Mary-Ann pats Emory on the shoulder as she sits down on the arm of the couch. “Dinner is almost ready.”
“Alright, Mom,” he says without taking his eyes off the hockey footage he’s been watching for an hour. I started off watching it but quickly shifted gears and started to make note of the subtle changes around the house.
I’m an observant person–which is how I know that Taytum has gone upstairs to check her sugar and inject her insulin if needed since we’re about to eat–and it’s how I know that something isn’t right around the house. Things are misplaced or missing. Things like their family portrait that has been hanging on the wall for the last four years and Taytum’s senior ballet photo where she stands alone on the stage in nothing but a leotard and flimsy tutu that shows off her long, toned legs.
I push off from the couch and walk into the kitchen to see what else is missing when I find my stand-in mom setting the table.
“Move it,” I say. She hands over the plates and sits on the chair to watch me take over setting the table.
“You’re such a gentleman,” she teases.
I grin. “You raised me right.”
She laughs through a raspy cough that I’m not happy to hear. “You raised yourself.”
“Not true,” I correct her. “And you need to stop smoking.”
With the same green eyes as my mother, she levels me with a withering stare. “Fine. I’ll stop smoking as soon as you admit that you and Taytum are sleeping together.”
The fork in my hand slips and falls to the floor with a loud clang. I drop down like a shot was fired, and my aunt laughs under her breath when I stand back up. I point with the fork, prongs facing in her direction, and deny it until I’m blue in the face.
It’s no use, though. She doesn’t believe a word I say.
I continue setting the table with her knowing little grin following me around.
“Alright, Miss Know-It-All…” I place the last utensil down and look her square in the eye. “I’ll admit it if you tell me what’s going on with this whole ordeal.” I twirl my finger around the kitchen.
“What are you talking about?”
It only takes one look at her face to confirm what’s going on. Damnit.
“They’re selling the house, aren’t they?”
She shushes me, and I sink into a chair.
“Is this because of their financial problems?”
Talk about being pelted with guilt. Maybe if they didn’t spend their life savings on putting not one, but two of us in youth hockey and giving Emory, Taytum, and me everything we needed for Bexley U, they’d be able to afford Taytum’s medical bills, insulin, and fancy pump.
“How do you know about that?” We both turn at the sound of Mary-Ann’s voice as she stands with her arms down by her sides. She comes closer and grabs the back of the empty chair separating me and my aunt.
She looks to Taytum’s empty chair and sighs. “Does she know?”
I gulp. “She knows you’re struggling to afford the insulin on top of the other medical bills.” I keep my word to Taytum and don’t let on about her messing with her levels to push getting the pump.
“There weren’t any issues with the last pick-up, though. As far as I know, the credit card went through.”
I look away in the middle of her sentence.
“Ford…?”
Silence fills the kitchen, and it doesn’t take long for me to break.
“I paid for it, okay?”
“What?” The two women in the room speak at the exact same time.
I shrug. “It’s the least I can do. Look at all you’ve given me. Both of you.”
“Stop that right now.” Mary-Ann’s hand comes down onto my forearm, but I refuse to look at her. “We’ve got it under control. We’re still fighting with our private insurance, but once we sell the house and make the equity off of it, we can pay off the credit cards and bills to get back on our feet. The most important thing is making sure she gets her insulin every month and that pump.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” I say. “But you don’t need to sell the house.”
The depths I’m willing to go to for Taytum tells me much more about myself than I’m willing to admit.
“It’s already on the market.”
“Well, take it off,” I demand.
She takes a seat, and her head hangs low. “Trust me. If there was another way, we’d take it. But there isn’t.”
I unhook my grip on the table and bang my knuckles on the top with frustration. “Well, whatever you do…don’t tell her yet.” Not until I figure out a way to save the day.
“Don’t tell her what?”
All eyes are on Taytum. My heart stops, and I pray that her mom can come up with something on the fly, but I know the moment Tay and I are alone, she’ll bat those thick eyelashes and it’ll pull the truth right out of me.
I can’t lie to her.
I can’t even keep my hands off her.
My aunt sits up a little taller and catches my eye. I already know what’s about to come out of her mouth, so I send her a death glare, and she rolls her eyes but zips her lips.
“What’s going on?” Emory rounds the island and looks at Taytum. “You okay?”
Taytum tucks her hair behind her ear and gulps.
Jay enters the kitchen next and ping-pongs his gaze around the room before looking at his wife. “Oh, did you tell them?”
“Tell us what?” Emory crosses his arms.
I look at Taytum, and she’s already staring at me. The blood starts to drain from her face, and I’d pretty much do anything to put the color back on her cheeks. I gently shake my head and silently tell her that everything will be fine.
“We’re selling the house.”
Emory is shocked and immediately asks why. When his parents don’t answer, he starts prodding even further, demanding to know why they’re not coming to the game next week and why they’d go to Lennie’s birthday party when we all know they hate the nosy lady to begin with.
I’m locked on Taytum listening to everything going on around us. She’s frozen in the middle of the kitchen, listening to her parents explain to her older brother how they need money to pay off the medical bills and such. When Emory starts to come up with the most ridiculous plan to get a job and help pay–as if he can fit that into his busy schedule–Taytum starts to visibly shake. I’m on my feet, following every one of her backward steps. No one but my aunt notices our departure. She quickly grabs onto my hand, gives it a gentle squeeze, and then I’m off.
It’s funny how everyone is so worried about Taytum’s diabetes that they tend to forget about her.
I don’t, though.
I should if I knew what was good for me.
But deep down, all I want is for her to be good for me.
