by Abby Sher
“Yeah, but nobody comes out of hospice,” said Emma.
“Well.” Mom took another sip of coffee. “Yes, it’s pretty unusual for patients to leave there.” If Dad came home, Mom continued, we would get a hospital bed and a visiting nurse. And we would do whatever we could to keep him comfortable.
“Just remember,” Mom said. “I think it’d be nice to stay in this house after it’s all over. But if that would be too hard for you. I mean, if Dad does pass away here, and, then, I know he wants us to be able to live here. So it’s just … Well, just really think about it,” Mom said, cutting herself off.
That was not a great idea. While Emma wrote a tome on her scrap of paper, I just sat there coming up with horror-movie scenarios—Dad clutching the walls in our sky-blue hallway and struggling for air; Dad coughing up blood in our paisley-plagued living room with a scythe above his head; TinyGinsberg coming up to Dad’s sickbed and licking his oozing brain.
“Is it … messy?” I asked.
“You mean, death?” Mom said.
I nodded. Emma put down her pen.
“I don’t know,” Mom said thoughtfully. “I wasn’t actually in the room when either of my parents died.”
I constantly overlooked the fact that Mom was an orphan. She’d lost both her mom and dad just before Emma was born. Grandma had had a stroke while shopping at Marshalls. A saleslady found her at closing in a dressing room holding three coats. Grandma survived, but all she could do for the next year was sit in a dining room chair, talking to ghosts. My grandfather tended to her diligently and started emptying the liquor cabinet into his mouth while they watched Jeopardy! Mom was seven months pregnant when her parents’ neighbor called to say she’d heard a large crashing sound from my grandparents’ house and had gone over to see what was up, but there was no answer at the door.
“Death by coffee table” is how Mom sometimes joked about Grandpa. She was the only one allowed to say things like that. (He’d slipped in a puddle of mint schnapps, which made it even worse somehow.) Grandma lasted another few weeks in facilitated care, but she refused to eat. It was probably the worst year of Mom’s life—losing both her parents in the space of two months. And then Emma was born.
To be honest, I never asked Mom about her parents. She only brought them up in passing and there was exactly one picture of them in our home—black and white and posed in stiff smiles that I didn’t trust. The idea of Mom parentless took on a whole new texture now, though. Also, I was starting to connect why Emma was getting so worked up about Mom’s poor eating habits.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered. I was sorry that Mom was losing so much and that I never gave her credit for all that she’d lost already.
“It’s okay, Chicken,” she said.
“No, it’s definitely not okay,” said Emma. “It’s suckier than all the suck in suckdom.” She folded her piece of paper and handed it to Mom. I wrote HOME on mine and gave it to Mom too.
She read them both and smiled shyly.
“I have the best girls in the whole world,” she murmured. With both arms extended, she pulled Emma and me into the middle of the table so our foreheads touched. Emma took the opportunity to lick my nose. It felt miraculous to laugh, even with a slimy nostril. I gave her a wet willy in return.
The three of us headed to a medical supply shop that Mom had looked up in the next town over. She rented a hospital bed that had so many features it could double as a spaceship. We also picked out a little portable speaker so Dad could listen to his jazz compilations, a new inflatable pillow for his butt, and a sitz bath. Emma and I were in agreement that the picture of an older woman giving a thumbs-up to her steaming sitz needed to be illegal.
Then Emma picked out a medical marijuana vaporizer. She said she’d brought home some “premium herbs.” I thought she’d get a talk from Mom about being respectful of the law, but she just paid for the supplies and ushered us back to the car. The owner of the store followed us home in his delivery truck and wheeled Dad’s bionic Posturepedic into the entryway of our house. We would have to do a lot of rearranging before there was even a big enough pathway to the den.
“Okay,” Mom said once the man left. “So, that took a little longer than expected, and I wanted to pick up Dad and sign some release forms by three.” She looked at the bed and tried to shove it at least to the other side of our upright piano, but the wheels on the bottom screeched angrily across the wood floor.
“Mom, you go,” said Emma. “We’ll handle this.”
