I tried calling, but you were asleep. Or I hung up while they were transferring me. Or I didn’t know what to say. I could just let you talk, I guess.
I can’t put my feelings on paper. There can’t be any records. There can’t be any feelings.
I don’t want you to die. I want you to keep living and learning about octopi (octopuses? octopodes?). I want you to grow up and cure cancer.
I have a cousin about your age. You’re everything she’s not. I’d trade her for you if I could.
There’s so little point to this letter, I won’t even send it. I hope your new immune system kicks ass.
Wear your seat belt,
Love, Jessica
Would my letter make Bellamy laugh? Whenever I’d been honest at the hospital, she’d thought I was joking. I’d always been strangely truthful, probably because she was going to die.
Maybe I’d always known my family’s plans for Hiromi.
I made myself another drink.
In Aaliyah’s room, the girls had switched to strip poker. Nura was swaddled in scarves, sweaters, hats. Frankie was already reduced to leggings, one sneaker, and her sports bra. Aaliyah had somehow balanced wins and losses, and was dressed exactly as she’d been before.
They dealt me in, and I bet wildly the first few hands: an inside straight, a busted flush, and three kings that fell to Frankie’s aces.
As I gave her my shirt, Aaliyah pointed at my drink. “Aren’t you still taking those pills?”
“Yes, but they weren’t the problem.”
Frankie paused halfway through dealing, looking at me.
“One night back home,” I explained, “my cousin did something weird. That’s what made me throw up, not the booze. I mean, this is my third drink and I feel fine.”
My words were too precise, like Garrett’s clipped consonants, the step before slurring. But I did feel fine.
“You haven’t had a drink all semester,” Aaliyah said.
“My cousin Mary made me throw up, not the alcohol.”
“How?” Nura asked.
“Dressing up like my father.” I beckoned for more cards, and Frankie started dealing again. “We don’t talk about him.”
I drew four cards against an ace and wound up with a pair of sevens. But they all folded when I bet my shoes. I still didn’t have a shirt, and Frankie had lost hers (which was mine) again. We all had plenty of scarves.
“This is the problem with strip poker,” I said. “All the inefficiencies of a barter system and none of the advantages.”
“Except for seeing people naked,” Frankie said. “That’s an advantage.”
“We share a bathroom,” Aaliyah said.
“I meant if boys were playing.”
“Boys,” Aaliyah scoffed, and won the next hand.
The wind was picking up, and the temperature had fallen with the rain. I pulled my scarves tighter, and tried to wrest one of Frankie’s hats away.
“We should go outside,” I said.
“Dressed like this?” Frankie asked, spreading her bare arms.
