Chapter 1 - The Gift Bag At The Door
The door made that soft creak I knew better than my own voice. I was standing with my back against the wall by my bed because my legs felt too heavy to hold me up straight, and the light from the window was too bright on the light bedding. Grandpa Ray filled the doorway with his tan jacket and that big purple bag with the white handles swinging a little in his hand. He smiled at me the way he always did, wide and crinkly around the eyes, like he'd driven all the way across town just to see me laugh.
Only I didn't laugh right. My arms felt slow and my head felt full of cotton, and there was the yellow-orange juice cup with the white lid and straw sitting on the bed where Mom had left it. I kept looking at it and then back at him. Behind him, out in the hall by the white staircase, I could hear Mom's shoes and see the gray of her blazer as she looked down at her phone. Everything happy and wrong was happening at the same time.
My name is Maya, I was seven, and that morning Grandpa came late for my birthday.
He stepped in and crouched down in front of me, his brown shoes squeaking a little on the floor. He set the purple bag between us and held it open with both hands. Up close I could smell his car and the mint he always kept in his pocket. His light blue shirt under his jacket had a little wrinkle at the button. He didn't say anything at first, just tilted the bag toward me and nodded, like go on.
I remember reaching in slow. My hand missed the edge once. Inside the tissue there was something soft and gray. I pulled and out came the elephant with the floppy ears and the stitched eyes, brand new and smelling like the store. I hugged it hard against my light blue shirt. For a second the softness cut through the sleepy feeling. I pressed my cheek into it and breathed. Grandpa laughed under his breath and his smile got bigger.
Then the tiredness rolled back in. I took a step and my white sneakers slid on the rug. I ended up leaning against his shoulder, heavier than I meant to. The elephant was squished between us. He put one arm around me to steady me, and I could feel his jacket rough against my arm. I didn't look up at him. I looked past him at the bed.
The juice cup was still there, sweating a little ring onto the blanket. Orange-yellow through the plastic. White lid. Straw tipped to one side. I stared at it because I didn't want to fall asleep before I got to play, but my eyelids kept sinking. Grandpa followed my eyes to the cup, then back to my face. His arm tightened just a fraction.
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Out in the hall Mom moved down two stairs, still watching her phone, her shoulder-length brown hair falling forward. She didn't come in. She turned toward the dining area like she was already late for a call. I heard her footsteps go soft on the carpet and then harder on the other floor.
Grandpa didn't smile anymore. I felt it more than I saw it, the way his cheek stopped lifting against the top of my head, the way he went very still. He kept me tucked against him with one hand still on the purple bag, and he just looked from me to that cup and to the empty doorway where Mom had been.
