Chasing Crazy - Kelly Siskind Page 0,101

getting better each day. Because of him, I got through the hardest year of my life. I thought I knew hardship. Thought the ridicule I endured was as bad as life could get. Now I know different. I’d live through an eternity of embarrassment if it meant keeping Mom healthy.

I snort despite my heavy thoughts, remembering the e-mail she sent Sam.

Me: Did you get my mom’s pics?

Sam: Fucking amazing. But don’t you think it’s odd my girlfriend’s mother is sending me topless photos? Doesn’t that cross a line or something?

Me: My mom doesn’t have lines. You know that.

To celebrate her official remission, Mom came home last week with two wings tattooed over the scars from her double mastectomy. The shading and colors are mind-blowing, the feathers covering much of her upper chest. It’s breathtaking. Vibrant. Full of life. It represents her. No breast reconstruction for my mom. She’s proud to be a survivor and wants the world to know it. So proud, she tried to drive me to the airport topless, claiming that without boobs she’s no different than a guy, ranting about inequality and women’s rights. When I threatened to take a cab, she got dressed reluctantly.

Me: Why are you still hiding?

Sam: I told you, I’m nervous.

Me: Why?

A silent phone answers me.

Me: If you can see me, you’ll see I’m making my angry-old-lady face. I’d suggest answering. Radio silence isn’t an attractive quality. Actually, there’s that cute guy walking his dog by the rosebushes. Maybe he’d like to talk to me.

Sam: One step, Canada, and I hide your knives on your first day of school.

Now he’s playing with fire. He knows how excited I am to go to culinary school, to fill in the gaps of my self-taught knowledge. Come January, I’ll throw on my monogrammed chef jacket (my first Christmas gift from Mom that didn’t involve tie-dye. It says Pininfarina in large black cursive), I’ll wear my chef hat (Leigh’s gift with the words Eat my pie stitched inside), and I’ll be carrying my brand-new chef knives (Sam’s gift—the one I was allowed to show my folks). No way am I going to school without those knives.

Again, I turn a full circle, looking everywhere for him.

Me: You hide my knives and I sleep in the spare room. With the door locked.

Sam: I will kick the door down ninja-style.

I tip my head back, laughing.

Me: Okay, tough guy. But seriously, why won’t you show yourself?

A full minute passes before he responds. A full sixty seconds of my nerves getting the better of me, a thousand possibilities crowding my mind.

I wish Leigh were here. Every time I lost it this year, every time I was sure Sam would change his mind and decide I wasn’t worth the wait, I’d call her and spew a lengthy rant. I’m not sure if she listened or simply said, “Yeah,” and “Mmhmm,” at the right times, often following with, “Man-candy loves you. Stop being such a freak.” Either way, I wouldn’t have made it without those calls.

I’ve been there for her, too. When she and Paige broke up, I hashed it out with her until the sun came up. And when she sees her mom, that unpleasant woman who’s always trying to convince Leigh her sexual preference is a “phase,” I send her one of my family lip-synching videos. Her favorite is “Baby Got Back.” She’s been through a lot this year, but she never backs down from owning who she is, family support or not, and she’s built a community of friends in California. The one thing that concerns me is her career choice. If I walked into an office to find Leigh as my therapist, I’d bolt Road Runner fast.

I fear for all future patients.

Unfortunately, she’s not here to calm me down while Sam takes his sweet time replying to me. Then my phone buzzes.

Sam: It’s been a year. There’s buildup with that. I’m worried you won’t feel the same.

This boy must be out of his mind. The past year has been difficult on so many levels. My mom. My job at the bakery, which was fun, exciting, hard, and grueling. Not being with Sam, which was tortuous. Still, we’ve talked tons and been there for each other when it counts; it’s hard to believe he’s questioning my feelings. I touch the bone pendant around my neck before replying.

Me: I don’t.

Radio silence.

Then, You don’t feel the same about me?

Me: No.

Deafening silence.

Sam: Breathing has become difficult. Paramedics may be needed. Maybe mouth-to-mouth. Explain yourself.

I’ve