***
I spent the rest of Christmas break on the couch trying not to overexert myself. My mom was afraid it would set me off again so I was prohibited from venturing into the garage or leaving the house at all.
Even Christmas morning had been subdued. I slept in, my mom no doubt pacing the living room until the moment I finally appeared coherent, worried that I’d slipped into another episode.
When she saw me she’d rushed to the doorway, leading me by the arm around to the couch.
“Breakfast?” she’d said, even though it was almost noon.
“Cinnamon rolls?” I asked, pulling out of her grasp. It had been almost a week and I felt fine.
“Of course.”
My grandmother waved a hand, cheap gold bangles jingling around her wrist. “There’s a pan full of leftover quiche in the fridge. You don’t want it to go to waste, Elena.”
Never wasting anything—one of my grandmother’s specialties.
My mom ignored her, clicking on the oven. “Bryn wants cinnamon rolls. That’s our tradition.”
My grandmother shuffled into the kitchen, long ratty shawl sweeping the floor, and then she opened the fridge and grabbed the quiche.
After we ate, we took turns unwrapping presents, the packages of mine all lined with dollar bills and little notes. My mom always went all out on Christmas, springing for velvet wrapping paper and these big elaborate bows, gourmet chocolates and enough food to last her, my grandmother, and I the rest of the break.
She held her breath while I unwrapped each gift –gift cards and new clothes for the summer that always came early, sketchbooks and vintage records for my grandfather’s old phonograph. I gave her and my grandmother each a necklace with a silver chain and a wooden charm I’d carved myself and since then neither one of them had taken it off.
My mom was clutching it the morning of New Year’s Eve while we sat in Dr. Sabine’s waiting room. It was empty—no patients, no nurses. When Dr. Sabine got back from her holiday in Aspen or New York or wherever rich people liked to go during the winter, she’d made an exception to see me a week earlier than scheduled.
My mom sensed urgency even though there was none and I thought the charm I’d made was going to disintegrate in her hand.
“I’m fine,” I sighed.
My mom glanced at me, trying to keep a straight face. “I know.”
“Then relax,” I said.
“I am.” She crossed her legs, then uncrossed them. “I’m fine. Everything’s fine.”
But I knew the truth behind that strain in her voice. I’d heard it buzzing there behind every word and every sigh since the bad dreams first started, since I first got sick.
I stared at the aquarium across from us, empty for cleaning, and remembered pressing my hands against the glass the first time I sat in Dr. Sabine’s waiting room. I was ten when the dreams first started, eleven when they were replaced by sporadic comas spent on an imaginary beach, and twelve when I was finally diagnosed with KLS.
I choked down the smell of rain and tried not to feel its cold patter against my skin. For some reason it would always rain in those childhood nightmares, so hard that I could barely make out my own silhouette. And the flowers. Dead. Everywhere. I remembered trudging through them, trying to run, their roots twisting up from the ground and clinging to my ankles. I never knew what I was running from and when the dreams finally stopped part of me thought that I’d gotten away. But as I sat in Dr. Sabine’s waiting room, thinking about my lips pressed to the boy’s corpse, I wondered if maybe I was wrong.
My mom clutched my hand and then Dr. Sabine stepped into the waiting room.
“How are we doing today?” she asked.
My mom shot out of her seat. “Fine. Fine.”
“Glad to hear it,” Dr. Sabine said, ushering us into her office. “And Bryn?” She sat at her desk and pulled up my file on her computer.
“Fine,” I repeated.
“Fine…” Dr. Sabine faced us with a cautious smile. “But a long one this time, correct?”
“Longer than usual,” I said.
“Anything happen just before?” She started typing something on her computer that I couldn’t see. “Were you under a lot of stress at school maybe? Worried about finals?”
“Uh, maybe,” I said, still trying to make out what she was typing. “But I feel fine.”
“You said that.”
“Right. I mean I’ve felt good. Well, as good as…” someone with a debilitating neurological disorder.
“The drowsiness,” my mom cut in. “It was a bit more severe last semester and I really wasn’t cooking as much as I should have been. I know you had that theory about some foods being a trigger. I was working a lot and we were getting a lot of take-out but I’ve made a grocery list and maybe you could look over it.” She dug around in her purse and slid the list to Dr. Sabine. “And you know I’ve been meaning to get one of those water purifiers installed on the kitchen sink. Oh and we’re switching to all natural cleaning supplies. That’s on the list too.”
“Ms. Reyes, you know we’ve talked about this.”
I watched my mom take a breath, grow still.
“This is all great and incredibly proactive,” Dr. Sabine continued, “but this last episode might have had nothing to do with Bryn’s environment at all. I don’t want either of you getting worked up over this. There’s an ebb and flow to KLS, we’ve seen it.”
