“Yes,” said Julie, spooning rice onto her own plate, then their daughter’s. “Until you’re old enough to go where Ma teaches.”
Julie passed the rice back to Val, and the rest of the serving dishes made their way around the table to each of them in turn. David relaxed his death grip on the dinnerware to heap rice, then broccoli, then half a chicken onto his plate. They always served him last these days, a forced measure after the night an entire French bread disappeared before his mothers and sister had gotten any. Making more didn’t help; his teenage stomach expanded to greet whatever food arrived in front of him. Val had called him BC for a while, for “boa constrictor,” after she dreamed he’d unhinged his jaw to swallow the whole Thanksgiving turkey.
There was silence while they all chewed; Val hadn’t been patient enough with the rice and felt mildly guilty about it. She was a decent cook, as long as she didn’t rush things, but on school nights her poor family ate everything al dente.
A moment later, David raised his fork in triumph, a spear of broccoli impaled on the tines. “Think of the health benefits, Ma! I’d have more time. I could join the track team . . .”
Val exchanged a look with Julie. They’d been trying to get him into some kind of physical activity for two years. He had steadfastly refused to join any clubs or teams. They hadn’t pressed, as long as he kept up his schoolwork and spent dinner and the hour afterward with the family.
“Let us talk it over,” Julie said.
“Is that ‘I want to say no but I don’t feel like fighting over dinner’ or will you really talk it over?” he asked. Sophie giggled.
“Both,” Val said. “Time for a new topic. Sophie, how’s fourth grade treating you today?”
“My teacher farted during math.”
Julie’s shoulders started shaking. Val tried to hold it together. “That’s it? Did you learn anything?”
David grinned. “Maybe Sophie didn’t, but I guess the teacher learned not to eat beans for lunch.”
“How do you know what my teacher ate for lunch?”
“I know everything,” David said, waggling spooky fingers at his sister.
She looked impressed. Val glanced at Julie, knowing she, too, was savoring the moment of normalcy.
CHAPTER THREE
JULIE
David had a point. Julie had seen it instantly. She remembered being the last kid in school without a phone or tablet. She’d been raised in a dying western Pennsylvania town, and even there you could be the last, the only. There was never such thing as equally poor; someone always had less of one thing or more of another.
That was why she had dedicated herself to climbing out of that situation. In college, she’d taken every business class available, from statistics to microeconomics, determined never to fall into her parents’ cycle of poor financial decisions. At the time, she hadn’t been thinking about a future family; she’d been thinking she wanted to buy the things she wanted without weighing the cost. If she didn’t end up in exactly the place she’d hoped for, it wasn’t for lack of trying. Her internship in Congressman Griffith’s office had led to a job there, and then Val had encouraged her to concentrate on upward mobility in a place where she had traction rather than risk starting someplace new.
She tried to balance her desire to make sure her kids had everything they wanted and needed with practicality. They had more than either she or Val had growing up, but had never arrived at a point where they couldn’t be derailed by an emergency. A point where the argument revolved solely around whether it was a good idea to get the implant, not whether they could afford it.
The lights had already been off for several minutes when Julie called Val back from the edge of sleep.
“I understand why this is a big deal for you,” she said.
“Which?” Val grasped for the subject. Julie realized there had been several big deals over the course of the day, starting with the discussion of whether to replace Val’s tires or repair the sagging gutter and continuing after dinner with Sophie’s first seizure in four months, breaking through yet another medication, the giggly ten-year-old from dinner replaced by her own zombie doppelgänger. They should have known control was an illusion too good to last. Still, that was a big deal for everyone, not only Val.
“The Pilot?” Val asked, sounding more awake. “How could it not be a big deal?”
“Maybe it would help him in school. He’s having a rough time—it sucks to feel different.”
“And the answer to a rough time is this? How could a kid whose sister has epilepsy ask his mothers for voluntary brain surgery?”
“It’s just an outpatient procedure. I’ve read the risks. No more dangerous than a piercing or a tattoo, and a lot more benefits.” She wasn’t ready to admit how much research she’d done on the subject already.
“Piercings and tattoos get infected, and they aren’t in your brain when it happens.” Val rolled over to look at her in the dark. “Are you serious? You’re on board?”
“I’m open to it. The people in my office who have it say it’s safe. Almost nobody gets infections from piercings or tattoos anymore. It wouldn’t break the bank; we’ll just have to wait a little longer on your tires.”
“And the gutter?”
“And the gutter,” Julie said, wrapping herself around Val. “Small price to buy our kid’s happiness.”
“Voluntary brain surgery. I’d be crazy to agree to this, and you’re crazy to ask.”
“Mmhmmm.” She lay awake listening to Val’s breathing, waiting for her to fall asleep, for the sign that she wasn’t following the branching worst-case scenarios through her head. Maybe Val was right that it should bother her more, but it simply didn’t. There was a difference between what David needed and what Sophie needed. Comparing them did no good.
She’d been waiting for this, really. Val had been complaining
