She nods and licks her lips. She’s always been a thirsty child, but seems so even more lately. That and she gets just about as hungry as I do when I haven’t eaten. I don’t know where she puts all the food either. She definitely didn’t inherit her mom’s curvy calves and thighs. She’s all chicken legs and twig arms, something my doctor said is totally normal for a girl her age.
I turn, about to thank Bram for the ride. After all, he didn’t have to come get me, but he’s back in his car and driving away, the sleek façade of the Mercedes disappearing down the hill.
“Where’s he going?” I ask Steph. “My booster seat is still in the back.”
She takes a lengthy sip of wine. “To pick up his girlfriend of the week from her job. He’ll be back.”
“Right,” I say slowly. “Let me guess, supermodel?”
She shrugs. “Dunno. Probably. Haven’t met her yet. What’s the point when they never last very long?”
“I thought you were sending me an Uber.”
“He volunteered, actually,” she says, turning back toward the building. “He’s tonight’s designated driver.”
I can’t help but snort. “Why would he do that?”
“He’s changed a lot since he’s moved here. He’s a lot closer with Linden and since it’s his birthday, I guess he’s just trying to be a good brother and make up for lost time.” She shoots me a wry look over her shoulder. “Why all the questions?”
Was I asking questions? “No reason.”
“You don’t like Bram much, do you?” she notes as she swipes her key card and the door buzzes open.
“I like Bam,” Ava says, mispronouncing his name. I don’t bother to correct her.
“No you don’t,” I say. “You just like shiny things, like his car.”
“I like Bam,” she says again, this time more forceful.
I look at Steph who is watching me with interest. “What?”
“I don’t know. It’s just after the wedding, every time his name comes up, I can literally see you shudder. Did something happen?”
I shake my head, trying to keep a straight face.
“Because,” she goes on in a conspirator tone and peers at me closer, “Kayla says she saw you and Bram come out from behind the bushes. You were holding onto his arm.”
“Is Kayla here?” Because I’m going to kill her.
“She’ll be at the bar later,” she says. “So, was that true?”
“That was like, six months ago. I don’t remember. We may have talked but that’s it, I swear.” And way to wait that long to bring it up with me, Steph, I add in my head.
She raises her eyebrows. Most people aren’t usually very good at reading me. I guess I don’t give them enough to go on. But Steph has always been succinct at getting through my layers and it takes a lot not to look away.
“Just talked,” she muses and jabs the button for the elevator. “All right then. Well, I’m glad you just talked because you know he’s bad news.”
“You were just going on about how much he’s changed!”
“Yeah, and he has. But I still wouldn’t let any of my friends date him. Well, Kayla maybe, but not you.”
“Well you don’t have to worry about that. He’s definitely not my favorite person. And you know how I feel about guys like him.”
“I do know,” she says. “But I have to watch out for you, that’s all. Remember when you had a crush on your gynecologist? You would have said something to him if I hadn’t made you promise.”
My cheeks grow warm at the memory. “He was such a nice guy. And so mature.”
“He was mature about your vagina and that’s because he had to be.”
Moments later, we step into her apartment and I’m glad for the change of subject. Music thumps from the speakers and we find Linden, his best friend James and his girlfriend Penny in the kitchen drinking beer and laughing.
“God, it’s loud!” Steph screeches and runs over to the stereo to turn it down. She shoots me an apologetic look and the rest of them a scathing one. It tickles me to see how overprotective of Ava she can be sometimes.
“Sorry!” Linden yells and then when he sees me, gives me a wolf whistle, looking me up and down. For a second there I think he’s a lot like his brother – the same cheeky smile with dimples, the same dark brows, thick hair and masculine jawline. But when he comes over and pulls me into a hug, I feel no judgement or ulterior motives. So, no, nothing like Bram at all.
He pulls away and holds me at arm’s length. “You’re looking pretty spiffy, lady.”
“Spiffy?” I repeat. “Never heard that one before.”
