back to bed.
I fall asleep watching reruns ofThe Officebut am startled awake at dawn by a noise in Kane’s room. For a moment, I experience déjà vu. Someone I love is kneeling in front of the toilet.
“Hey, hey, hey.” I approach him, keeping my tone calm. “What’s going on?”
He chokes and sputters, saliva sliding down his chin. I snag a washcloth from under the sink and wipe at his mouth. His arms are wrapped around his stomach, his shoulders are curled in, and his face is pinched.
I sit with him until he’s heaved up the meager contents of his stomach, then help him to the sofa. One touch to his forehead confirms that he’s got a fever.
Heart racing and worry whirling in my brain, I reach for my phone. “Mom?”
“Ezra,” she asks, her tone almost as panicked as mine. “What’s wrong?”
“How fast can you get here?”
“Why? What’s going on?”
“Kane is sick.”
My brother lets out an agonized groan from the sofa.
“Shit. Actually, can you meet us at the hospital?”
“You’re scaring me. What’s?—”
“I don’t know. Yesterday he said his stomach hurt, but I assumed it was something he ate. The pain is much worse this morning. He won’t eat and?—”
“Where’s the pain?”
Raking a hand through my hair, I dart over to Kane, who is in a fetal position on the sofa with a trash can by his side, and relay the question.
“Just below the belly button.”
“I bet it’s his appendix,” Mom says.
