“My gutters are fine.”
“Mom, last time you said that, a squirrel had moved into one.”
Chanel called every Wednesday night while making dinner.
“Did you eat today, Mama?”
“Of course.”
“Toast is not dinner.”
“Did you eat today, Mama?”
“You didn’t have to.”
They knew me too well. I loved it and hid from it too.
***
Last month, Dr. Evans held my chart in both hands and stopped smiling.
“Say it plainly,” I told him. “Please.”
He sat down. “Your heart valve has gotten worse, Sylvie.”
“How much worse?”
“We need to schedule surgery.”
I loved it and hid from it too.
I gripped my purse. “Can it wait?”
“Sylvie.”
“I’m asking because I have things to arrange, Dr. Evans. I know the risk, and I know my age, so I have to tie my affairs together.”
The word hung there.
I patted his cheek. “I’m stubborn. That’s not the same thing.”
