CHAPTER 3
1235 Words
"I can't."
Confused murmurs from the guests.
Hudson's smile stayed put. But his hand – the one holding the ring – it tensed. "Sallie? What's wrong?"
"I can't... I can't.. I can't do this."
His hand shot out for mine. "Sallie–" Then he caught himself, softened. "Baby. It is okay. Cold feet, that's all this is. Totally normal. We just need to–"
My hand jerked back. "Don't."
The church went silent.
"Don't." My voice. "Don't call me that. Don't – don't do the thing where you make it small and manageable and–"
"Sallie, what are you talking about? This isn't the time–"
"When is the time, Hudson? You're proud of me. You actually – you're proud! Like I'm something you built. How much I've... learned under your guidance?"
Gasps from the guests. His hand dropped. I watched his jaw work. Clench. Release. Like he was physically holding words back. He swallowed.
"HOW AMAZING IT IS WHAT A LITTLE GUIDANCE CAN DO! Your sweet, simple teacher! Your successful charity project!"
"Jesus, Sallie–" Then caught himself. Softened. "That is not what I–"
"You know that is not what I meant."
""I a'm not the woman you love – I'm the one you improved! Your before-and-after story!"
"That is not–"
"STOP! Stop trying to manage this! Stop trying to fix this! You can't spin this, Hudson! I know what you are and I know what you think I am and I will NOT spend my life being grateful for your generosity!"
The bouquet hit his shoes.
The church doors. My hands on the wood. Pushing.
Sunlight.
Steps under my feet.
Cars.
Street.
Someone shouting my name behind me but I was already moving, the dress bunching in my fists, borrowed shoes slapping pavement.
A corner. Another corner.
My lungs burning.
The shouting got quieter.
Then gone.
I stopped in an alley. Buildings I didn't recognize on either side.
My back hit brick. I was gasping. The dress pooled around me like I'd melted.
Quiet.
Just my breathing. Traffic sounds three blocks away.
---
The costume was splitting at the seam again.
I could feel it while I knelt for photos with Emma, who kept stepping on the hem with her light-up sneakers. I'd sewn this thing three times already. The fabric was exhausted.
So was I.
"Princess Sallie, can you do the magic spell? The one that makes wishes come true?"
"Of course, sweetheart." I waved the plastic wand. More glitter fell off. The thing was nearly bald. "Bibbidi bobbidi boo."
Risha shook the arm of the kid next to her. "Did you SEE that?"
"You DID it!" The other kids exploded.
They screamed. All six of them, like I had actually made something appear out of thin air instead of waving a half-bald plastic stick.
I smiled. My cheeks ached. I'd been smiling for two hours.
This was the fourth party this weekend. After this I had to get home, change, get to my night shift cleaning the offices on Fifth Avenue. Sleep somewhere in between if Jordan cooperated.
He usually didn't.
I looked across the rec center to check on him.
He was at the snack table, head thrown back laughing at something another kid said. His missing front tooth showed. My chest hurt looking at him.
Happy. He was happy. Completely happy. I wanted to bottle this exact second and keep it forever. Even in his stained Spider-Man shirt and the sneakers that were getting too small.
He started running toward the balloon arch–
Then stopped. Just–stopped. Standing there in the middle of all the other kids racing around him.
Why did he stop?
"Jordan?"
He wobbled. His arm reached out – grabbing for something that wasn't there.
Air.
I was already moving. The dress caught under my knees. I grabbed it, yanked it up, ran.
"Jordan, baby–"
He looked up at me. His eyes were too wide. Whites showing all around.
"Mama–"
The word barely made it out. Thin. Reedy. "Can't–breathe–"
"Okay." I dropped in front of him. The costume was everywhere but I didn't care. "You're okay. Look at me. Where's your inhaler?"
He tried to raise his arm. It took everything he had. Just to point. Just to show me where.
"I'm coming – just stay–"
I couldn't finish. I was running. The bag- where did I put the bag? There. I grabbed it, shook it out. Hard.
Wallet. Keys. Receipts. Loose change hitting the floor. Granola bar. Pen.
Where is the inhaler? Where is the INHA–
Inhaler.
I was back to him in seconds.
The other kids had gone quiet. Parents were watching now. I could feel their stares.
"Here baby. You know how to do this. Slow breath in. That's it."
His little hand wrapped around mine on the inhaler. He breathed in. Once. Twice.
I counted. One Mississippi. Two Mississippi.
His breathing started to even out. The wheeze getting quieter.
"Good. That's it. You're okay."
His hand stayed on his chest. Small fingers spread wide, feeling for his own heartbeat maybe. Making sure.
I looked down at my hands. They were vibrating. I flattened them against my thighs but the tremor went deeper than skin.
"Is he okay?" One of the moms. I had no idea what her name was.
"He's fine." My voice came out steady somehow. "Just asthma."
Just asthma.
Like that wasn't a huge deal. Like I didn't stay up at night listening to him breathe. As if I didn't take that inhaler everywhere – check it incessantly – and dread every time he ran too fast or laughed too loudly.
Jordan leaned against me. His breathing was better but he looked tired.
"Am I okay, Mama?"
"You're okay baby." I pulled him close. The costume was probably scratching him but he tucked his head under my chin anyway. "You're okay."
My phone rang among the mess of things on the floor.
I should ignore it. Should just hold him. But my eyes went to the screen anyway.
Email notification.
*URGENT: Jordan's pulmonologist recommends...*
I looked away.
Not now.
But I'd already seen enough to know.
The pulmonologist. The one who smiled and said "we're keeping an eye on it" while Jordan's peak flow numbers dropped every visit. Who nodded sympathetically and said "let's see how he does" while I described him waking up gasping.
We'd done enough seeing, apparently.
Jordan shifted against me. "Mama, can I have juice?"
"Yeah baby. Let's get you juice."
I got him to his feet. Walked him over—my arm around his shoulders, taking some of his weight. Poured juice into one of those flimsy paper cups.
He drank in small sips. I kept my hand on his back. Counting breaths. In. Out. In. Out.
The costume seam split a little more.
I left my phone face-down on the floor.
I knew exactly what kind of email starts with "URGENT" and ends with a bill I can't pay.
---
I was going to throw up. Actually vomit. Here. Backstage. In front of—how many people were back here? In Chelsea's dress that I'd have to pay to clean. In shoes I couldn't even run in.
"Breathe." Chelsea's voice. Her hand warm on my spine. "Sal. You can walk away.”
- Writer
