Page 46 of Maybe in Another Life

My mom sits down next to me. “Just Sarah is, honey,” she says. “Your father and I aren’t going anywhere.”

I can feel my smile turn to a frown, and I catch myself. I smile wider. I am a terrible daughter, wanting them to go. “Oh, cool,” I say.

Sarah leaves her suitcase by the door and comes around to the other side of me. My father is looking up at the TV.Jeopardy!is on.

“I’m so sorry I have to leave,” Sarah says. “I’ve already taken so much time off, and I can’t miss any more. I’ll lose my part.”

“Oh, it’s totally fine,” I tell her. “I’m going to be fine. There’s no need for anyone to stay.”

Hint.

“Well, your mother and I certainly aren’t leaving anytime soon,” my dad says as he finally pulls his attention away from the TV. “We’re not leaving our little Hannah Savannah while she’s still healing.”

I smile, unsure what to say. I wonder if he still calls me Hannah Savannah, as if I were a child, because he really only knows me as a child. He doesn’t know me very well as an adult. Maybe it’s his way of convincing himself I haven’t changed much since they left for London, as if time stood still and he didn’t miss anything.

“My flight leaves in a few hours, but I still have time to hang out for a little bit,” Sarah says.

Jeopardy!begins Double Jeopardy, and my dad takes a seat, enraptured.

We all listen as one of the contestants chooses the topic “Postal Abbreviations.”

“Ugh, so boring,” Sarah says.

I wish they would change the channel. I don’t want to watchJeopardy!I want to watchLaw & Order.

Alex Trebek’s voice is unmistakable. “This Midwestern state is the only one whose two-letter postal abbreviation is a preposition.”

At this, my father throws his hand up and says, “Oregon!”

My mother shakes her head. “Doug, they said Midwestern. Oregon is in the Pacific Northwest.”

I’m tempted to mention thatoris not a preposition, but I don’t.

“What is Indiana?” the contestant answers.

“That is correct.”

My father slaps his knee. “I was close, though.”

He wasn’t close. He wasn’t close at all. He’s so clueless sometimes. He’s so absolutely clueless.

“Yeah, OK, Dad,” Sarah says.

And the way she says it, the effortlessness of their interactions, as if they are all comfortable saying whatever comes into their own heads, highlights how out of place I feel in my own hospital room when they are here.

I just... can’t do this. I don’t want my family to stay here with me. I want to be left in peace, to heal.

I’m supposed to take it easy in the hospital. I’m supposed to rest. But being with them is not easy, and this is not rest.

Sarah’s car is ready to take her to the airport shortly afterJeopardy!ends. She grabs her bag and comes over to me, hugging me gently. It’s a halfhearted hug, not because she doesn’t mean it but because I can’t really hug anyone at the moment.

Then she turns to my parents. She hugs them each good-bye.

“You have your passport accessible?” my mom asks her.

“Yeah, I’m good.”

“And George is picking you up at Heathrow?” my dad asks.

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