Mom pinches my big toe, poking up from underneath the thin hospital bedding, and briefly wiggles it around. Then she pats my left leg—shin, knee, thigh—as she walks closer to the head of the bed. “Gallbladder attack, huh?” she says. It’s crazy; even with puffy eyes and no makeup, she’s still beautiful.

“That’s what they tell me,” I say, staring at her. It’s weird. She’s my mom and I see her every day, but her beauty still strikes me all the time. She’s tall and slim and has a teeny-weeny ’fro that makes her face, with its high cheekbones and thick lips and dark glowing skin, pop . . . even on what seems to be a sad, shitty day.

“Must be hereditary. I had to get mine removed in my late twenties.”

“For real?” I say, and a forgotten memory of me running my fingers over a scar on her stomach rushes to the front of my brain. I was super young, probably like five.

“Yep, had a gallbladder attack when I was in New Orleans, furniture shopping for a client. Passed out in one of my favorite little antique shops. Had to get rushed to the hospital just like you, you know.”

“No, we don’t know. Why didn’t you ever tell us about this?” Cole asks, but it sounds more like an accusation than a question. He’s clearly still worried about Mom. The boy needs to relax.

Mom shrugs. “I don’t know. Guess it never crossed my mind.”

“While you’re telling things, would you be so kind as to tell everyone what you decided today?” Daddy says in his lawyer voice. He goes from leaning on the windowsill to standing up straight, like he’s readying himself to approach the witness. I hate when his lawyer side comes out . . . always acting like someone’s on trial. But this is not the courtroom. We are not his clients. And Mom is not on the witness stand. He can save the drama for work.

Mom ignores him, not even turning around to look at him. When she’s pissed, she doesn’t curse or shout. She ignores.

And Daddy hates it. “Barbara, please answer the question.” Now he’s standing with his hands behind his back, in serious lawyer mode.

She turns around and gives him a look. “Derek, this is not the time or the place.”

Cole walks around Mom and stands by the head of my bed. Mom and Daddy never fight like this in front of us. They save their fights for behind bedroom and car doors, mostly about Mom working so much.