Page 4 of Let's Pretend I'm Okay

“Maybe I don’t want my glasses to pop,” she says through the comforter.

I like Annie’s glasses. I think they’re cute and she should wear them with confidence.

“If you don’t walk out in that shirt, I will disown you,” I say, walking to the door.

“You can’t disown me. We shared a womb.”

I laugh and head to the bathroom to finish getting ready. I brush my short hair and put on my makeup. After brushing my teeth, I choose my earrings. I never leave the house without a pair. Today, I pick tangerines to match my overalls.

Downstairs Mama is setting out breakfast. She has an apron tied tightly around her waist as she sets down a plate with scrambled eggs, toast, and bacon.

There are only three places set. “Where’s Papa?”

“He had to go to work early,” she says.

“Again?”

Mama kisses my head. “He’ll be home for dinner. He promised.”

I raise an eyebrow. “He promised?”

Mama smiles and looks up. “I may have told him I’d make steak.”

Papa is always working. He’s been working overtime ever since Mama stopped working three years ago when I got sick.

My freshman year of high school I was diagnosed with Acute Myeloid Leukemia, which prompted my mother to quit her job as a labor and delivery nurse and dote on me fulltime. I’ve been in remission for over a year now, but she refuses to go back to work. She prefers staying home and treating me like a porcelain doll. That also means Papa is responsible for paying all the bills. I miss having him around, but I understand the situation. He works hard for us, and I appreciate it even if I wished he’d spend more time with us.

“Where’s your chauffeur?” Mama asks.

I sit down at the table. “Still in bed.”

Mama takes off her apron and sets it on her chair. “You two are not going to be late for your first day of school,” she says, marching out of the room.

I laugh, taking a bite of toast. Annie might not get out of bed when I tell her to, but she’s no match for Mama. No matter how much she argues, Mama will win. She always does.

A few minutes later Annie walks in for breakfast wearing the light blue shirt I suggested. She sits down across from me and sighs.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

She leans on the table. “I’m not ready for another year of school.”

“Three months off wasn’t enough for you?”

“Nope.”

Mama joins us, but instead of eating, she pours us juice. “Are you sure you two don’t want cold lunch? I can whip something up quickly if you’ve changed your mind.”

“That’s okay,” I say.

“I’m good,” Annie says.

“I really don’t mind,” Mama says. “I don’t want you to grow up thinking your mother didn’t love you because she didn’t make you lunch.”

“Trust me, that’s not what we’re thinking.” I pat the table and smile. “Sit and eat.”

Mama sits. “My friend’s sister said her son ate a spoiled egg from school and ended up in the hospital. That could’ve been avoided if she made him lunch.”

Annie pushes her glasses up to the bridge of her nose and cracks open a book, and I shovel a bite of eggs into my mouth.

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