20. Chanice
Chanice
He looks like he’s in no pain when he sleeps. When he is awake, the tears are constant, the searing pain from the burn only slightly dulled by the medication.
His fro is pressed flat against the pillow, squished into the shape by his constant laying.
His eyebrows are furrowed, and his mouth hangs open.
He looks so young like this. Too young to have gone through so much.
Too young to have scars that will mar his skin for the rest of his life. This shouldn’t have happened.
I press my hand to my head, a heavy sigh coming out for the tenth time in the last hour.
It’s like I keep trying to exhale all the guilt and regret that’s been festering inside of me since I got that call.
Two days later, and it hasn’t lessened. I know that I probably would’ve let him cook on his own even if I were home.
I know that I’ve told him time and time again to turn the pot handle to the middle of the stove.
But none of that means the kids should have had to manage this situation on their own.
Imani never should have had to make that call, or ride in the ambulance with him, his cries echoing in her ears. She shouldn’t have had to be the one to explain the situation to the doctors. I should’ve been there.
Trying to fight this feeling, I remind myself that I can’t be with them twenty-four hours a day.
That I came when they called, and I have barely left his side.
I’m playing devil’s advocate to my inner monologue.
Still, I know I shouldn’t have taken that night for myself when I promised to give all of me to them.
A knock sounds behind me. I turn to see a woman standing in the doorway. She motions for me to join her in the hall. I look at him once more before I stand and walk out.
“Hi, I’m Mary Talbot. I’m the hospital’s social worker.” She offers me her hand, and I take it, trying to ignore the giant pit that opens up in my stomach.
“I’m sorry, but why are you here?” I work to keep my tone pleasant, but my hackles are raised, and the hiss of defense makes my words sound like a warning.
“It’s just routine when a child comes in with an injury like this. Are you his guardian?” She gives me the look I’m used to. The one that tells me that I can’t possibly be responsible for anyone at this age. The one I used to give myself in the mirror at nineteen.
“Yes.”
“Can you tell me what happened?” She leads me over to the seats in the waiting area. Sitting down almost makes this feel worse. Instead of a brief conversation, it’s a full-blown meeting about the kids.
“Well, uh, he was boiling water for noodles. He had the pot handle sticking out. When he ran by to go to the fridge to get something for Gabby, he knocked it, and the water poured onto his forearm.” My breath is choppy as my mind creates what this scene looked like.
The scream I’m sure poured out of his mouth when it happened rings in my ear.
“And where were you?” She widens her eyes like she is trying to see me more clearly through the accusation clouding them.
I can’t even be mad at her for asking, because the same question has been ricocheting in my mind every time I replay that night.
“Work.” Even though most parents have social lives, this answer seems like the best bet to keep this situation from escalating.
She presses her lips together, and I’m trying to see how she can find fault in that answer. Am I not supposed to have a job?
“Jamal is a little young to be cooking.” It’s clear that she intends to turn this into a problem because that response is a stretch.
“He’s eleven.” It’s not like it was Gabby on the stove making herself food.
“I just mean without adult supervision.”
I’m starting to get riled up, and am two seconds away from causing an entire scene. I get that this is her job, but she is acting as if I neglect them. And despite my own feelings about everything that happened, I know that I don’t. I do my best by them.
“Do you have any other questions?” I stand up, signaling that I don’t care either way.
She follows suit, putting a hand on my arm to stop me from leaving. “I’m going to have to report this for a follow-up meeting. I understand that this was an accident, but in cases like this, we need to check in.”
I yank free from her grasp. Heated to the point of an explosion, I try to keep my voice from raising.
“You can’t be serious.”
“I’m sorry.”
I’m sure she is not. I walk away before anything comes out of my mouth that will just make this worse.
When I enter his room, I see that Jamal is awake and a nurse is changing his bandage.
His teeth are clenched, and he has his eyes shut as he tries to push through the pain.
Going over to his other side, I grab his hand and squeeze.
He looks up at me with a faint grimace taking over his face.
“Where were you?” he asks when she finishes up.
“Sorry, had to talk to someone real quick, but I’m here now.” Until something comes of it, there is no need to worry any of them.
There is no way after everything they endured in our mother’s care that one incident with me is going to result in them being taken away. It can’t be possible.
He is about to say something when the doctor walks into the room.
“I heard everything is looking good,” he says while coming over to Jamal’s bad side. “That means we can get going on the skin graft. Have we come to a decision about that?” They both look at me, and I feel that pit open up more.
“Yes, we are going to do it,” I say. Jamal exhales, and the doctor nods once in agreement.
“Okay, you will receive a call in the next few days to let you know the date of the surgery.” With that, he turns and walks out of the room.
Jamal sits up a little and looks at me. “I’m scared.” The tears are back, causing his eyes to shine as he clutches his injured arm to his chest.
“I know you are, but it’s going to be okay. After this surgery, it will all be better, and this will make sure it heals. No need to worry, love.” I smooth down his hair before cupping his cheek.