“I’ve always been original,” he says with a wink.
He then says hi to Ava who smiles at him shyly like she always does. Ever since she learned he can fly in the sky, albeit in a helicopter, she’s been bashful around him like he’s some kind of superhero.
I say hi James and Penny, complimenting Penny on her new cherry red and rhinestone glasses. The two have always been a bit more alternative than I’m used to and I always feel a bit uncool around them with their tattoos, piercings and fun lives. James runs our “local” bar, The Burgundy Lion, and Penny apparently now works in web design for porn sites. Luckily, they’re hella nice.
I quickly get Ava a cup of orange juice cut with water (I don’t like her to have much sugar) and spend the next half hour sipping my wine slowly and listening to people’s conversations. When someone starts talking about work, Steph deftly switches the subject, knowing I’m not ready to talk about what happened.
While Linden makes my hungry monkey pasta with cheese and I scarf down the sliders and prawn rolls he prepared for the rest of us, my mind keeps wondering when Bram is coming back. It’s just that I want to know that I’ll get my booster seat at the end of the night (those things ain’t cheap), unless he’s also volunteered to drive me home. I’m not sure how his new girlfriend, or whoever she is, will feel about that but I guess it’s sort of a given when you’re dealing with someone like him.
As if he’s heard my thoughts, suddenly the front door opens and in parades Bram, all smiles, with a lean chick dressed in a silver sequined dress, giant silver hoops in her ears and her blonde hair piled high above her head, fastened with silver clips. If she walks under the lights in the middle of the room, she’ll go off like a damn disco ball.
I make my usual snap judgement in two seconds. Her boobs are fake. Her lips are fake and her teeth are fake. She’s fake, period, I think, then I wonder when I became so bitter.
I roll my shoulders as if to physically shed the unwanted feelings from me, and attempt to play nice as Bram introduces her to the room as Astrid. Astrid says hi, we say hi, and then the two of them disappear into the kitchen.
So, as it is, I’m the only single person here. I can’t even bug Ava because she’s scarfing down more food that Linden prepared. Steph makes sure to occupy most of my time, though, chatting about purses and shoes even though I know she’s secretly dying to talk about the real issues in my life. Still, she stays true to her word and doesn’t bring it up.
Eventually it starts getting late. Ava sort of stumbles toward me in an apparent food coma and tugs on my jeans.
“Mommy, I can’t find my bed,” she says.
“That’s because you’re not at home,” I tell her. Just then Steph announces to everyone that they’re moving the party to a bar in the lower Haight. Perfect timing.
“I’ll give you a ride,” Bram says, seeming to appear from out of nowhere. He looks at Steph. “It’s on the way. I’ll take whoever.”
I can’t help but glance at Astrid to see what she thinks of this but she’s still smiling. For a moment I’m envious. Not of her toned body and glossy limbs, but because she doesn’t seem like the jealous type and Lord knows I am.
“Mommy, who are these people?” Ava asks. My heart skips for a minute, then I remember how confusing these kind of gatherings must be for a child.
“Mommy’s friends,” I explai
n. “We’re going home now, okay? Bram is going to drive us home in his shiny car, remember? Bam?”
She doesn’t nod, just stares at me with a dull expression. Poor kiddo must be so tuckered out. So am I. When a party is over, there is nothing you want more than your bed, making the time between getting from where you are to getting under your covers seem to stretch for eternity. It’s a physical ache.
Thankfully it’s not long before we’re in Bram’s car. Astrid is in the passenger seat and Ava, me and Steph are squished in the back. It’s not exactly meant for three people back there, let alone a booster seat, so Steph is half-sitting on me and giggling.
It’s been about five minutes into our drive as Bram takes the sports car up and down the hills when Ava makes a gagging sound. The distinctive smell of fruit fills the air and I look over to see Ava has thrown up on herself.
“Jesus,” I say, “Ava, are you okay?”
