Page 14 of Let's Pretend I'm Okay

She chuckles, tears still flowing. “Has anyone told you that you act way older than you are?”

I smile. “You. Every day.”

She wraps her arms around me. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do without you.”

I pat her hand. “We don’t have to think about that yet. Why don’t we get up and go find Papa? We’ve done enough worrying for one day.”

“I don’t think I’m ready,” she says.

I tilt my head, peering up at her. “Do you realize how many people are outside waiting to use the bathroom?”

She crosses her arms. “My angel baby is dying, and I’m trying to wrap my head around that. So what if they have to wait?”

I stand and hold out my hand. “Mama, it’s time to go.”

She nods, taking my hand. “I know.”

I help pull her to her feet.

She adjusts her clothes and takes one look in the mirrorbefore pulling out her lipstick and applying it. She swears a woman can never have enough lipstick. “I’m ready.”

I unlock the door and open it, revealing the unhappy line.

Mama takes a deep breath and steps forward.

“It’s about time,” the first person in line says.

Mama stops and locks her eyes onto them, and with a stone-cold expression, says, “The world does not revolve around your bladder.”

Before the other person has a chance to respond, I grab Mama’s arm. “Okay,” I say, nervously laughing. “Time to go.”

Another minute here and she’d start a fight. She’d win, but that’s not the point. The point is, we need to get out of here before those poor souls get in trouble.

Mama keeps her head up as we pass the entire line of people. I, on the other hand, try to hide how my cheeks are burning up.

Convincing Mama to pretend I’m not dying is a lot harder than I thought it would be. Granted, I didn’t really know what to expect, but I’ve spent most of the day rehashing the same conversation over and over again.

“Why aren’t you upset?” she demands.

Because it’s not real to me, and I don’t want it to be. If I tell myself I’m okay, maybe I’ll believe the lie too.

“What about Annie?” she asks. “Do you really expect us not to tell her?”

“I just want a little time. I want to be the one to tell her.”

Arguing doesn’t do much good. Mama agrees but isn’t happy about it. She hides in her room the rest of the day which isn’t like her. She’s usually busy running around thehouse doing laundry, dishes, and everything in-between. She doesn’t even make dinner. That’s a bad sign.

Annie comes home, plopping down on the couch the second she walks in.

“So how was work?” I ask. It’s Annie’s third day.

She shrugs.

“What’s wrong?”

She grabs a pillow and smacks herself in the face with it. “The concert sold out in ten minutes. I didn’t have a chance.”

“What?”

---