His lip still quivers, his face pinched. His apprehension probably won’t go away until all of this is said and done.
“I promise, okay. And I’ll even get you a stuffed whale to keep you company.” I hold out my pinky finger, and he links his with mine.
With another exhale, he finally lowers his shoulders.
Two weeks and one surgery later, Jamal is home.
I am depositing him into his bed, relief finally overtaking the anxiety that has been plaguing me since the incident.
Having had to return to work sooner than I would have liked, it’s been a team effort between me, Jessie, and Imani to make sure he has everything he needs.
Now with him being here, I will at least be able to check on him in-between going from the café to catering events.
“Do you want anything?”
He looks me up and down and then presses his fingers to his temple. “Yeah, drugs,” he says. Holding his wrapped arm, lines appear on his forehead as he furrows his face.
“You just had a dose before we left the hospital. I can’t give you any more right now.” I know he is in pain, but there is no budging on this matter.
Like an old sweater passed down, every generation has had someone swathed in addiction. My mother was the last to wear it, and I will do everything in my power to make sure it stops with her. The four of us will go on to live full lives not marked by the genes we happened to inherit.
“How about take-out?” he asks.
His whole body perks up, and he sits a little straighter. There is a hopeful look in his eyes that I can’t stand to dim. With all the work I missed out on, I don’t even know if we are going to make ends meet. But how can I deny him this?
“That I can do. Let me go order from your favorite place.”
His smile is huge when he says thank you, and it’s enough to make me feel less apprehensive about the money I’m about to spend.
Walking back into the living room, I take my phone from Gabby, despite her protests, and start to pull up the website.
“Okay, we are ordering fish and chips. What do you want?”
Imani sits up from her lying position. Gabby finally stops complaining and runs over to me.
“Is Alex buying us food again? Is he coming here?” She bounces on her feet, her hands clapping out her excitement.
“What? No. Why would you think that?”
“I think you should invite him.” Imani grins as she stirs the pot.
I shoot daggers at her, but she just shrugs, proud of herself.
At a loss for words, the consequences of my actions have me by the tongue.
I never should have let them meet. How am I supposed to explain to an eight-year-old that she will never see someone again?
I haven’t entirely decided what I’m going to do about that situation, but there is a slim chance that he will be in my life in any capacity that involves him getting to know the kids.
Hell, meeting them might have scared him off.
All the texts and check-ins could just be common courtesy, after all.
“He is busy tonight.”
“You didn’t even call him.” Proving to me that she is still my little sister, Imani is determined to make my life more difficult.
“Yeah, call him,” Gabby says, grabbing onto my arm.
“You know, I’m the only one who hasn’t met this man.” I turn to see Jamal leaning against the wall. “I gotta check him out. Make sure he is legit.”
Somehow, ordering food has turned into a nightmare situation of three against one. I look into each of their faces and see the same want reflected there. Despite everything that has happened, they still think I should make time for him.
“Look, guys, he isn’t going to be around long. There is no point for you to get to know him.”
This is the reality. Even if somehow he still wants to get involved with someone with three kids, how can I justify making a place for him in my life? The balancing act of two jobs and three little people all came tumbling down when I tried to add just sex.
Who knows what will happen if I try to make him a part of my life on a full-time basis?
I can wait. After all, Imani leaves for university next year, and I won’t have anyone to help me.
Gabby only has ten more years until she is gone.
I’ll still be a young thirty-three when they are all out on their own.
“Why?” Imani asks.
“Why what?”
“Why isn’t he going to be around?” she elaborates.
“Well, because I don’t have time.”
Jamal tilts his head to the side like he is considering the thought, while Gabby walks away, having lost interest in the conversation. It is only Imani who looks like that idea makes absolutely no sense.
“You know I will watch them whenever, and you can always schedule dates for when we are asleep. There are ways around this.” She is more invested in me dating than I thought she would be, clearly ready to argue.
Jamal joins her side and chimes in with his own logic. “Look, we love that you took us in. We would literally be in Hell otherwise. You care about us, but we also care about you, and we want you to be happy,” he says.
“I’m happy.”
“Now that you have met him. You can’t deny that you have smiled more in these last two months than you did in the past year,” Imani says.
Feeling like she is on the brink of winning, she stands up and makes her way over to me. Grabbing my hands, she forces me to look at her.
“Take something for yourself.”
Overwhelmed from the swell of love at their display of selflessness, I can feel the tears coming.
They show me once again that someone gives a fuck about me in this world.
It only strengthens my resolve to do right by them.
Still, I have to consider their reasoning.
It may not result in the situation the kids want, but at the very least, I have to have a conversation with Alex. The least I owe him is an explanation.
“I’ll think about it. Now, can we order?”
Gabby says yes, happy that the conversation is over. I put in the overpriced food order and then settle onto the couch with the rest of them.