Page 67 of Body Check
“Yeah, I really am, “ he says. And I’m sorry it took me so long to get over myself. I was afraid he wouldn’t be good to you, but that’s clearly not a problem. He makes you happy, and that’s all I care about.”
“He makes me so happy,” I say, realizing I’ve probably said too much, considering I’m not wearing much and that I regularly sleep over.
Mickey clears his throat as his cheeks turn bright red. “Yeah, I mean, I’m totally fine with you guys playing chess together all night. It's weird you're wearing a robe, but whatever.”
I throw my brother a questioning look. I don’t even know how to play chess. “You do know that we’re not really?—”
“You are, though,” he tells me. “You are.”
I laugh, leaving my brother to his delusions. When I make it to the first floor, the lights are on in the kitchen and I half expect to see Ollie at the counter making a three-layer cake, because that’s just something he’d do at one a.m. Instead, I find Viv.
And she’s naked.
Okay, she’s not totally naked, and I’m not really one to talk, but she’s wearing a frilly, see-through little cami and a matching thong. There’s probably more material in the pot holder that hangs on a hook by the stove, but I’m not judging, I swear. I just don’t know what Maggie’s best friend is doing in her underwear in the kitchen of the hockey house in the middle of the night.
She startles when she notices me, almost spilling the milk as she pours it into two large bowls of cereal—and not just any cereal. It’s Frosted Cinnamon Crunchies, my brother’s favorite food of all time.
“Hey Viv, sorry to scare you. I didn’t think anyone else would be down here. I just came to get a glass of water.”
“Birdie,” she squeals, genuinely excited to see me. “Mickey and I are having a sleepover.”
I do a shitty job of hiding my surprise. I’m not sure if my eyes are bugging out or my jaw is on the floor, but I’m definitely not playing it cool.
“Oh, not that kind of sleepover,” she says with a wave. “We’re just friends. Like, the best of friends, but just friends. We're watching this serial killer documentary, so we're eating cereal. Get it? Want to join us? You should totally join us.”
Her mind moves as fast as my brother’s, so it takes me a second to catch up. “No, thanks, I'm good,” I say because I’ve obviously entered some alternate universe and I can’t imagine anything weirder than hanging out with my brother and Viv while they wear just their underwear, consume a week’s worth of sugar, and watch a documentary about murder. That’s a definite no.
Viv looks crestfallen, though, and I immediately feel bad. “I’d love to hang with you two,” I assure her, “but if I watch a show about serial killers, I'll never get to sleep.”
She nods, buying the fib I’m selling. “I get that, but if you change your mind, you know where to find us.”
There’s no way I’ll be changing my mind, but I might just be up half the night wondering what’s going on between those two.
30
Dutton
I’ve had bad days before, but nothing like this. In a matter of minutes, my whole world has gone to shit, and I don’t see that changing anytime soon.
A couple hours ago, I was in the weight room with my teammates. And now I’m sitting in a hard plastic chair in a doctor’s office holding Mom’s hand and praying like hell that the news we’re about to get isn’t the diagnosis we’re dreading.
But we know it will be.
For the last few months, I’ve ignored the signs that were right in front of me. I can’t ignore them anymore.
I was on my way to my parents’ house a couple hours ago to grab extra chairs and table cloths from the attic and help my mom set up for the dinner she’s hosting on Thursday. I never even made it into the driveway.
When I turned onto their street, I had to slam on my brakes to avoid hitting a guy who was wandering in the middle of the street.
But it wasn’t just a guy. It was my dad.
Before I can let my brain spiral into that awful moment, the door opens and the doctor walks in. He doesn’t waste time with small talk, and I appreciate that.
“I want to start by letting you know that we’ve admitted Mr. Wagner for observation. It appears he took a fall while he was out wandering earlier today, so we want to keep an eye on that.”
I feel my mom tense up beside me, and I know she feels guilty for running to the store and leaving Dad home by himself.
“As you know,” the doctor continues, “we haven’t received all of the test results yet, but based on the evaluation I just completed, and the patient’s history, it’s clear that Mr. Wagner suffers from early-onset dementia.”
