The next morning I woke up
and wrapped myself in my blanket
and went in the living room
and sat on the sofa
and waited
for the sound of Bibi’s key in the door.
I knew I wouldn’t hear Bibi’s key in the door.
But still
I thought
maybe.
Maybe she forgot something.
Maybe she changed her mind.
Maybe her dad got well.
and listened
and waited
and waited
until my mom came in
and sat beside me
and held me tight.
“This feels just awful,” she said.
We sat there together
feeling awful.
Then she said,
“Should we have something special for breakfast?
Some chocolate-chip pancakes?”
“No,” I said.
“With powdered sugar?”
“No,” I said.
“Cinnamon toast with extra cinnamon?”
“No,” I said.
“How about pickle juice on a cookie?” she said.
“Would you like pickle juice on a cookie?”
And then I had to smile.
Because that was just ridiculous.