I try to turn in my seat and put my hand on her forehead. It feels hot and clammy at the same time and her eyes are wild as she takes in short, sharp breaths.
Everything inside me freezes, wanting to take me hostage in a panic-induced horror, but it doesn’t last. I push it aside. I function.
“What is it?” Steph yells in my ear and Bram immediately turns off the radio and starts pulling over to the side of the road.
“I don’t know,” I say, my voice trembling. I keep brushing Ava’s hair back from her face and once we’re parked, Bram flips the light on in the car.
Now I can see better and I’m absolutely horrified. Vomit covers the front of her dress and she’s pale as anything. Her chin keeps dipping down and when she looks up, she’s looking at me like she doesn’t know who I am.
I don’t think I have ever been so scared.
“Mommy?” she finally asks, sounding breathless.
I grab her hand and squeeze it. “It’s okay, angel, mommy’s here.”
“Do you have a doctor?” Bram asks. “Or should we go to the hospital?”
I don’t want to admit right now that I don’t have insurance. “Let me try my doctor,” I say, trying to fish my phone out of my bag but I drop it, my hands are shaking so much.
Steph picks it up and says, “Let’s take her to the emergency room.”
I shake my head. “No. Just…”
But I know if I try my doctor, he won’t answer. I don’t have his home line and the clinic is closed.
“Nicola, it’s okay,” Steph says, squeezing my leg. “Let’s take her to the hospital. Just in case. This could be an allergy.”
“She’s not allergic to anything.”
“But they pop up all the time when you’re a kid, right?”
“That’s right,” Bram says and I finally look over at him. He’s trying to be casual but I can see the concern threaded through his brow. “When I was a wee one, I suddenly developed an allergy to strawberries. I threw up in class in front of everyone including Mrs. Haversham whom I had a mad crush on.”
I can’t even smile at that admission. I just nod, knowing I have to do what’s best for Ava, even if it’s going to cost me an arm and a leg.
“Let’s go,” I tell him. “Any hospital, it doesn’t matter. Whatever is closest.”
He nods and we speed off down the street. Bram is driving like an absolute maniac, or like he’s trying to recreate scenes from “Bullet.” I’m not paying much attention, though. I’m listening to Ava breathe, trying to keep her focused and calm even though I’m not.
Soon, we’re zooming up to the ER and I’m flying out of the car trying to get Ava out of her seat. I lift her into my arms and run inside to the hospital. The smells of rubbing alcohol and plastic and blood fill my nostrils. Suddenly the cost is the last thing on my mind. All I want is to see a doctor and to see one fast. My mind spins a million different ways and all of them are bad.
What’s wrong with her? Did I do something wrong? Is she going to die? Is she going to be okay? What could I have done differently?
I wish Phil was here.
I don’t often think that. But he was there for the first year of her life and it’s hard to forget that I used to have someone who cared just as much about Ava as I did. Then again, if he cared, he never would have left. Sometimes I think it would have been better if he had just skipped town when he first found out I was pregnant, instead of being there for that first year. He had a chance to know her – how come he didn’t love her the way I did? I understand why he left me. I neglected him, I became that doting, obsessed mother I swore I would never become. But how the hell could he leave her?
I swallow down the hard lump in my throat as razor-sharp memories threaten to undo me. I have to be strong. Always so damn strong.
Because the ER is packed, it takes what seems like forever to get the doctor to see us. Steph yells at the receptionist a bunch of times and I think Bram and Astrid are still milling around, even though I’m not really aware of anything except my daughter in my arms. Ava is still having trouble breathing and it’s only when she vomits again that a nurse takes pity on us and leads us away from the moaning, bandaged, sick people in the waiting room.
It’s all going by in a blur. The doctor comes in, but all I can hear is my own heartbeat, not his name. His face is a blank smudge. Steph holds my arm but all I feel is Ava.
He gets Ava on the bed and examines her. Takes blood. Asks me questions.
“What did she eat?”
