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“Like at our new school?”
I shrug again. We start first grade next week. Daddy said there will be lots of new kids there. And a new teacher. Maybe she can be our mommy.
“It has to be someone nice,” he keeps talking, “and she has to love us both.”
“And cook pancakes,” I add. We haven’t had pancakes since Mommy left. Only cereal, usually with no milk. Or bread.
“Yes, lots of pancakes with chocolate chips.”
I hug Brendan. We sit at the window, and he tells me everything he wants our new mommy to be. Soon, we’re smiling. Our eyes aren’t sad. We’re going to find the best Mommy ever. And she will love us both. And make lots and lots of pancakes.
Kicking my foot, Brendanwakes me from my nap. “Think she’s up yet?” He prances on the deck like a toddler waiting for a cookie.
I run my hand over my face, blinking a few times. I must have fallen asleep while he put the camper shell on the back of his truck.
“Come on, think she’s up yet?”
My phone still rests in my other hand. I turn it on and glance at the time. It’s a little after five in the evening. By most standards, our weekend is almost over. But we’re making the most of the last few hours of our Sunday.
Yesterday, after our breakfast finally got too cold to pretend to eat, we ordered delivery, then watched movies on Asra’s couch until she crashed again.Deciding to let her sleep the rest of the night and all day today, we haven’t seen her since. It’s eating at me, too. But, since her attack Friday night, I don’t want to come on too strong.
After the third movie, when Asra couldn’t even keep her eyes open, Brendan and I retired back to our place and had a long talk. We both still want her, but her health comes first. We’re not going to do anything to risk another attack. That means taking it even slower.
We ended up talking the rest of the night. It put us even more behind on our remodel, but we made up for it this morning. The tile is all up and the shelving in the closets installed. First thing tomorrow, the plumber will be here to connect all the bathroom appliances. Then it’s just paint, flooring, and accessories.Hopefully by Wednesday, we have two functional bathrooms and can start actually moving into our house.
I glance at the clock on my phone one more time before turning it off. I spent the last hour researching porphyria until I dozed off. I’m even more confused and upset than when I started.
Asra’s right, there’s no clear cut symptoms, triggers, or cure. What she failed to mention, though, is one bad attack could send her into a coma or kill her. It’s not just some bad stomach ache or a little sensitivity to the sun. It’s serious, life changing, and debilitating.There are a few new drugs and trials for it, though. I wonder if she’s considered any of them.
Running my hands through my hair, I glance up at the sky. I’d like to give her a few more minutes, wait until the sun hangs lower. But I have so many more questions. I want answers. Need answers. Otherwise I’m just going to drive myself crazy.
“Yeah, I suppose we can get ready, then head over there.”
“Get ready?” He raises his eyebrows. “What more do we have to get ready?”
“We’ll, there’s . . .” I glance behind us through the back door into the kitchen. The picnic basket is already packed. I’m still not sure how he found it in all of the boxes. He already cleaned out his truck, installed the camper top, and packed most of it. We both decided to take a dip in the pool after we finished tiling earlier. So, I guess we don’t need to shower or change. I stroke the slight stubble across my chin. I could shave, it’s almost starting to resemble Brendan’s permanent five o’clock shadow. But if I busted out my shaving kit, he’d probably complain that I’m procrastinating. All that’s left is to finish loading the truck and that will only take a minute. “Yeah, um . . . I guess we’re all set.”
“Time to kidnap our princess.” He shifts from one foot to the other, rubbing his hands together with a huge grin on his face.
“Easy there, Danny Boy, there’ll be no kidnapping. If she doesn’t want to go, we’re not forcing her.”
“Why wouldn’t she wanna go?”
“I’m not saying that. But if she doesn’t want to, we’re not pushing it.”
“Yeah,” he nods a few times, “you go with that. And when she goes with us, which she will, you’re not in charge of shit.”
I shake my head and head inside. It only takes me a few seconds to find my shoes.
“Loafers? Bro?” Brendan asks following me.
“What’s wrong with my shoes?” I stare at mine, then his dirty work boots.
“Nothing,” he grabs the cooler, “it matches your picnic basket and tablecloth perfectly.”
“You’re the one who pulled them out of the box. And it’s a picnic blanket.”
“Whatever.” He grunts as he pushes the door open and hauls the cooler outside.
