Then I stood there.
Her necessary medicine and medical information stayed with us.
The overnight bag stayed home.
At school, Alice stopped at the entrance and grabbed my hand.
“What if everybody looks at me?”
“They might, sweetheart.”
“What if it’s weird?”
“They might, sweetheart.”
“It probably will be.”
She looked up at me.
“And if you hate it, we’ll figure out tomorrow.”
She stayed beside me another second.
She squeezed my hand for a moment, and then she let go.
Alice walked inside without me.
“It probably will be.”
And I left, actually left.
At home, the hospital bag sat beside the door.
I made coffee.
It went cold while I checked the time.
I arrived for pickup 50 minutes early.
Alice came out beside Sophie.
And I left, actually left.
Her hair was messy.
Her backpack hung crookedly over one shoulder.
She looked tired.
She also looked happy.
My eyes immediately searched her face.
Alice caught me.
She looked tired.
“You’re doing it.”
I stopped.
“The hospital face?”
She nodded.
“Sorry.”
“It’s okay.”
She thought for a moment.
“I did the school face today.”
“You’re doing it.”
“What does that look like?”
“Like I’m not scared even when I am.”
She looked toward my car.
“You were here early, weren’t you?”
“No.”
“Mom.”
“Forty-three minutes.”
“You were here early, weren’t you?”
“Mom.”
“Fine. Fifty.”
Alice laughed.
I reached for her backpack.
She pulled it closer.
“I’ve got it.”
My first instinct was to tell her it looked heavy.
I reached for her backpack.
My second was to take it anyway.
Instead, I lowered my hand.
“Okay.”
Alice adjusted the strap herself and started toward the car.
I walked beside her.
And Alice carried her own backpack.
Alice adjusted the strap herself and started toward the car.