Steph tells him pasta and cheese, I fill in that she normally has that and has never had a reaction.
“What did she drink?”
I tell him I gave her orange juice with water.
Then Steph tells him Linden gave her some caffeine-free Coke.
This was news to me and now Steph is looking sheepish. I try my hardest to have Ava eating as healthy as possible. Coke is the enemy, as is any soft drink, diet or not. But I also can’t see how Coke could have caused this. It’s not like she’s never had any in her whole life.
The doctor nods at that and then quizzes me more about her dietary habits and other issues.
“She’s totally healthy,” I tell him defensively. Then I remember the last few trips to the doctor. “She’s been really lethargic lately. Tired. Irritable.”
“How long has this been going on?”
“A few months. But the doctor, her doctor, said she’s fine.”
“Has she always been this thin?”
“She’s got more gangly since January,” I explain. “I brought it up with the doctor and he said it was normal.”
“It can be,” the doctor says. “But I think this is something else. Has your daughter been excessively thirsty?”
That question hits me hard. I remember being a thirsty child growing up, always opting to drink something rather than eat, so it never struck me as unusual that Ava is the same.
“Yes,” I say carefully, looking over at Steph. She nods.
“Mrs—“
“Miss,” I quickly inform him. “There is no Mr. in the picture.”
His stoney blank face attempts a look of sympathy. “Okay, Ms. Price. We’ll have to see what the tests say, but it looks like your daughter might have Type 1 diabetes.”
I gasp. I can’t help it. Steph holds my hand tight, but I’m already going numb.
He goes on, “And what she’s going through right now could be diabetic ketoacidosis. Do you know what ketones are, Ms. Price?”
“The stuff your body produces too much of when you’re on the Atkins Diet,” Steph fills in.
He raises a brow. “Yes. We’re going to have to take a urine test to look at her levels and for now we’ve got the IV full of electrolytes to rehydrate and stabilize her. But we may need to give her an insulin injection. And if we do, you’re going to have to give her injections every day for the rest of her life.”
I can’t breathe. Diabetes? “But no one in my family has it,” I blurt out. “She’s always eaten so well. There must be some mistake.”
“We’ll know
for sure soon,” he says. “But type 1 has nothing to do with diet or history, not always. Her pancreas just doesn’t produce enough insulin. Just sit tight and I’ll be back.”
I don’t know how long he’s gone for. Ava is still breathing hard, though her eyes are closed. I keep talking to her to make sure she’s awake but she’s just too tired. The nurse assures me that her vitals are doing a bit better and she’s not in danger anymore, that we brought her in right on time. But still, panic and guilt weighs down on me like a damp, dark cloud.
Somewhere in the back of my head, I’m aware that Steph is here with me, dolled up to the nines and she’s missing her husband’s birthday party. But I’m also afraid to tell her she should go, afraid that she will, that I’ll be alone.
So I don’t say anything and she stays right by my side.
The night stretches on and on. The doctor comes back.
It’s bad news.
CHAPTER THREE
Nicola
Ava has Type 1 juvenile diabetes. It takes a moment to sink in and even though there is some relief that there is a name for what’s wrong with her, I realize that this damn name – diabetes – has a world of connotations.
A disease.
No cure.
My little girl.
Suddenly I’m filled with so much rage with my current doctor that he never suspected, that he never had her tested.
“She’s quite young,” the doctor says, catching the fire on my face. “Usually it happens from around eight to ten years old. She’s going to be fine and live a long healthy life as long as she gets her shots.”
“And how much do those cost?” I can’t believe I’m blurting that out.
He rubs his forehead. “If you aren’t insured, it’s about $300 for a month’s supply. That’s for the insulin. You’ll also need needles, an insulin pen when you’re on the go, and a blood sugar monitor.”
I can’t even fathom what the hospital bill is going to cost me, let alone $300 a month to keep Ava alive. Obviously there is no alternative – I’ll pay it. But I don’t know how, and that, that scares me more than anything.