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Authors: Eva Lesko Natiello
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Lilly blurts, “I can’t believe you made me fall in the pool. What was that about? Embarrassing me like that. I’m gonna hear about that for the rest of my life. I could have gotten a penalty! The least you could do is have my towel. I’m freezing my butt off.”
I let Sassy Pants have a moment. I can’t say I don’t deserve it. She’s just scared and confused and is protecting herself with anger. Thinking about genes, I actually feel better about her tirade.
“Where are we going that’s so important? What’s the family emergency?” Lilly’s back on track.
Tessa starts to cry.
“By the way Mom, we lost. We lost that meet, ya know—the one you’re so proud of,” Lilly points out. “And next time, don’t clap for the other team. You’re supposed to clap for us. We saw you.”
I pull the car over to the side of the road and shift into park. “Tessa, please don’t cry. Everything’s going to be all right. I guess I didn’t realize you girls lost. Well, you know that never matters to me. You know that, winning or losing, I’m still proud of you. And yes, I was clapping because … because … do you know what it’s like for a mother to see her daughters being so amazing? Working so hard at something and then doing that thing they worked hard at?! I don’t give a damn who won.” The girls turn to look at each other with synchronized shock. I scan Lilly’s features and swear her eyes and nose are right off my face. I can’t believe I cheered for the other team. And I just cursed in front of them.
“Here, take these.” I frantically yank tissues from a box I keep in the car and quickly pat Lilly’s wet legs. “Take these tissues and blot your arms. What do you have in your bag, Lilly? Isn’t there something you could use to dry off? We just have to make one quick stop, and then we’ll go straight home. Don’t worry. They’ll have towels for you there. They’re good people there. They’ll help us. That’s what they do. Help people in need. Okay? Please. We just need to get there before they close.” I look at myself in the rearview mirror to make sure I don’t look too berserk for the Red Cross. I can’t give them a reason to refuse our blood.
“Listen, you two. I know I’ve been a little off today. I promise things will get better. I’ll be back to normal in no time—don’t worry—we just have to stop at the Red Cross. Okay? One quick stop, and everything will be fine.” As I say this, I scramble for an explanation as to why we are going to the Red Cross, and why exactly I’m going to insist blood be drawn from their innocent veins.
So … I tell them … the terrible, horrible news … about their second-great cousin, “Ricky,” who is related to my grandmother’s sister’s granddaughter (whom they’ve never met or heard of). He needs … surgery. Serious surgery. And even though he lives in … Argentina, everyone in the family is donating blood just in case.
They barrage me with questions about Ricky.
“Girls, I don’t know all the details—we’re not shipping blood to Argentina, he’s … having … the surgery … here someplace, in the U.S. Or maybe they are shipping it. I don’t know all the details. Hurry up and get dressed Lilly. Look in the back. There’s a bag of old clothes that I was going to drop at the Salvation Army. Blot yourself off with something in there, and get dressed. We have no time to waste.”
“What blood type does he have?” Tessa asks. “Shouldn’t we know his blood type? We just talked about this in health class.”
“Uh, well, it’s the same as mine. I don’t know what yours are, that’s why we’re going to check first. They’re not going to take blood from you unless you have the same type as Ricky.”
“How do they do that?” they ask in unison.
“Oh, don’t worry. It’s a simple finger prick.” I don’t dare look in the rearview mirror. I can’t bear to see them scared. I gulp a pool of saliva
I let Sassy Pants have a moment. I can’t say I don’t deserve it. She’s just scared and confused and is protecting herself with anger. Thinking about genes, I actually feel better about her tirade.
“Where are we going that’s so important? What’s the family emergency?” Lilly’s back on track.
Tessa starts to cry.
“By the way Mom, we lost. We lost that meet, ya know—the one you’re so proud of,” Lilly points out. “And next time, don’t clap for the other team. You’re supposed to clap for us. We saw you.”
I pull the car over to the side of the road and shift into park. “Tessa, please don’t cry. Everything’s going to be all right. I guess I didn’t realize you girls lost. Well, you know that never matters to me. You know that, winning or losing, I’m still proud of you. And yes, I was clapping because … because … do you know what it’s like for a mother to see her daughters being so amazing? Working so hard at something and then doing that thing they worked hard at?! I don’t give a damn who won.” The girls turn to look at each other with synchronized shock. I scan Lilly’s features and swear her eyes and nose are right off my face. I can’t believe I cheered for the other team. And I just cursed in front of them.
“Here, take these.” I frantically yank tissues from a box I keep in the car and quickly pat Lilly’s wet legs. “Take these tissues and blot your arms. What do you have in your bag, Lilly? Isn’t there something you could use to dry off? We just have to make one quick stop, and then we’ll go straight home. Don’t worry. They’ll have towels for you there. They’re good people there. They’ll help us. That’s what they do. Help people in need. Okay? Please. We just need to get there before they close.” I look at myself in the rearview mirror to make sure I don’t look too berserk for the Red Cross. I can’t give them a reason to refuse our blood.
“Listen, you two. I know I’ve been a little off today. I promise things will get better. I’ll be back to normal in no time—don’t worry—we just have to stop at the Red Cross. Okay? One quick stop, and everything will be fine.” As I say this, I scramble for an explanation as to why we are going to the Red Cross, and why exactly I’m going to insist blood be drawn from their innocent veins.
So … I tell them … the terrible, horrible news … about their second-great cousin, “Ricky,” who is related to my grandmother’s sister’s granddaughter (whom they’ve never met or heard of). He needs … surgery. Serious surgery. And even though he lives in … Argentina, everyone in the family is donating blood just in case.
They barrage me with questions about Ricky.
“Girls, I don’t know all the details—we’re not shipping blood to Argentina, he’s … having … the surgery … here someplace, in the U.S. Or maybe they are shipping it. I don’t know all the details. Hurry up and get dressed Lilly. Look in the back. There’s a bag of old clothes that I was going to drop at the Salvation Army. Blot yourself off with something in there, and get dressed. We have no time to waste.”
“What blood type does he have?” Tessa asks. “Shouldn’t we know his blood type? We just talked about this in health class.”
“Uh, well, it’s the same as mine. I don’t know what yours are, that’s why we’re going to check first. They’re not going to take blood from you unless you have the same type as Ricky.”
“How do they do that?” they ask in unison.
“Oh, don’t worry. It’s a simple finger prick.” I don’t dare look in the rearview mirror. I can’t bear to see them scared. I gulp a pool of saliva
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