I am definitely never going to text him again. Unless it’s to send him a pic of my awesome bunion, as I promised Claire.

Never. Again.

Tristan: Whatever you say.

Great! Now I feel like an asshole.

No. I will not allow him to do this to me. I will not text him again.

I sigh as I lie back on my bed and close my eyes. I try to push the images from that day outside Yogurtland out of my head, but it’s no use. It’s all I’ve been able to think about for the past twelve days. It was so different from all the other times Tristan and I have come close to having sex. It was almost as if seeing me on the phone with someone else spurred some competitive streak inside of him and he needed to outdo Eddie. And, let’s be honest, as amazing as Eddie is in bed, he could never be Tristan.

What the hell am I thinking? Stop it, Senia!

Oh, great. Now I’m yelling at myself inside my head.

It wasn’t just the sex. He wanted to know who I was talking to on the phone. That’s not just sex, right?

No, it was sex combined with typical male territorial issues. It wasn’t just sex. It was a fucking pissing contest. I am not anyone’s property! Especially not anyone’s property to piss on.

Okay, that settles it. I am not texting him back.

Me: Are you okay?

Tristan: No. I’m at the hospital.

Me: What’s wrong?

Tristan: Can I call you later?

Shit! I’m so stupid. I stare at the text for a few minutes before I begin typing. The bedroom door flies open and Claire walks in. I quickly tuck the phone underneath me before I can finish typing my response.

“What are you doing in here?” she asks, looking winded and flushed from singing.

“Nothing. Just trying to digest the twenty pounds of food I’ve eaten. No better way to make sure it goes straight to my ass than lying down and doing absolutely nothing.”

Claire raises an eyebrow. “Why are you acting like I just caught you masturbating?”

I laugh as I sit up and discreetly push my phone underneath my pillow. “Please. You’ve caught me masturbating plenty of times.”

“Oh God, please. I don’t want to talk about you touching yourself.”

“Whatever. Let’s go downstairs. I think I’m ready for some more pumpkin pie.”

I glance over my shoulder at the pillow and shake my head as I close my bedroom door.

Chapter Eight

The emergency-room doors open and I race through, clutching the note Molly left on the refrigerator: Went with Grandma to hospital. She wasn’t breathing. Get here quick. Don’t call me. I dropped my phone in the toilet.

The entrance to the emergency waiting room is right before me. I storm in and find Molly sitting in a chair in the far corner with Elaine two chairs away from her. Molly’s eyes are closed as she leans her head back against the wall. Her light-brown hair is pulled up into a messy bun at the top of her head – the way she always does it before she goes to bed. Elaine looks at me and I quickly look away as I head for Molly. I shake her knee and she jumps a little as she opens her eyes.

“Shit!” she cries as she’s startled awake.

I’ve told Molly that she needs to stop cursing so much, but that’s like trying to tell a fish to stop breathing water. She grew up with me as her role model. She’s always looked up to me and, unfortunately, I haven’t always set the best example.

“What happened?” I ask her as she sits up straight in the mauve chair.

“She took too many of those pain pills the doctor gave her,” Molly replies.

From the corner of my eye, I can see Elaine leaning forward as if she’s going to get in on this conversation. She knows I won’t speak to her. I haven’t spoken to her in nine years. I don’t care if she thinks her presence here earns her Brownie points. There’s no good deed she can do that will ever make me think she is anything other than a selfish, depraved human being.

“Is she okay?” I ask, still unsure whether I want to take a seat next to Molly.

“Yeah. They know she wasn’t trying to commit suicide because they have her medical records, so we don’t have to wait for the psychiatrist to check her out. They’re just keeping her here for another few hours until her blood pressure comes back up, then we can take her home.”

“She needs someone to keep an eye on her.”

Elaine’s voice makes my skin prickle. Molly glances at her then back to me, foolishly wondering if I’m going to respond.

“I’m going to the cafeteria. You want to come with me?” I ask Molly and she nods as she stands from the chair.

After a long silence, punctuated by the occasional squeak of our sneakers against the shiny floor in the hospital corridors, Molly finally says something. And what she says makes me sick.

“I think you should talk to her.”

She doesn’t have to say her name for me to know she’s talking about Elaine. I pretend not to hear her, but she doesn’t give up.

“I’m serious. Do you want Grandma to die thinking that you never spoke to her again?”

“Don’t use Grandma in your emotional blackmail scheme.”

“You’re so selfish.”

I get a flash of pain in my chest at these words spoken from Molly’s lips. “Don’t say that.”

“I’m sorry,” she says as we turn into the cafeteria. Her face scrunches up as if she’s trying to keep from crying. “I’m just so scared of having to live with her.”

“That will never happen. Go sit down. I’ll get you something.”

She rolls her eyes as she heads for a table in the corner. I make my way through the cafeteria line behind two other bleary-eyed patrons. I grab a couple of turkey sandwiches from the refrigerator case and some juice. When I arrive at the table with my tray of food, Molly’s elbows are propped on the table and her face is buried in her hands.

“Eat your turkey dinner,” I order her, but she doesn’t move. Then I see the glistening puddle of tears on the surface of the table.

“She’s gonna die,” she whispers. “Why?”

“Because life fucking sucks.”

“Not the answer I wanted.”

“It’s the truth.” I unwrap the plastic wrap on her turkey sandwich and push the tray toward her. “You can’t expect anything good to last or you’ll always be disappointed. Everything dies.”

She groans as she wipes the tears from her eyes and looks up. “Why do you have to say stuff like that?”

“You need to be prepared.”

“You need to talk to Elaine and tell her I’m going to live with you. She was blabbing to me in the waiting room about how nice her new apartment in Durham is.”

“Nice compared to what? A fucking cardboard box?”

“I don’t want to live with her. She said she has a new boyfriend.”

“You’re not going to live with her.”

I lean back in the uncomfortable steel chair and try not to think of what I’ll have to do to prevent Molly from being placed with Elaine. No one knows what Elaine is capable of except for me. Everyone thinks she’s just a drug addict with a long list of ex-boyfriends and STDs. If I have to tell everyone the kind of person she really is, I will do it – for Molly’s sake. I’ve never told anyone, not even Chris, about the summer before seventh grade.

My phone vibrates in my pocket and I pull it out immediately. When I see the name on the screen, it’s as if the clouds have parted and shined a light on this tiny corner of the hospital cafeteria. Then I read the message and I resist the urge to throw my phone across the room.

Senia: Thanks for the kind message. Now kindly stop texting me. I’m not interested in being one of your concubines.

I probably don’t deserve anything better than this from Senia, but it still feels like a kick in the nuts right now. In any case, I don’t have it in me to chase her any more. It was sort of fun for the last twelve days to bug her with cheesy text messages, but it just feels stupid and pathetic now.