“Right,” Mom said, unconvinced. “I do have that cleaning service coming soon and maybe when Julian stops by he can help too.”
“Wait, you spoke to Julian?” I asked, trying not to squeak.
“Yes,” Mom said. “Several times.” Which meant she knew I wasn’t with Julian last night. “He’s the one who had the brilliant idea of looking for you in the toolshed,” Mom explained. “Love that kid,” she added, patting her heart to remind me of our talk.
Blood Moon Prophecy
Once upon a time there was a little girl named Eleanor who loved to talk to the moon at night. Then she read about the Blood Moon Prophecy and how it was going to mark the end of the world and she got anxiety attacks for a month straight after sundown.
The Blood Moon Prophecy is something that sounds like it should be a hoax because why would a lunar eclipse that makes the moon glow red be the universal “time’s up” signal?
But then I found some footage online of this guy in Omaha who zoomed his camera in on the moon at its “bloodiest,” and even Julian admitted it was creepy. There are too many scientists perplexed by this phenomenon too. The next blood moon tetrad—four total lunar eclipses with no partial lunar eclipses in between—is scheduled for 2032–2033.
Party at my house.
Chapter 17
JUST A DAY
I knew it was humanly possible, but I found it really hard to giggle and be incensed at the same time.
Julian pulled into our driveway just a few minutes after the Pinch Hitters Cleaning Crew did. I was all prepared to tell him something like, “Thank you for coming by and for your years of support and friendship, but I don’t need you to move my couch or for anything else.”
Julian wasn’t interested in my speech, though. He leapt out of the driver’s seat before the Jetta had fully coughed to a stop and said, “Ta da!”
He was wearing the most ludicrous powder-blue tuxedo with a matching ruffled shirt underneath. He did a little clickety-clackety dance step and I saw he had on patent-leather shoes that were at least three sizes too big.
“Maestro?” he said, snapping his fingers. A derby hat flew out from the passenger seat and just missed clocking him in the face. Julian let it fall and switched gears quickly to scoop me into his arms instead.
“Never did like sports,” he muttered. I didn’t realize until that moment how much I missed his coffee breath.
Someone in the car was playing the twinkly ballerina music from my showcase solo. I tried to peek in and see who it was, but Julian held me to him tightly.
“Hey, concentrate,” he said in a sharp but playful tone. He whirled me around the car in a wide, lilting waltz. Even with the huge shoes and nylon ensemble, he was the epitome of elegance.
“How did you know I was in my bunker?” I asked. Julian smiled, but didn’t say a word.
“Okay,” I continued. “And where did you get this cheesy outfit and why does it smell like mildew and how much did my mom tell you and who is that watching us in the front seat of your vehicle?”
“Shhhhh,” whispered Julian. He led me through a few more loops of the driveway before depositing me in front of the passenger-side door.
“Hiya,” came a gravelly but now familiar voice from inside the car.
“Oscar?!” I sounded much more eager than I meant to.
“Yeah, hey.”
Julian pulled us away from the Jetta and did a little ceremonial bow. “May I present to you … Mister Meowsome!”
>
Oscar stepped out with a more restrained, “Ta da?”
He had on a green T-shirt with a calico cat ironed on and neon yellow lettering on top that said MISTER MEOWSOME. He was also wearing lavender-and-navy checkered bell-bottoms and a rainbow sweatband on either wrist. His mop top was flecked with wood shavings.
“Meowsome is my wingman,” Julian explained. Then Julian got on one knee and cleared his throat a good half dozen times before saying, “Eleanor Miriam Rosenthal-Hermann, will you please go to the prom with me?” He reached into his suit coat pocket and produced two tickets that he fluttered in front of his face.
This had to be a joke.
“Um … wait, why?” I asked.
Oscar started laughing. It was the first time I’d ever seen him enjoying himself. He had a long dimple on his left cheek and a handprint of dirt just below it.
“I told you she wouldn’t make this easy for me,” Julian said, getting up and dusting off his knee. “Thanks for the moral support, Meowsome. I’ll take it from here. Keys are in the car. Ignore the oil-change light.”
