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Mom: Call me. Mom xo
Harper: I’m not feeling so good. Rain check?
Mom: Okay. Call me when you can. Look after yourself. Mom xo
Part of me wanted to tell her she didn’t need to end every text with ‘Mom xo,’ but it would only fall on deaf ears, just like my father’s mistreatment of his only child had for all these years.
When I was a little girl, learning how to adapt to my diagnosis, Mom was there. She would comb through ingredient lists, research Harper-friendly foods, and experiment with new recipes. But as I grew older and learned to manage my disease, her interest waned. Or maybe it just was too many years spent listening to my dad’s tirades.
One meal won’t hurt.
It’s just a little stomachache; quit complaining.
Stop making a fuss, Harriet.
Just let her eat the damn pasta.
As my mother, she was supposed to choose me—to fight for me—but Harriet Dixon was weak, and as time went on, she chose him over me.
It was a lonely life, which is why I couldn’t wait to come to Lakeshore U.
And now he was here, and I was supposed to just roll over and accept it.
* * *
By some small miracle, I managed to make it to the RCC. My insides still felt like a hammer had pounded them, but I was up on two feet, ready for my session with Scottie, and the rest of the kids in the group.
Linda greeted me, casting a concerned eye toward me. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, I’m fine,” I said.
“Harper, if you’re sick—”
“Don’t worry, it isn’t catching,” I said. “It’s just a flare-up. But I’ve got it under control, I swear.”
“You’re sure? Because we can handle things without you today.”
“No, I’m here. I can do it.”
Just then, the doors swung open, and my name filled the room.
“Harper. Harper,” Scottie bellowed.
“Someone’s happy to see you,” Linda smiled, giving my shoulder a little squeeze. “Any trouble, you let me know.”
“Harper.”
“Hey, Scottie, how’s it going?” I smiled.
“You came back.” He looked me up and down. “You didn’t die.”
“No, buddy. I didn’t die. But I’m not feeling so great.”
“What’s wrong? Do you have the mono? Mom says that’s catching. She says—”
“No, I don’t have mono.” Soft laughter spilled out of me. “Remember I told you that I get sick sometimes when I eat gluten?” He nodded, and I went on, “Well, I got glutened. But I’ll be fine. I’m excited about the origami.”
“It sounds kind of lame,” he murmured.
