“Ellie.” He shakes his head slowly, almost nostalgic, like he can’t believe he’s about to say this. He laces his fingers with mine. “I wanted to kiss you. Just not how that all went down.”
He’s so direct about it. My heart races. I’m desperate to say more. “Okay, and—”
But he pulls his hand away and stands, steadying himself with the cane. Don’t tell me the moment has passed. “We should go check upstairs. My mom’s—” He continues with something I can’t catch.
“Got a page?” I ask, sure that’s incorrect.
He slowly turns and repeats to clarify, “Been on a rampage.”
“How so?”
“I don’t know. She really wants to—” He tucks the cane beneath his arm and uses air quotes as he says, “ ‘Beat this disease naturally.’ She keeps attacking the pantry. Whenever she reads a new article suggesting some other food is terrible to eat.”
“Huh.” I try to match his annoyed expression, but I’m really stuck at the worddisease. So he did get a diagnosis? Will he tell me more?
“You can go first if you want.” He gestures to the stairs, then slides the hat back on to free his hands. “I need to take my time.”
“That’s okay; I don’t mind.” I hope he won’t feel like he needs to go fast if I’m behind him.
He must not, because he still goes slowly, holding the railing and cane. It doesn’t seem like he needs to be that cautious, but I guess, at this point, the last thing he’d want is an injury on top of whatever else is going on.
We round the corner to the kitchen, where his mother is absolutely tearing through the already mostly empty walk-in pantry, clearing out the latest round of food she must have deemed unhealthy. It’s not even super junky stuff that she’s set out on the counter, since I assume anything of that category was swiftly eliminated a few rounds ago. It’s simple things like crackers and boxes of organic mac and cheese. Why is she getting rid of those?
Oh.Anything processed.
Leaning against the counter, Jackson protests. “Ugh, I said not my kettle chips. Mom, I told you we don’t need to—”
She must be angry, because she speaks up, loud and clear. “Jackson, just let me do this.” His mom dives back into the pantry; it seems like nothing is safe. She also piles up fruit on the counter, which really confuses me. Soon there’ll be nothing left to eat.
“You can’t get rid of these.” Jackson puts the carton of strawberries back in the fridge.
“What if they have too much sugar, though…”
“They’re anti-inflammatory, which is what I’m supposed to eat a ton of. All the diet tips you’ve been finding contradict each other. Can I eat cheese or not? Eggs, yes or no? Meat, every meal or never?”
“Well, it’s—” His mom tries to justify herself, but Jackson continues.
“Come on, changing what we eat now isn’t going to make a difference; we’ve already been eating healthy for years.” He turns back to me, rolling his eyes. I read his expression easily. I’ve been there. Jackson needs a break.
“Want food?” I sign, hoping he’ll understand. Raising my eyebrows to ask the yes or no question, “Fast food?”
“E-a-t,” he spells out, his hand shaky. I nod. Relief washes over him. “Yes, please.”
Chapter Thirty-eight
Jackson
I know they’reconcerned, but I’m so tired of my parents right now. Ellie could’ve suggested anything in the world, and I would’ve been down to leave for that. She was signing something about food, but I’m not sure what other word she was saying with it. It doesn’t matter. That was all I needed to know.
At the door, I waver, unsure whether I should bring the cane, though I’m still not reliably walking in a straight line without it. Ellie notices my hesitation. “Yeah,” she says. “Bring it!”
As we walk down the driveway, I know it’s the right choice. I don’t want to attract any attention, but I need the stability. So I can be surer of myself.
“I’ve spent too much time with my parents lately,” I say, but Ellie has climbed into the car and isn’t looking. “Or all by myself.”
“What was that?” she asks me to repeat when we’re both seated.
“I’ve been stuck with my parents at home since the hospital. I’m basically a hostage.”
