Page 119 of Changing the Playbook
Her smile warms up the whole room. “Please, call me Rose.”
I snatch her chart from the bed’s foot. “Can we focus on your medical status?”
“Sophie.” Dad’s warning hangs.
“What? I have relevant training.”
“You’re her daughter.” His voice gentles. “Be that right now.”
The words sting more than any slap. “I’m being helpful.”
“You’re trying to control,” he says quietly. “Different thing.”
Mike’s hand finds my elbow before I can spiral further. “Coffee?” he suggests.
And then he’s gone, leaving me defenseless against the truth. My mom pats the bed, and I perch carefully, avoiding the tangle of lines. Hazel has progressed to a thrilling chapter on dung beetles, occasionally sharing revolting facts.
“You look exhausted,” Mom observes.
“I’m fine.”
“Liar.”
“Learned from the best.”
“Sophie.” Her nurse tone still works even hooked to an IV. “You are not responsible for my immune system. Not responsible for my exercise schedule. You are not my keeper, my nurse, my personal assistant, my personal stylist,ormy doctor.”
“Then what am I?” The question escapes smaller than intended.
“My daughter. Who deserves lazy Sundays with her boyfriend. Who gets to be twenty-three without carrying my burdens. Who can be happy without guilt.”
“Goliath beetles grow up to four inches!” Hazel announces. “That’s like my whole hand!”
We both turn. Mom laughs—actually laughs—then refocuses.
“Listen.” Her tone lightens a little. “My MS? Not your fault. My relapses? Not your responsibility. And my illness doesn’t mean you pause your life. Because someday I’ll be gone and you’ll be forty wondering where your twenties went, Sophie.”
“Language,” I whisper, glancing at Hazel, but she’s in her own world, which looks far happier and warmer than mine. “Mom, I?—”
“When’s the last time you made a choice without calculating hospital proximity?”
I open my mouth. Close it. Because every decision for two years has been filtered through exactly that sort of question, and exactly those sorts of contingency plans. Well, except the last few weeks with Mike.
“Exactly.” She glances toward the door. “He seems wonderful.”
“Mom, no.”
“That is one beautiful man who clearly adores you.”
“We’re not discussing my love life while you’re hospitalized.”
“When else?” She sobers. “Not everyone runs when life gets complicated, Soph.”
Jimmy’s name hangs unspoken.
“Some people do,” I manage.
“Not everyone.” She glances at my dad, who’s busy keeping Hazel entertained. “I was healthy when he proposed. MS came later, which is more unfair on him than it is on me, if I’m being totally honest. So do you know what he said when I offered him an out?”
