Page 106 of Daydream

“And why are you acting like you aren’t still growing?” she counters, returning to the stove.

“I didn’t get taller in the last week.”

“Halle, darlin’. Do you want your noodles in your soup or on the side?” Halle looks to me for guidance like it’s some kind of test. “When Henry was a toddler, every few months he’d get strep throat and all he’d eat was chicken noodle soup. But he would not eat it if there were noodles touching his carrots. He wouldn’t tell us that, though; we had to figure out why he was crying through a process of elimination.”

“And I’ve heard about it ever since,” I mutter.

“Talk loud enough to be heard or be quiet, baby,” Mama says, not missing a beat. “I think I cooked more soup than every family on the West Coast that year. So now it’s a family tradition to serve your noodles on the side, but I’ll put yours in the bowl for you if you like.”

“On the side sounds good, thank you,” Halle says, sounding more polite than she’s ever been to me.

Mama and Halle talk. Well, Mama asks Halle questions about where she’s from, what she’s studying, what her hobbies are. And Halle answers in the same polite tone instead of saying, “Leave me alone, I’m sick.” My fingers tap against the marble counter and my foot bobs up and down as I listen to them go on, and on, and on.

“What’s got your feathers ruffled?” Mama says to me with a pointed look.

“Are you going to examine her? She’s really sick.” I have too much energy in my body, and I can’t sit still. I just need to stop obsessing over it, but I can’t. Her expression softens.

“I thought it would be polite to let the poor girl eat a hot meal before I start poking at her, Henry. I hear you’re stubborn, Halle.” Halle’s mouth opens, but no sound comes out. “Which suits my son, who is stubborn as a mule when he wants to be. Isn’t that right, baby?”

Now it’s my turn not to have anything to say, because how am I catching strays when Halle is the one in the wrong?

Mama laughs to herself. “Lookin’ like a couple of goldfish. Let me find a thermometer.”

When she disappears, Halle turns to me. “I can’t believe you told your mom I’m stubborn! She’s going to think I’m difficult and unappreciative now. That’s going to be her first impression of me. I’m not even stubborn; I literally agree to do everything for everyone all the time and that’s why I’m sick.”

If she’s annoyed, then I’m more annoyed. “Exactly. You do everything for everyone all the time and you get sick and you don’t ever put yourself first.”

“It’s never a problem when I’m doing things for you!” she says, and I want to argue back, but she’s right. I treat it differently when it benefits me. “I didn’t mean that, Henry. I’m sorry. I’m just grouchy because I’m tired of being sick. You’re right; I should have gone to the doctor last week. I was just… I don’t have an excuse. I’m sorry I made you so worried.”

“I don’t want to be top of your priority list. I mean, I want to be second, but I want to be after you. I wantyouto start prioritizing yourself over everyone else.”

“I hear you,” she says. Quickly looking around the room and confirming we’re alone, she leans in to kiss my cheek. “I don’t want to give you my germs.”

“That’s okay. We’ll make up for lost time when you’re better.”

MAMA SAIDHALLE HAS Astraightforward—not fatal—illness, and with a few days of real rest, hydration, and medicine she would recover.

On the drive home Halle called her boss and told him she wouldn’t be in this week, and also called Inayah to cancel book club. Then she called Mrs. Astor and asked if she’d mind looking after Joy for a few days while she stayed with a friend. For some reason, the way she said friend made me feel unhappy. Maybe it was because I wanted to bring Joy with us, but apparently testing if Robbie is lying about his cat allergy is mean and probably illegal.

“Mrs. Astor tells me I look like her husband every time I talk to her. I asked to see a picture and he’s an old white guy with no hair,” I say to Halle when I get back from taking Joy next door.

Halle looks up from packing her bag and laughs; it’s the brightest I’ve heard her sound in weeks. “She means future husband. It’s a joke she and my nana used to share. A bit like a,Oh, you feel like boyfriend materialtype thing. Like,Oh, you look like my husband. Which one? My next one.She’s hitting on you, Hen.”

“Are you going to go fight for me?” I ask, watching her immediately roll her eyes.

“Absolutely not.”

“You answered that quick. Why not?”

“Because I’ve known that lady since I was a baby,” Halle says. “And mainly because I know she did martial arts in the seventies.”

“I’d fight for you if Mrs. Astor was a Mr. Astor, may he rest in peace.”

She adds what I hope is the final thing to her bag, then starts to zip it up. “I’d never want you to fight for me with anyone over anything. Fighting is for fools, and you are not a fool.”

My eyebrow creeps up a little. “Fighting is for fools?”

She laughs, rubbing her fingers against her temple, which tells me she’s due more medicine soon. “Grayson used to get into fightsallthe time when we were younger, and it’s something my mom said to him. She had it made into one of those motivational cross-stitch quote frame things. Like the ones you get about Jesus. I think he still has it; I’ll get him to send a picture if he has.”

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