“Right,” my mom said. “You’re right.”
Dr. Sabine handed her back the list and she tucked it into her purse.
“Just to be safe, we’ll run some tests.” Dr. Sabine looked at me. “Nothing too invasive. Just routine. You know the drill.”
I nodded, tried to smile. But none of it felt routine. Not the empty waiting room. Not the strange chill in Dr. Sabine’s voice, left over from the vacation she’d cut short to come back for this appointment. Not the feeling twisting in my gut. And when she stuck me with the needle, for the first time in a long time I felt that too.
When we got home my aunt and my grandmother were squared off in the middle of the kitchen. My grandmother was clutching a Tupperware container full of moldy carne asada and my aunt was trying to get her to throw it in the trash.
“It’s still good,” my grandmother said.
My aunt snatched it out of her hands. “You’re going to kill yourself.”
“Well, good riddance,” my grandmother said as she made her way back to the couch.
My aunt lowered her voice. “If only.” She gave me a hug, gaze trailing down to the gauze tied around my arm. “How’d it go?”
I waited for my mom to say fine but she didn’t. Instead, she just stood there, arms braced over the island.
I tried to think of a way out of there and finally said, “I’m going to go change,” before escaping to my room.
When I closed the door behind me I saw Dani thumbing around my desk. She was still in her running shorts, black hair thrown up in a messy bun.
“Can I help you find something?” I asked.
She waved me off. “What’s this?” She held up the red box from Drew.
I flopped down on the bed, not looking at her. “Nothing. Toss it.”
She cocked an eyebrow, her face still flushed from her morning run. “It says: From Drew.”
“Exactly. Toss it.”
She slumped down on the edge of my bed and pulled at the small bow, the top of the box springing open.
I rolled my eyes and fell back against the bed. “Just get rid of it.”
I heard something slip into her palm, clinking against my uncle’s class ring that she always wore.
“Whoa.”
I sat up, eyes settling on the silver chain. “What the hell is that?” I reached for it, examining the charm engraved with a shallow inscription. His initials.
“Wow,” Dani said. “Why not stick a branding iron to your forehead?”
It lay there in my hand, cold and heavy, my thumbnail chipping at t
he letters of his name. I tried to imagine him picking it out, slipping it around my wrist, waiting for my face to light up. Even though I’d never have worn something like that. Even though I didn’t believe in promises.
I let it slip between my fingers, my stomach in a knot.
Dani reached for it. “What an asshole. You know, I’m really relieved to see how well you’re taking all of this…you know, the whole Drew dating someone else thing. It’s obvious this didn’t mean anything to him.” She flung the bracelet in the trash and I tried not to flinch as it hit the bottom.
Every time Dani said his name I felt like she was tugging at a thread I wasn’t ready to unravel yet. Or maybe that thread was me. “Can we not talk about him?” I said. “Like, ever again?”
“You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to hear you say that,” she sighed. “So anyway, you think you’re ready to join the rest of the world today?”
I lowered my voice. “You think this prison sentence is self-imposed? My mom freaked out about how long I was asleep and now she’s got me on lock down to keep me from wearing myself out.”
“But you feel fine?”
“I feel bored out of my mind.”
“Well, good, so you’ll come with me to—”
“Don’t say to a party.”
She shook her head. “A very small, very intimate get together of our closest friends and maybe a few dozen of our most hated fellow classmates. But it’ll be—”
“Oh God. Do not say fun.”
“Not fun. Necessary.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means no one has seen you in more than a month and while I know you weren’t in bed gorging on Fudgsicles and Cheetos, the timing of it just doesn’t look good. People think you’re avoiding Drew. Actually they think you probably lost it when you found out he was dating someone else and that you’re just using your illness as a cover while you mourn in private.”
“Are you kidding me?”
“Not to mention they’re expecting you to be like four hundred pounds and covered in a months’ worth of unshaven leg and facial hair.”
“What the hell is wrong with people?”
She looked me square in the eyes. “Don’t you want to prove them wrong?”
I buried my face in the blankets again. “No.”
“I know you’re sick of this bed.” She yanked on my arm, pulling me to my feet.
“No,” I moaned.
She gripped my shoulders. “If you don’t go Drew will think it’s because of him and do you know how much he’s going to love that? Don’t you want to figuratively take that stupid bracelet and shove it up his ass?”
“That’s disgusting,” I laughed. “But yes. Yes, I would like that.”
“Then get dressed.” She smacked my ass and nodded to the hallway. “Bathroom’s that way.”
Chapter 4
Bryn