Chapter 4 - Eight Means Ask First
The curtains were still white and bright and doing that floaty thing when the air came through. I could hear it before I saw her move. She was sitting on the little chair by my dresser, not too close. Her blue shirt had a wrinkle in it from where she'd been kneeling yesterday. Her ponytail was pulled back again. She wasn't looking at the screen in the corner. She was looking at me.
My bear was tucked against my arm. My chair was beside the bed where I'd left it. The headrest pressed just right behind my neck. I didn't say anything yet.
She breathed in and out once, slow. "Can I tell you my idea?" she said.
I shrugged.
"It's about help," she said. "What if I don't just help? What if I ask first. Every time. And you get to say yes or no. And no is a full answer."
I looked at her necklace. It was small and gold and it moved a little when she talked.
"Like even for little stuff?" I said.
"Even for little stuff," she said.
I didn't answer right away. I could hear the house being quiet. Somewhere down the hall somebody shut a door soft. The daylight made a square on my blanket.
Yesterday she had said she'd treat me like I was eight. I kept thinking about that. Most grown-ups said it but then they did the baby voice anyway when they thought I couldn't tell.
"You won't get mad if I say no?" I said.
"No," she said. "I won't get mad."
I shifted my joystick just a little with my thumb. My chair made its tiny click sound. I liked that sound. It meant it was ready.
"For how long?" I said.
She smiled, but not big. "You pick."
I thought about it. If I said forever and she messed up, then I'd feel dumb for believing her. If I said one hour, that was baby stuff.
"One day," I said. "Just today."
"Okay," she said. "Just today."
It felt quiet after that in a good way. Not the kind of quiet where somebody wants you to talk. She messed with her earring for a second and then put her hands in her lap. She waited.
I looked over at my nightstand. My water cup was there. It was the blue one with the white lid and the straw bent a little to the side. I could almost reach it on my own if I leaned and drove real close. Yesterday a nurse had just handed it to me without asking and spilled a little on my pajamas. The white trim around my sleeve had gotten wet. I hated that.
I stared at the cup on purpose.
She saw me looking. I could tell she saw. Her eyes went to the cup and then back to me. She didn't stand up.
She breathed. I breathed. My bear's ear was soft under my chin.
She said, quiet, "Do you want help with your water?"
There. She asked.
My chest did that tight thing. Part of me wanted to say no just to see if she'd listen. Part of me was thirsty. I leaned a little to the right in my chair to test myself. My arm stretched out. My fingers brushed the edge of the nightstand. The cup was like two more inches away. I could have bumped it closer if I tried harder, but then I might have knocked it over.
I sat back against the headrest. I took another breath. A slow one.
"Yes," I said. "You can hand it to me."
She stood up slow. She didn't rush over. She picked up the cup with both hands so the straw wouldn't wobble. She brought it to me and stopped about a foot away.
"Here," she said, holding it out. "You grab?"
I reached out and took it. Our fingers didn't touch. The cup was cool. I took a drink. The water was cold from the morning.
"Thank you," I said, because Mom taught me that part.
"You're welcome," she said. She sat back down on the little chair. She didn't take the cup from me when I was done. She waited until I held it out.
"Can you put it back?" I said.
"Yes," she said, and she did. She put it in the exact same spot, straw turned toward my chair.
I hugged my bear tighter. He smelled like my blanket.
"See?" she said. "That's ask first."
I nodded a little. "You didn't grab my chair."
"No," she said. "That's your chair. You drive."
I looked down at my joystick. The black stick with the little ball on top. My thumb knew exactly how far to push it to turn without hitting the bed.
"Tomorrow maybe we try again," I said. "Maybe."
May you like
She nodded. "Maybe. Only if you want."
The daylight moved a little across the floor. We just sat there. The screen light in the corner blinked, but I didn't look at it. For one day, the rule was ours.
