A playful expression crosses his face. “Henrietta, perhaps you can give your father a small reprieve and save your ‘I’m an atheist’ announcement for another day. Would that be all right?”
I laugh. “Sure, Dad.”
“Much appreciated. And no, I don’t think you’re crazy.”
Even though I don’t believe in them, I get his point about angels. I had kind of forgotten that people believe in things that can’t be explained all the time.
My mom and brother are on the porch now, my mom jingling her keys out of her purse. I stand up and put my hand on my dad’s shoulder. “Okay, Dad. Thanks for the talk.”
“Of course. And Hattie?”
“Yeah, Dad?” I say as I head up the stairs.
“I’ll see Dr. Porter if you want me to.”
“Okay. We can go together if you want.” That might make being in the Holding Cell of Pathetic Blobs a little less pathetic.
“Great.”
He said he was proud of me. But for what, exactly?
If I were going to be proud of me, and I’m not saying that I am, but if I were, it would be for continuing to exist. I’ve had to say goodbye to the life I thought I was going to have. But I’m still here. Still brushing my teeth and tying my shoelaces and going to class. I keep thinking I’m a different person now. But really, I’m still just me. Or maybe I am different, but not worse. I still don’t buy Dad’s bit about how we need an untreatable disease to keep us humble, otherwise we’d be too superior for the world to even handle us, but maybe there’s a way that RP is making me think more. About what I want, what I appreciate, what’s important to me. Honestly, maybe that’s what Dad meant in the first place.
Later that night, Mason’s voice breaks through the recording on Spanish verb tenses I’m listening to for homework. “I’ve been thinking about what you asked me before. About why.”Hattie escuchaba a español cuando Mason interrumpió, I think as I pull off my headphones.
“Why what?”
“Why I didn’t wear the life jacket.”
Oh, that why. “It’s not your fault. I hope you don’t think I implied that. It’s nobody’s fault,” I say.
“It’s a legit question. If I had worn it instead of tossing it onto the dock, I would still be a red-blooded, breathing, human person. There’s no erasing that.”
I don’t argue. Instead, I say, “I don’t usually get blessed with so much Mason in such a short period of time.”
“What can I say? Your visit to the old homestead got me all energized.”
I wait, then say, “And did you figure it out? About the life jacket?”
He sighs. “I didn’t take anything seriously. When I did, the whole world seemed like it was in all caps. Too real, you know? It made me feel like my skin was on fire. I had to always sort of look away from myself. Like I was too busy or distracted to even notice I was alive. Now I can’t look away.”
“I get that.” It sounds like a mash-up of my dad and me. Like we’re all Goldilocks and the porridge is life. Sometimes it’s too real and sometimes it’s not real enough and we’re all trying to find just the right amount.
“You do?”
“Existing is hard.” I prop myself up on my elbow. “Which reminds me. I know you said you weren’t here to help me. But I thought maybe you’re here so I can help you. That’s why I went to your house. So what do you think? Did talking to your mom do anything helpful? What else can I do?”
“Nothing. You don’t need to do anything, Murph. I mean, yeah, I liked what you said to my mom before. But all the reasons are overlapping now.”
“What do you mean?”
He’s quiet for a long time. Then: “Like I said. I didn’t take anything seriously. And that was including you. No, wait, that’s not right. I didn’t take how I felt about you seriously.”
My heart is suddenly pounding. “How you felt about me?”
So quietly I can barely make it out, he says, “How Ifeelabout you.”
It’s hard to pull in enough air to get out the question with all the butterflies bouncing around my chest. “Howdoyou feel about me?”
