Mom is not fine, but Sandy never tells me anything. So, I use my secret weapon. I pull out my phone.
“Oh, okay.” I smile like I believe her BS and put my earbuds in.
Sandy walks over to the receptionist and doesn’t bother whispering. “Carol, can you see if Dr. Jaeger has any ortho consults available this week? I think we’ve done about all we can do for Mrs. Kennedy. And start totaling all her outstanding charges.”
I bite the inside of my cheek to keep my emotions inside and my face neutral. Sandy catches me looking at her, so I nod my head like I’m getting my jam on.
When I look back down, Sandy continues, “Make a note in the referral that Mrs. Kennedy is extremely stubborn. He’s going to have his hands full trying to convince her to get the surgery.”
I drop my phone on the floor. It pulls my earbuds out.
Sandy plasters her fake smile back on and comes over. “Olivia, sweetie, I’m going to try a little more therapy on your mom today, but she’s going to be very sore for the next few hours. Do you think you could take care of yourself tonight? Don’t bother her with laundry or cooking or anything. She’s going to need to take some medicine to help her rest. Can you do that for your mom, sweetie? Can you be a good helper?”
Fire races through my veins. I want to throat punch this woman. It’s a wonder Sandy’s head doesn’t spontaneously burst into flames from my glare.
“Okay, then,” Sandy the Torturer says when I don’t answer her. She turns on her heel and goes back into the treatment room. “Let’s try again, Mrs. Kennedy. Okay, sweetie?”
Mom’s sobs echo around the waiting room. I dig my fingernails into my palms. Hot tears burn behind my eyelids. I crank up my skating music and try to disappear into it.
I yelp when a hand squeezes my shoulder.
“Are you okay?” Jonah’s lips say.
Before I can answer, the treatment door opens, and Mom shuffles out. Her eye makeup is smeared down her cheeks. Her dark brown eyes are bloodshot and swollen. Mom drops her head in shame when she sees Jonah. I cram my phone and earbuds in my pocket and rush over to grab her arm. I want to push past Jonah and tuck Mom into our car like we’re avoiding the paparazzi, but Mom’s steps can be measured in inches.
As we pass Jonah at the speed of snails, he offers the box of tissues that lives on the waiting room coffee table. Mom grabs a handful before giving Jonah a grateful smile.
“Olivia, sweetie, come here. This is very important, so I need your listening ears on, okay?” Sandy stands behind the receptionist’s desk with some papers in her hand.
Mom leans on one of the reception room chairs as I go to fetch the papers. Jonah looking at me is currently the only thing keeping me from leaping over the reception desk and strangling this woman. After overexplaining how to take care of my mother—which I’ve been pretty much doing for the last three months while Dad has been on the road—Sandy the Torturer urges me to order a pizza for dinner after we stop at the pharmacy for even stronger painkillers.
“Also, I need to talk to your dad about your family’s outstanding bill. He hasn’t returned any of my prior messages. Can you have him call me, sweetie? This week.” Sandy’s stern exterior suddenly melts back into her usual gooey one. She gives my arm a gentle squeeze. “You are such a little trooper. I am so proud of you.”
I yank my little trooper arm out of her claws and return to Mom. I can’t look at Jonah. I want to throw myself into a deep, dark hole. Or have Ernie run over me with the Zamboni. Adding to our mortification, Mr. Choi bursts through the door a second later.
“Mrs. Kennedy?” he says with alarm. “Are you okay? Sorry, a silly question when you are standing in a physical therapist’s office. Well, um, I hope you feel better soon.”
“Thank you, Mr. Choi.” Mom’s voice is scratchy. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
As Mr. Choi walks over to the receptionist’s desk, Mom and I inch through the small waiting room. Will this torture ever end? Apparently no. Jonah sprints over to open the door for us and then insists on following us to the car. He opens the door for Mom. Though it is complete overkill, he escorts me to my side of the car.
“Hey, if you need anything…” Jonah digs at his T-shirt collar. “Anything at all. Text me.”
I know he’s trying to be nice, but I can’t stand it anymore. I’m so tired of being a mom to my own mother. I wish she was healthy enough to take care of me for a change. I hate myself for even thinking that, but it’s the truth. My eyes burn, and my blood boils.
“You know what I need right now, Jonah Choi? A new spine for my mom. Not even a whole spine. Just L1 through L3. Can you buy my mom some new vertebrae? ’Cause God knows your parents buy you everything else you want.”
Jonah’s body curves from my verbal whiplash. I know I need a filter, but I’m sick of life taking a dump on me today.
“Sorry,” I mumble. “Mom’s hurting. I need to get her home.”
I reach out for the door handle. Jonah wraps his fingers around my wrist.
“Wait. I’m worried about you too,” Jonah says. “Let me help you. Or my mom. Or at least Mack. Somebody.”
I flash back to the last time my mom had a flare-up like this. Watching Dad carry her to the toilet and bathing her like she was ninety-five was humiliating for everybody involved. Mom was so spaced out on muscle relaxants and painkillers that all that was left of Midori Nakashima was a hollow shell of a former gold medalist. I look through the side window at Mom. Her arms are wrapped tightly across her chest. She’s holding in the pain until we get home. Then she can finally take her meds and escape from her crappy life. And disappear from my life too.
The wall around me implodes. A gasping sob sneaks out of my chest, followed by tears I can’t keep inside anymore.
“Sorry!” Jonah releases my wrist and takes a step back. “I’m making everything worse.”
I take a deep breath and wipe my eyes on my sleeve. It’s harder than ever to summon the highly armored version of Olivia Kennedy. The Olivia who can wave and smile at the small crowd even when her brutally low score is announced at Skate Detroit and her skating career crashes down around her in flames.
Jonah takes my momentary show of weakness as an invitation. He steps in and wraps his arms around me. Jonah’s hug is not comforting. It’s awkward. He pats my back like I’m a stranger.
“Your mom is giving me a weird look through the window,” Jonah says into my ear. “Oh wait, now she’s smiling.”
When Jonah starts to move away, I wrap my arms around him. The Ice Prince slowly melts into me, and his hug does bring me comfort. I hold him tighter. For the next fifteen seconds, the world is all right. For fifteen seconds, I pretend I’m an average high school girl hugging the cute guy she can’t admit out loud she has a crush on. For fifteen seconds, I honestly believe I might get through all of this.
“Jonah, sweetie,” Sandy the Torturer yells across the parking lot, bursting my bubble. “Can you come in now?”
Jonah turns his head enough to acknowledge Sandy. When he turns back around to me, he pretends to vomit.
It squeezes a chuckle out of me. “I hate her.”
“Do you want me to accidentally key her car door on my way back in, sweetie?”