Read Online Fancy White Trash by Marjetta Geerling - Free Book Online Page A

here. She paces the room just like a Veterans’ Hospital character would. “Three weeks early! My goodness! And can you believe that nurse wouldn’t even let me in the room? Said Kait doesn’t want me there. Me, her own mother!”
    And rival for the affection of her baby’s father. I don’t say that, though. Unlike everyone else in my family, I’ve outgrown the need to stir things up. Slumping onto the floor, I take the pen and design a tattoo for my ankle.
    â€œShe’s been in there for over three hours,” Cody says after checking the time on his phone. “Did the nurse give you any more information?”
    â€œNo, no—just told me to take a seat in the maternity ward Family Area and they’d let me know. Not an easy place to find, this little room,” Mom says.
    I look up from my swirling vine. “Where’s the Guitar Player?” The father.
    Mom totters on her extra-high heels. “You know he had a gig down in Phoenix. That’s where we were. I took the car. He’s staying with a friend tonight, and she’ll drive him up here tomorrow.” She manages to look both annoyed and pathetic as she settles on the edge of one of the end tables.
    Not even here for the birth of his child. Living, breathing proof that I am dead-on accurate when it comes to Rules #3 and #4, Looks Aren’t Everything and Don’t Need Him. You should never need any guy, especially one as good-looking as the Guitar Player. I’m only guessing, but my bet is the friend he’s staying with is a gorgeous Guitar Groupie.
    â€œWhere are Shelby and Hannah?” Mom asks, just now noticing that it is mostly the neighbors waiting it out in the Family Area. You’d think there’d be another family crowded in here with us, waiting for their own good news, but Tuesday’s apparently not a big night for deliveries in Cottonwood.
    I tell her and watch as her mouth thins into a tight line. She thinks that all of us crammed into three bedrooms makes us close, but that’s only geography. Her eyes take in the writing on my arm and legs. “What’s this? You’re not getting a tattoo, are you?”
    â€œYes, I’m having Kait’s English essay tattooed on all visible parts of my body.” I add more inky swirls to my ankle and a few angry dots.
    Mom sighs like I’m the problem child in this family. “It’s not flattering.”
    â€œIt’s not supposed to be. Got any paper in your purse?” If I don’t transfer the essay soon, accidental brushes against other people or even a little sweat could destroy my work.
    She tosses her purse to me. I rifle through it. Gum, crackers, wallet. “Can I use this receipt?” It’s a long one from the grocery store. If I write tiny and abbreviate, it could work.
    The door opens and a nurse enters. “Ms. Savage?”
    â€œYes?” Mom and I say together.
    The nurse talks to Mom. “Your daughter wants to see you now.”
    I am the one who held her hand until Jackson got to the house and helped her to the car. I am the one who filled out the twelve hundred pages of medical forms. I am the one who sat for hours on the uncomfortable waiting-room chairs. I am the one dying to know how my sister is.
    â€œOh, thank God.” Mom puts a hand to her heart and hurries after the nurse. The door closes behind her. It’s the three of us again, back in our bubble. Another hour passes while we discuss what is or is not worth watching on TV this season.
    â€œI’m gonna find a vending machine.” Cody stands and stretches. “You want anything?”
    I shake my head, but Jackson gives him a dollar, asks for a soda. Cody leaves. Now there are only two in the bubble.
    â€œYou don’t have to do that now,” Jackson says. “I mean, Kait does have a pretty good excuse for not handing it in on time.”
    I am scribbling out the essay on the receipt,