Chapter 2

On the way down from the summit, Dorothy said she wanted to eat seafood stew.

The three of them were chatting excitedly about restaurants and menus, totally ignoring that I was shivering in my thin clothes in the cold.

Dorothy asked me perfunctorily, "Ruth, do you want to eat seafood stew?"

Before I could say a word, a sneeze burst out.

My mom immediately frowned. "Are you getting sick? Maybe you should just head back to school. We don't want you getting Dorothy sick."

My dad noticed I looked upset and softened his tone. "We want you to join us, but Dorothy can't afford to get sick right now. