Page 5 of Tell Me I'm Enough

I would love to be a marine biologist—I know I can’t be one, but I like imagining it. I love how big the ocean is, how much people still don’t know about it. I feel that way about myself…that most people don’t know a lot about me. If they did…maybe they’d be nicer to me, right?

My mom is nice. She’s the only one, though.

My happy bubble is here, near the ocean, where I can imagine how much more is out there for me in the world, far away from here.

By the time the sun goes down, we’re exhausted. We drive back home with half-cherry, half-Coke slushies from the gas station, windows rolled down, and the music turned up loud.

We’re sitting at a red light, playing I Spy, and right as the light turns green and Mom starts to drive, she starts coughing. I thought that she had just choked on her drink a little, but she keeps coughing, and it sounds really bad. The car jerks, and she grips the wheel really tight, trying to fix it.

“Mom?”

My slushie slips from my hands and spills on the floor.

She doesn’t answer, just keeps coughing—harder and harder. Her hand keeps twitching, and it looks like she can’t hold the wheel very well. The car swerves to the side before she slams on the brakes.

“Mom!”

My heart is beating so fast.

She’s still trying to smile at me like everything’s okay, but she’s breathing really loudly, and her body is shaking.

“It’s okay, baby,” she whispers to me. “I’m okay.”

She isn’t, though. This isn’t normal.

Right?

Her hand won’t stop shaking, and her foot slips when she tries to drive again.

I’ve never been this scared in my life.

She puts the car in park and keeps trying to breathe, but it’s like she can’t get in enough air. I grab her flip phone from the cup holder and hit Dad’s number that’s on speed dial.

He answers on the third ring, already annoyed. “What?”

“Dad, something’s wrong with Mom—”

“Geez, Mason. What now?”

“She—she can’t hold the wheel right, she’s coughing a lot—she—”

“Really? That’s what I answered in the middle of a meeting for?” He seems annoyed, like he didn’t even want to answer in the first place. “You don’t need to panic every time she coughs. Your mother’s always been dramatic. This is what she does, Mason.”

My eyes burn. “But Dad, she can’t—”

“She’s fine. Stop acting like that, and put her on the phone.”

When I look at her, she’s slumped against the seat, still trying to smile. She just shakes her head.

“She can’t,” I whisper.

Silence. Then my dad breathes out a long sigh. “I don’t have time for this. Grow up. Tell her to get home and go to bed since she can’t function. I’ll see y’all Friday.”

Click.

The line goes dead, and I stare at the phone, angry that he won’t help when she really needs it.

I look over at my mom, scared because I don’t know what to do.