I’m not sure whether I’m relieved or disappointed that Cosmos never came back. This thing we can do—whatever it is—scares me. It’s not normal or natural. It’s not something that should happen. What does it mean that time stops when I’m with this terrifyingly attractive and confident stranger?
As curious as I was earlier, as much as I wanted him to stay and figure it out with me, with somedistance it seems better to avoid Cosmos. He must have decided the same.
I pick up my computer and open the document titledfinalfinalMFAmanuscript.doc. I stare at the screen full of words that need to be rewritten. They taunt me, mock how little I’ve accomplished this week, dare me to write something good. Something that will impress my professors, that will change people’s minds about me, that even Jeremy won’t ignore or condemn.
My phone buzzes with a text, but I already know who it is. Aunt Joan is the only one who texts me this late at night. She never sleeps. I don’t want to answer it, but I know if I don’t, she’ll just keep trying, and I already have Jeremy sending me dozens of texts a day.
Aunt Joan:
How’s she doing?
You realize it’s 2am, right?
Aunt Joan:
Dolls balls! I was making something for your mom and got distracted. Didn’t know it was so late already. I’m gonna bring it down on Thursday, alright?
Aunt Joan’s been Mom’s best friend since high school, and if there’s one thing I know about her, it’s that I don’t want her bringing anything she’s made to the hospital. When I was seven, she made me a doll so creepy it would have scared the clown fromIt. Half ofits head was covered in neon green hair that stuck out in every direction. Inexplicably, the other half was bald. I swear the eyes followed me, and its mouth looked like it’d been sewn shut.
I told Mom I lost it, but I chucked it in the dumpster one night when I couldn’t take it anymore.
Then there was last Christmas. Aunt Joan knit Mom a sweater with sleeves that weren’t the same length. The front had a cactus on it that looked like a ten-fingered hand. It was so disturbing I couldn’t even look at it.
I don’t know if she’s up for visitors.
Aunt Joan:
If you think you’re gonna keep me from my best friend when she’s on death’s doorstep, you've got another thing coming to you, kiddo. I already shuffled everything around in my schedule and loaded my phone with audiobooks for the drive. Besides, don’t you have class? Your mom said you have some special workshop thing on Thursdays.
Ugh, she’s right. I’ve already missed Thursday’s workshop two weeks in a row. Another absence won’t go unnoticed. I shouldn’t miss it again, and I don’t want to leave Mom alone, so I’ll just have to deal with Aunt Joan. At least I have a few days to psych myself up for it.
Aunt Joan:
Class going okay?
got to go. Mom’s awake.
I cringe at the lie, but push send. I don’t want to talk about class. Aunt Joan thought getting my MFA was a waste of money and told me so in no uncertain terms.
Going back to my computer, I painstakingly type out a paragraph, erase it, stare at the darkness beyond the window, re-read two paragraphs, erase one of them, slam my computer closed, and pick up my phone.
I’ve started reading books on my phone so that I won’t wake Mom with the light. The book I started last night is a beautifully written story of sisterhood and coming of age, but I can’t focus. I switch to reading a fantasy novel Kiara told me about and slowly sink into the story.
Just as the main character is about to free the man she loves from prison so they can lead an attack against the king, my phone buzzes multiple times in a row.
Ex-dad:
I thought you were going to call me.
Any updates on your mom? How long are they going to keep her?
Did you read about the new drug they’re using for treating leukemia? You should ask the doctors about it.
I also just saw this article about using black walnut extract to treat cancer.
Seriously, does no one sleep anymore? I know it’s three hours later where Father Cheats-a-lot lives in Boston, but it’s still way too early there for him to be texting.
He attaches the link, not caring that she doesn’t have leukemia and no accessible tumors on her skin, which is primarily what black walnut is used for—I know because I already looked into it. I looked at every option when Mom was first diagnosed two years ago, even those with no scientific backing.
