Page 70 of The Goal

When the shift is over, I barely have the energy to pour myself into the car and drive out of the parking lot. I make it home, but the minute I hit the kitchen, another wave of nausea strikes. I slap a hand over my mouth and rush to the bathroom.

“What’s wrong with the two of you?” grumbles Ray, who’s standing at the open door. He’s wearing one of his stained white tank tops untucked over a pair of gray sweatpants. In one hand is a beer.

You. You’re what’s wrong with us.

Then the meaning of his words sinks in. “What do you mean the two of us? Is Nana sick?”

“So she says. She didn’t finish making my breakfast. She got sick and had to go pass out in the bedroom.” He jerks his head toward Nana’s room.

I drag myself to my feet and stumble into her room. “Nana, you sick?” I ask.

The room’s dark and she’s lying on the bed with an eye mask on her face. “Yeah. I think I came down with the flu.”

“Shit. I’ve got it too.”

“I heard you puking this morning.”

“Sorry.”

She pats the bed. “Come over here and lay next to me, baby. You done with work?”

I nod, even though she can’t see me. “Yeah, I’m off until tomorrow morning. No club tonight.”

“That’s good. You work too hard.”

I crawl onto the space that she’s made for me. Back when I was little, I used to sleep with Nana. I’d get scared and she’d find me huddled under my blankets, crying into my pillow. Mom was off with Ray or one of the many men she had before Ray. Nana would carry me into her room and tell me that the monsters weren’t going to get me as long as we held on to each other.

I find my grandmother’s hand and twine my fingers through hers. “It’s only for a few more months.”

“Don’t kill yourself before then.”

“I won’t.”

She squeezes my fingers. “I’m sorry about what I said.”

“What’s that?”

“That you’re uppity. That your mama thought about getting rid of you. I’m glad she didn’t. I love you, baby girl.”

Tears prick my eyes. “I love you too.”

“I’m sorry I’m not a better parent to you.”

“You’ve done a good job,” I protest. “I’m going to Harvard, remember?”

“Yeah. Harvard.” The word is filled with disbelief and wonder.

“What about me?” Ray whines from the doorway. “You never finished cooking breakfast and it’s now fucking lunch time.”

Next to me, I can feel Nana’s slight body shake and I don’t know whether it’s from anger or sickness. I force myself to sit up. “You stay here, Nana. I’ll get it.”

She turns her head away from the door, away from Ray, but also away from me. I guess, secretly, I wanted her to tell Ray to go fuck himself.

He grunts as I pass him on my way to the kitchen.

“What do you want?” I open the fridge and find it surprisingly empty. I wonder if Nana’s been feeling sick for a while and I haven’t noticed.

“Grilled cheese and tomato soup,” he says. He drags a chair away from the kitchen table and drops his skinny ass into it.

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