“You sure?” asked Oscar. He looked from Julian to me uncertainly. Then he pulled his backpack out of the car and started digging through pockets, looking for something. He pulled out a ball of newspaper and handed it to me.
“You don’t have to open it now. Or ever for that matter. I just thought you might…” He let that sentence end in a shrug and got in the driver’s seat, closing the door. Julian and I just stood there watching him until the Jetta disappeared over the hill.
“He’s definitely a strange one,” Julian said. “But I have to say he’s smart as shit and really kind.” He pointed to the crumpled newspaper in my hand. “Sorry. He was with me when your mom told me what was going on and he saw how … Well, he saw me shaken up.”
Inside the newspaper was the crystal that had been hanging from Marty’s first-aid kit. Now that it was in my hand I could see all the wild golden veins inside.
“He said it was for inner compassion and healing. Or something like that,” said Julian.
“He did?” I chirped. I thought Oscar was such a snob just a few days ago. But I guess a few days ago I thought I could cure cancer with sheer devotion and a bunch of hand sanitizers. I had never heard of Kepler-62 or alien saxophone music or spent a night under a space blanket, too hurt to hurt more.
I held the stone up toward the light and inspected it. “Do you believe in that stuff?” I asked Julian.
“I believe in love, honesty, and caffeine.” Julian took the amber from me and passed it back and forth from hand to hand. “Yeah, that guy’s sweet. If you won’t go to prom with me, I’ll give him the tickets and you should go with him. Though I think he’s scared of high heels.”
There was too much new information being thrown at me. I took the amber back and tucked it into my jeans pocket for safekeeping, then tried to start from the beginning of my confusion. “Wait, you were serious about the prom?”
Julian scanned the tickets in his hand. “I think they’re real. Paid good money for them.” He shoved them under my nose. “Well, maybe not good money,” he said. “Katya already moved half her office into my bedroom, so I helped myself to a few of her checks. Let the games begin!”
“Did you spend her money on this tuxedo too?” I asked. Up close I could see the blue ruffled shirt was ripping at the shoulder seam.
“Nah, Oscar and I went to this awesome secondhand store up in Poughkeepsie because Marty wanted us to get twenty-two burlap sacks for the show. Five bucks for these sweet threads.” He ran his hands up and down his body and did a wormy dance move that made me want to crack up, but I bit my cheek to stop myself.
“There’s actually a few strapless dresses there too, but I couldn’t tell what you’d like,” Julian continued. “I was going to get this flowery number, but Oscar said you were cooler than that.”
That time a smile escaped before I could stop it. Julian caught me and started hopping up and down.
“There she is! My Lenny’s back! I missed you, girl.”
I shut back down into a frown. I knew it was childish, but I didn’t want him to think he could get me back so easily.
“Hey, what happened?” he asked. “Where’d you go?” He gripped both of my wrists and shook my arms a little. “Listen, I don’t think you believe me when I tell you how much you mean to me. But it’s true.” I bored my eyes into the ground while he went on. “I’m sorry. I really am. I didn’t want to tell you about San Francisco because I didn’t want to upset you, but then there was no way not to upset you because your dad…”
His voice started wobbling. I looked up without meaning to and saw there were tears in his eyes. “I just really love him,” he moaned. “He’s the kind of dad I wish I could be.” He dove into me and I could feel his tears tickling my right collarbone. I didn’t dare move. I wanted to cry too, but I couldn’t. So we stayed there in the driveway for I don’t know how long as Julian sniffled into my neck.
Eventually, Emma called from the front steps, “You guys reenacting that penguin movie?”
Julian popped his head up and she must’ve seen his pink tear splotches. She ran out in bare feet and joined our hug.
“Whoa,” said Julian. “Double D?”
“E,” whispered Emma. We both took turns using her new and inflated boobs as a headrest until she made us get off. “What about you?” she asked, pulling on Julian’s ruffled collar. “Is this a new look or a special occasion, Monsieur le Freak?”
