at noticing what’s going on in front of him, he does notice me.
“This isn’t your fault,” he says when Mom is in the bathroom.
I look at him with tired eyes. “Then why did you wait until Mom was gone to tell me that?”
“Because I know your mom, and if she realizes you’re blaming yourself, it will make everything worse. She’s feeling guilty enough right now,” Dad says. “But I promise you, your mom doesn’t think it’s your fault either. Not even a little bit.”
I nod. “Do you think Popo is going to be okay?”
“God, I hope so,” Dad says, and even though the words leave him like they’re supposed to lift some of the weight off of us, it just feels like the room gets heavier.
* * *
The doctor says Popo is in recovery. She’s going to be okay.
* * *
The light coming in from the window makes Popo look pale. She’s resting in the hospital bed, her eyes closed and her hands folded on her stomach. If it weren’t for the fact that she’s attached to a monitor, it would look like she’s been prepped for a coffin.
“Are you sure she’s alive?” Dad says, because clearly we have the same lack of filter when it comes to words.
Mom swats him on the arm. “That’s not even a little bit funny.”
When she’s walking toward Popo’s bed, Dad looks at me and pinches his fingers at the air like he’s asking if maybe it was, a little bit.
I nod, and we both pack our smiles away before we get back in Mom’s vantage point.
I sit in one of the chairs—Mom and I both at Popo’s sides—and Dad’s hovering behind me.
“Hey, I bet Popo will be hungry when she wakes up. Maybe I could run out to McDonald’s and grab her some breakfast?” Dad offers.
Mom makes a face. “Kenji, she just had a heart attack. She can’t eat McDonald’s.”
“Ah. Right.” Dad hesitates. “Well, I could at least run to the store, grab her a few things she might need. Like a toothbrush, or a comb…”
“I think the hospital has that stuff,” Mom says, rubbing the side of her head tiredly.
Dad nods slowly, looking up at the ceiling. Then he lights up. “What about her book? She’d probably love to read that when she wakes up.”
Mom opens her mouth to shut his idea down, when something makes her stop. Something Dad must be mouthing to her. But when I turn around to look, Dad’s smiling awkwardly at me.
“That would be great. Thank you,” Mom says.
Dad walks around to the other side of the bed, pecks her on the cheek, and hurries out of the room.
“Okay, what secret conversation did I miss?” I ask.
Mom smiles softly. “He thought maybe we should talk alone. Just the two of us.”
I look down at Popo, who is still sleeping.
“I’m sorry.” I swallow the knot that’s been in my throat for hours.
“You,” Mom says seriously, “have nothing to apologize for. Nothing. This was my fault. I shouldn’t have gotten so worked up.”
I look up at Mom seriously. “Don’t you think Popo would say it wasn’t your fault either?”
Mom’s eyes water, but she wipes them away quickly.
“You were telling her how you felt, which is what I was doing to you. And if you had had a heart attack instead of Popo, would you have wanted me to blame myself?” I ask.
A laugh escape’s Mom’s lips. “When did you get so smart?”
I smirk. “I’ve always been smart. That’s why I don’t need school.”
Mom narrows her eyes, and I roll mine.
“I know. Not funny.”
Mom tucks her hair behind her ears and crosses her arms. “It wasn’t all her fault, you know.”
I make a face. “I didn’t think anyone would blame Popo for her own heart attack.”
Mom shakes her head. “I mean about the circus—about why I quit.”
“Oh.” My heart thumps.
She sighs, staring at Popo for a long time, searching for the courage to say her story out loud. “It’s true Popo said a lot of harsh things to me after I almost lost you. But they were all things I had already been thinking myself. And I chose to quit not because of Popo—but because in that moment, I knew I loved something much more than I ever loved the circus.” She looks at me seriously. “You.”
“You could’ve still gone back to the trapeze,” I offer.
“But I didn’t want to. Not after the fall. I didn’t want to risk getting hurt again, but I also changed. My priorities were different,”