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father,” she repeats and closes her eyes and folds her hands over her chest.
    I wonder if the old men are listening through the curtain, hearing the truth about me—if they feel sorry for me that my dad didn’t want me, or if they wonder if I got what I deserved.
    â€œDo you ever talk to him?” I ask softly. “About me?”
    â€œHe’s never asked,” she says without opening her eyes.
    Boom. Right through my heart again—an even bigger puncture.
    I lift my chin. “Is he dead now?”
    â€œDead?” She opens her eyes, frowning. “Of course he’s not dead. Why would you think that?”
    As if I haven’t imagined ways he’s died hundreds of times. As if I never wondered about him just because she didn’t want me to. “You never told me anything,” I whisper. “I didn’t know what to think.”
    â€œHe’s not dead,” she repeats.
    The pain in my chest expands. I hope I’m not close to having a heart attack too. I have a father. It wasn’t immaculate conception.
    Mom presses her lips tighter and then turns away from me, staring out the window. “I’m the one who’s dying.”
    â€œNo, you’re not.” I fight to keep bitterness from my voice—and the fear. If she leaves me, I’ll be all alone. The twins aren’t exactly responsible-adult material. I reach for ChapStick in my pocket, pull it out, yank off the lid, and jab my lips. “You’re having surgery. You’re going to quit smoking, and you’re going to be fine.” I shove my ChapStick back in my pocket and stand.
    She turns back to me then, her face panicky, and shakes her head. “No. I’m dying. My dream…”
    â€œMom,” I say, placing my hand on her hip. “You’re not going to die,” I say firmly.
    â€œBut…” She stops and glances around the room and then whispers, “The insurance won’t cover all of this. Not all the tests they’re doing. The surgery.”
    For a second, I think about grabbing her hard, physically jolting her and shaking sense into her. We’ll have bills whether she dies or not. “It doesn’t mean you’re going to die. We’ll figure it out.” For a brief second, I imagine the worst-case scenario. If she dies, Jake and Josh have their dad. Is it possible I could have mine too?
    â€œThe boys need you,” she says, as if a death warrant with her name on it has already been scribed.
    But who’s going to be there for me? An image of the father I don’t know tries to form in my head, but I can’t see a face.
    â€œMom,” I repeat. “You’re going to be okay. And don’t worry about the money.” I have money in my savings account. I’ve been saving for years. There’s a nice chunk. It’s supposed to be for college. But if she needs it, I know I’ll hand it over.
    Silence in the room thickens. I try to say something… I love you … I’ll help you . But I don’t. Her eyes water, and I can see the fear swimming among her tears.
    There are footsteps around us, and then the boys walk into the curtained area and the air returns to normal. Mom glances at me, puts a finger to her lips, and sits up a little higher. She pastes a brave face on for her boys. While Jake settles on the side of the bed, Josh takes the chair by her feet and I back away.
    â€œI’m going to get a coffee,” I say. Jake is telling her about a nurse Josh hit on in the cafeteria, and I wander out, unnoticed. I head down the hallway to the elevator and find my way to the coffee shop on the main floor. I absently watch visitors, patients, and hospital staff all hurrying around in different directions as I order the hospital’s version of an overpriced vanilla latte and sit at a table for four all alone. When I take a greedy sip of coffee, my lip burns.
    I try to imagine life without my