Julian winked at me. “I had to find some way to get my girl back and tell her that I love her.” He held out his elbow for me to loop my arm through his. “Would you be willing to stroll with me to the Unicorn Diner, m’lady?”
My skin prickled and I shook my head involuntarily. Until that moment, I’d forgotten about my possible vandalism charge. Plus, I had yet to tell Julian about Don Juan, the Ambrosia selfies, and Dr. Ganesh’s lips on mine.
“I think we have a lot to do around here to get ready for my dad coming home,” I said.
“It’s all good,” said Emma. “The cleaning crew is great. And I’m just gonna put my stuff away and do a few loads of wash. Get out of here.”
Julian poked me with his elbow again.
“Okay…” I didn’t know where to begin though. “Can we do Carvel instead?” I squeaked.
“Carvel it is,” Julian answered.
We walked slowly, deliberately. Most of the time we were silent, which was such a gift. We got to Carvel just as they were closing. Julian paid for a sleeve of flying saucers and we decided to take a walk around the little pond behind our public ice-skating rink. Julian told me about Katya’s fights with the construction company and the two dog beds that had been hand-stitched specifically for Daphne and sent back because they were too rough for her sensitive skin.
After eating so much ice cream my lips felt numb, I blurted out, “I kissed him.”
“What?” Julian stopped. “Who?”
I told him about the horrible meeting and the wine coolers and how I wanted to be Sheena the cashier’s midwife and I might’ve lost Dr. Ganesh a job but my mom didn’t think so because it was really my fault.
“Listen to Nutbags,” Julian assured me. “She knows the law. And hey”—he pulled me in so tight I could almost count his nose hairs—“I’m really proud of you for smooching that man. That was ballsy.”
We circled the pond another three or four times—I stopped keeping track. There were new leaves sprouting everywhere and we saw a family of turtles playing something like hide-and-seek. I heard the train coming into our station downtown and thought about how it would keep running no matter who was getting on or off.
“Hey,” said Julian, pointing up at something blinking through the darkening sky. “I think tonight is supposed to be that partial eclipse. Didn’t you say the nineteenth?”
“Did I?” I went to check the moon tracker on my phone and saw I’d left it at home. “Honestly, I don’t know what the d
ate is. Is it the nineteenth today?”
“Who cares?” said Julian. He took my hand and swung it back and forth. “Today is just a day.”
Supervolcanoes
Chapter 18
FINDING FINIAN
Dad looked pretty much the same as the last time I’d seen him. Which was only about twenty-eight hours before. Or a lifetime. Depending on how I was counting. I actually thought he’d grown back a few more eyelashes and had the beginnings of stubble on his gaunt cheeks. The top of his head was a patchwork of peach fuzz. He walked up our path, hanging on Mom like a piece of loose scaffolding.
Julian hummed the theme song from Rocky as Dad reached our front door. We all cheered as Dad stopped to flex what was once a hefty biceps muscle. I was so glad Julian had decided to hang out with us. It made this homecoming a little less intimate and terrifying. I tried to get him to stay for supper too, but we’d each had three flying saucers from Carvel and couldn’t pretend to be hungry. Also, Julian had to refocus some lights with Marty and it was obvious Dad was exhausted from the car ride home.
“Really glad you’re back,” Julian said. “I’ll see you this week for sure.” He leaned in and gave Dad a hug easily. Yet another talent I was lacking. I was sure I’d snap Dad’s skeletal frame. Or I’d open my arms and he’d be a pile of dust.
“You’re a good man, J,” Dad said, watching Julian go. I couldn’t help thinking that might be the last time they saw each other.
I thought that about everything, actually. This could be the last time I hand Dad the remote. This could be the last time he asks for a glass of water. I knew I was supposed to be treasuring every moment of us all being together, but that first night of Dad being back felt so treacherous. I couldn’t be alone in the same room as Dad. Everything felt too fragile and I was sure he’d die in the middle of his next sentence. Emma looked at me running in and out of the den, opening windows and fetching unsolicited snacks, and found it hysterical.
