“The unendurable is the beginning of the curve of joy.”
—Djuna Barnes
Royce and Mason are coming down from the Bay Area to visit. They’re in the dining room eating dinner when Mom and I arrive back from one of my therapy sessions that I’ve been doing after I was released from the hospital. Dad is in Hayward giving a speech. He’ll be back tomorrow. I miss him.
Mom gives them that why-are-you-eating-without-us look.
This is a big test. Eating in front of anyone.
“We were hungry, Mom,” Mason says. “And the delivery guy just showed up out of the blue. It was like a gift from heaven. How could we refuse?”
“The moo shu pork is really good today,” Royce adds.
“You couldn’t wait for us to get home?” Mom asks. “It’s like you’re in high school again. The amount of food you two used to go through in a week... My god.”
“Those were the good old days.”
Mom looks at them as she takes a seat. “I know.”
Mason passes me the fried rice. “Want some?”
I take a chair too. “Not from the chopsticks you’re using.”
“I’m not giving you those,” he says.
I pour myself a glass of water. “Just put some on a plate for me.”
“Sure thing,” Mason says, scooping a small portion onto my plate. I have to eat higher calorie meals, but I also have to be careful about how much I eat.
My body is still sensitive to food.
Just then I get an email notification. I click on the app to open the message. “Mom, it’s from the gallery,” I say, my heart pounding in my chest. I’m nearly shaking with a mixture of excitement and dread. Did they accept or reject my application?
“Give me that,” Mason says, grabbing my phone. “I’ll see what it says.”
“Oh no you don’t,” I say, trying to get it.
He takes off running, but I’m after him.
“Give it back to her, Mason,” Mom says, taking a bite of paper-wrapped chicken. “Now you’re acting like you’re in second grade.”
Mason runs around the table.
“He may be the oldest, but he’s obviously still in the second grade,” says Royce. “Come on, give it back to her before she cries.”
I’m laughing, but too tired to keep after him. “I give up,” I say. “Read it.”
“I was just joking,” he says. “You read it.”
“No. You read it, please,” I say.
We make eye contact.
I can see how proud he is all of a sudden that I asked.
“All right.” He looks at the email. “Hmm,” he says, tossing me the phone. “You’re in the show. You’ve got a couple of weeks to get ready.”
I catch the phone and start cheering and high-fiving everyone, even Mom. I’ve never felt so happy about anything, ever.