Page 31 of Top Shelf
Right. The stairs. And I wouldn’t be caught dead sleeping on any of the couches. I didn’t even sit on them when I was there. God only knew what sort of bacteria or infections they were carrying. But that didn’t answer any of my questions.
“What am I supposed to do? I can’t go home with you. I have finals. I have training camp. I can’t just leave before I graduate!”
“Breathe,” she said to me. She gave the doctor a look, and he quickly let himself out before she pulled up a chair and sat down, switching to Urdu. “Your father and I talked it over, andI’m going to get an apartment. Your auntie is coming to stay with me to help take care of you too.”
I felt the blood drain from my face. I liked some of my aunties. “Which one?”
“Hadiya.”
My mom’s sister. I breathed a little easier. My mom had found herself a community after they moved to Toronto, and while I was happy for her—and I supposed I appreciated the immersion in the diaspora culture—the uncles and the aunties could be…a lot. They were in everyone’s business, and half their advice was basically telling my parents to ignore all the things I needed to function in the world as autistic and teach me to mask.
Which I hated.
Luckily, my mom was too smart to listen, even if she didn’t really understand why I was the way I was.
But I wasn’t sure I could handle them trying to take over my recovery. I could already tell the pain was going to send me into repeated sensory overload.
The other option also could have been my dad’s two sisters and, well. We didn’t get along. They didn’t really like my mom. Or me and my brothers. Or my dad, for that matter, so I shouldn’t have worried.
“You’re frowning,” my mom said.
“I’m thinking. My head is fuzzy. My leg hurts. I don’t think I can feel my toes.”
She sighed and stood up. “I’m going to see if you can drink some tea. I have some sachets in my purse.”
I didn’t bother telling her that tea was probably on the “no” list for things I was allowed to have before surgery. Instead, I rolled over as best I could to take some of the pressure off my back and wondered if they could knock me out again so I could sleep until I was allowed to go home.
The hospital was horrible. The sheets were scratchy, everything was too white, it smelled funny, the machines beeped at random intervals, and the blood pressure cuff had sharp plastic edges that made me want to either rip it to pieces or tear the top layer of my skin off.
I could do it. Icouldhandle it.
I just didn’twantto.
“They said you’re not allowed,” she said when she breezed back into the room. “I think that’s ridiculous. I drank half a pot of Elaichi chai an hour before I had my hysterectomy, and I recovered in six hours.”
“That’s literally not possible,” I murmured. The pain was getting worse. Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath. “Can I have more medicine?”
“Push the button, beta. They’ll come in and let you know.”
I fumbled for the button, but before my thumb could press down, the door to my room opened again. It wasn’t the nurse though. It was Colton and Matty, and they looked so pale they were almost green, and their eyes were wide.
“Oh fuck, are you alive?” Colton said, rushing up to the bed.
“Language,” my mom said. She stood up and took his shoulders, turning him to face her. “Look at you. You’ve grown six feet since this morning.”
His cheeks pinked, and he ducked his head. “Hi, Manisha, I—I mean auntie,” she’d probably given him alook, but Colton was always more cautious about whether or not he was allowed to call her that. “Is he okay?”
“He’s okay. Look at what a sweet friend you have, Ferris. He’s coming to check on you and make sure you’re alright.”
“This is totally my fault,” Colton said, his voice shaking, “I was craving food, and I told him to go to that curry shop, and?—”
“No,” my mom and I said at the same time. I took a breath and pushed up on my elbow. “I was looking at my phone and notpaying attention, and someone was going too fast. They said I’m gonna be fine.”
He took another long inhale. “You know that Cosmo is going to murder me if you don’t get better before camp, right? Like, he’s shitting his pants nervous. He doesn’t want to go without you.”
“The doctor says he’s going to be fine. I’m getting an apartment and staying to take care of him,” my mom assured him.
“Oh my god,” Matty said. “For real? Can we come over?”
