Page 21 of Let's Pretend I'm Okay

I move her hand. “I promise I feel fine.” I’m a little tired and sore, but for the most part I can ignore it.

She checks me all over. “Are you sure?”

I nod.

“Well, if you don’t, let me know. I picked up your prescription this afternoon if you need it.”

I hug her, squeezing her tight. “Thank you.”

“Are you sure you don’t want cocoa?”

I know she wants to feel useful. There isn’t much she can do for me, so I smile. “You know what? That would be great.”

Her eyes sparkle and I follow her into the kitchen where she starts heating the milk for the cocoa.

Next to me on the counter there’s a stack of mail, and I lift it up to see if there’s anything interesting. Normally, the majority of our mail is from credit card companies trying to get us to sign up for a new card. Sometimes we’re blessed with coupons for the different fast food places in the area, which, if I’m honest, is the sole purpose I picked up the pile.

One letter sticks out. It’s addressed to Mama, and it’s from the hospital she used to work at. “What’s this?”

Mama peeks over. “Oh, that’s nothing. They’ve been sending me those letters for weeks.”

I open the letter and skim over the words. “Mama, have you read this? They’re offering you a ten percent raise if you come back.”

She shrugs. “I don’t have time for it. I’m too busy to start working again.”

I tilt my head and raise an eyebrow. “But you loved it, and you were the best. They’re literally begging you to come back.” I hold it up for her to see.

She waves it away. “It’s been too long.”

“I know you haven’t let your license expire.”

“That’s different. I haven’t worked in almost three years. I’ve probably lost my edge.”

My mother has most definitely not lost her edge. She might not think she practices, but she is constantly reminding everyone around her she is in fact a nurse. It doesn’t matter she worked in labor and delivery, if there is anything remotely medical brought up, she shares her two cents. To be fair, half the time she tells wild, non-medically-accurate stories, but we all know to take them with a grain of salt.

“You should call them. Just hear them out.”

She’d love it, and it would give her something to focus on other than me. It would also mean that Papa wouldn’t have to work as much. It’s the perfect solution.

Mama opens the fridge to find whipped cream, conveniently not answering.

She may be stubborn, but I’m a miniature version of her. “At least tell me you’ll think about it.”

Her mouth opens like she’s about to protest, but I cut her off. “You don’t have to say yes. Just don’t say no. Not yet.”

“Fine,” she says. “I will think about it, but no promises.”

“Thank you.” I smile big, and give her another quick hug. Bringing babies into the world has always been her favorite thing, and taking care of people comes second nature to her. I know if she jumped back into it, she’d fall in love with it all over again.

The afternoon goes by fast and before I know it, we’ve finished our homework and eaten dinner. Then we each grab a blanket and huddle on the couch with a bowl of ice cream. Annie, being the hopeless romantic she is, and me, being the people pleaser I am, somehow create the perfect combination for us choosing her favorite movie—Leap Year. I have to admit, I do love a good Amy Adams movie, but this is probably the eighth time we’ve watched it this year alone.

My sister’s face glows, smiling and giggling as if she’s never seen it before. She pats my leg repeatedly. “Look! It’s the best part.”

But instead of watching the movie, I watch her. I wish more people got to see her this way. Whenever we’re around anyone other than family, she closes up, refusing to talk. It’s like she doesn’t want people to know how cool she is.

“You’re missing the movie,” Annie says, holding a pillow close. “He’s about to kiss her.”

I laugh and turn my eyes back to the happy couple.

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