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“The hospital will provide you with resources, options for the situation. Ultimately, it’ll be up to you and Britney to decide on the next step. We’ll keep her overnight and on fluids.”
They both nod, conceding.
“I’ll have a nurse bring over the information. Please talk to your daughter. Listen to her.” He walks away afterward.
I step back into the room.
Britney is staring at the bedsheet and biting her lip. She appears anxious about the imminent conversation.
Mom and Dad enter.
“Have I been pressuring you too much?” Mom asks Britney, using the guilt-trip card. She walks around the bed to hold her hand. “I’ll talk to your instructor. We’ll cut your time at the studio; two hours instead of three.”
“Actually,” Britney rasps, pulling her hand away. “I’d like to take a break from ballet.”
“What?” Mom gasps and presses her palm to her chest like she’s near a heart attack. “You can’t be serious. You’ll miss your chance at Juilliard.”
“Is that what you truly want, sweetheart?” Dad confirms. He moseys to the other side of the bed, worry lines in his forehead.
Britney nods. “I don’t love it anymore. I haven’t for a long time.”
“It happens,” Mom argues. “After a bit of rest, you’ll be right back at it.”
“You’re not listening to her,” I interject, having enough.
“Stay out of this, Brandon.” Mom peers over her shoulder at me, scowling.
I ball my fists and tell her sternly, “No. Don’t you get it? You can’t make up for what you did to me by going harder with Brit. She’s sick of it. Your constant pushing is killing her.”
Mom pivots to face me. “That’s not true. I’ve only…” She’s unable to finish. Her blue eyes wilt with shame the longer she stares at me.
“It is true, Mom,” Britney mutters, fighting for strength. “I’m not well. The best thing for me is to give it a break. Take care of myself.” At least she doesn’t deny it.
Dad lovingly touches her shoulder. “We’ll support you, honey. You won’t do it alone. I’m so sorry I haven’t been paying attention.”
Britney manages a smile for him.
Without uttering another word, Mom storms out of the room.
Fuckingunbelievable.
Some things never change.
Once again, when shit is too much for her, she runs away. Like a peace out to the ones she claims she loves.
I glance at my sister.
She’s watching the door. The disappointment is evident, reminiscent of my own four years ago.
“Never mind your mother,” Dad says, face distorted with hurt. “She has inner demons.” He gives Britney’s hand a gentle squeeze. “Um, I’m going to take care of the paperwork. I’ll be right back.”
“Okay.”
He kisses her forehead before leaving the room.
Britney looks at me.
I rake my fingers through my hair and stare at the door, hating the little part inside that still hopes. The kid that’s still in the bathroom, back in Ohio, crying for his mother.
