Page 80 of This I Know
She doesn’t look up from the book she’s holding in both hands. “Only two. Today and next week. Then if you’re cleared by your doctors, that can be it.” She looks at me just as I’m taking another drink. “What–will you put that back? After last night, you really don’t want to be pushing my buttons.”
Nope. She didn’t forget, and she probably saw.
I take a seat next to her and stretch out my leg. It hasn’t hurt at all today, and I didn’t even managed to forget about my injuries completely last night. Of course, that might have been because I was distracted by other, more handsome and delicious-smelling things. Like, you know … the handsome boy who I regretfully let walk away from my front porch.
“I think I can be cleared,” I say, successfully avoiding the elephant in the room.
She glances over the side of one page. “Do you?”
I stroke my leg up and down in the familiar massage-like technique I was taught in the hospital. I nod. “No pain yesterday.”
“Really? I’m so glad to hear that.” Her voice is monotone, and although her words were kind, I can tell she’s not really listening to me. She’s still reading and she’s got that focused, otherworldly look in her eyes. Her look of avoidance.
Suddenly, she slams the book shut. She shifts her weight toward me and rests her head on her elbow, her other hand gripping her knees which are lifted onto couch. “How’s school?”
“It’s okay.” My usual monotonous answer.
Then, without warning, she comes out with it. And thatitis something I didn’t even know she had within her to come out.
“Who’s the boy?” She’s playing with her fingernails, picking at them. I know what she’s doing. She’s pretending to be all absentminded so the weight of what she just said doesn’t hit me like a ton of bricks.
What move now, Avery? Should I try to pull off the whole,What boy?Since I know my mom, I think better of it.
Instead, I pull my legs up, too, matching her flexibility. I’m trying to show her that I am getting better, after all. Time is passing. I can do things now. I can stuff my once-injured leg into awkward positions, just like you. I can talk to a boy.
It turns out, maneuvering my legs does take a little more effort than I would have liked; I hope she doesn’t notice, but with the guidance of my hand cupped to my knee, I get it done.
I should have known better than to think the porch light could have been anything other than her from somewhere inside the house. And so the smartest thing to do right now is to just come out with it. “His name is Ethan.”
There’s a pause between us. I’m calm, but my heart is racing a little faster than I’d like.
Finally, she rubs her temple. “I’m disappointed in you, Avery.”
Oh, God. Disappointed? That’s the worst word she could have pulled out. There are a million other words I’d rather hear from her right now, kinder words that wouldn’t feel like a violent sledgehammer against my chest.
While I’m recovering from the blow, she continues, “I thought we talked about this. Didn’t we? Didn’t we talk about this?”
“I remember talking about staying away from a certain someone. And I have.”
“Honey, we talked about staying away from a certain gender. Didn’t we?”
If she saysdidn’t weone more time…
I slump my head against the couch. “I’m feeling better, Mom. And Ethan’s nice. Really, he is. I like him because he’s nothing like Cole. He’s … kind.”
She sighs. “Avery, that’s not the point. The point is you were supposed to be taking a break from this sort of thing so we can make sure you’re on the right track. There’s been a lot to deal with, and I want to make sure we get you back out into the world on the right foot.”
“I am on the right track,” I mumble. If she doesn’t cut this out, I’m going feel hurt. And then mad. In that order. I lower my head, ashamed to look at her. That whole disappointed thing is still getting to me. “I feel better.”
I try to distract myself from her boring gaze by listening to the melodramatic hum of the television.
She sighs. Loudly. Just like my subconscious message I tried sending her that my leg is, in fact, okay, she’s trying to tell me she is, in fact, pissed. “I guess it’s a good thing you have that counseling appointment tomorrow, too.”
“Thatwhat?” Counseling appointment? This is news to me. It sounds foreboding.
“Oh, I’m sure we talked about it, Avery. It’s part of your discharge plan. Remember? The doctor said when you’re feeling better and ready to move on, you go through a session with the hospital’s counselor to make sure everything’s okay.”
“Oh.” No, Mom, I don’t remember that. And I’m pretty sure if that had in fact happened, it would have sounded so intimidating that it would have been imprinted in my brain.
