Page 6 of My Sweet Dollie, You Have to Love Me
Dollie can’t help it, and I know that. Her illness is intense. It’s something to do with her stomach, and it makes her spend a lot of time in the bathroom. For whatever reason, it’s always worse at night.
“That’s true.” She smiles, still lingering in the doorway as she looks over the space as if it looks different from any of the other rooms in the house, which are all painted this depressing blue color. Aside from the carpet on the stairs and maybe those gargoyles, it’s the only thing I don’t like about the new house.
As if she’s reading my thoughts, she asks, “What color are you thinking of in here?”
I shrug.
“You know, you can pick any color you like.” She’s deep in my room now, one of two old beds dipping below her weight.
Both of us have blank expressions as we stare at each other until I can’t hold my cringe anymore. That bed is damp, and I don’t have to sit on it to know that.
“Do I have to sleep on that?”
Please say no.
“No.” She cringes, too.“It won’t be the most comfortable sleep tonight, but your dad is blowing up pool mattresses.
Probably wise, as I’m sinking into the carpet like it’s made of water.
“Come to me, baby.”
The crutch takes me closer, and her arm is around my shoulder, pulling me onto her knee. Her other hand fingers the bedsheets, and an unpleasant sound leaves her mouth when she feels the dampness kissing them.
I lean into her, feeling a little misplaced but more content than I have since coming to America. Mom makes more effort with me than Dad does. It hurts and warms me at once to have someone who loves me, but that person is not one of my real parents.
Her fingers rub my back, and I put an arm around her shoulder, giving a gentle squeeze.
She laughs. “Oh, baby, you do make my heart burst sometimes.”
Sometimes, meaning when I’m not distant and avoiding family time, like I do most days.
“I know it’s a big change,” she continues, “and I know you feel there are lots of germs, but I’m sure you’ll grow to like it here.”
“I do like the house.”
“Do you not like living with your dad and me?”
Fighting the urge to shrug again, I do no more than take in a big breath of the musty air.
“Maybe I’ll get used to that, too.”
“Maybe spending some time as a family will help? Maybe when we paint over this ugly blue?” Her smile is back once more, and mine is, too.
She kisses me on the cheek, leaving a mocha stain behind, and then she’s on her feet, helping me with my crutch again.
She only takes one step before the sinister doodle catches her attention.
“That’s kinda grim, wouldn’t you agree?”
My head bobs as she turns back to me, telling me again that we can paint over it.
“Mom.”
She stops at my door, twisting back to me.
“Can I really have any color?”
“Of course.”
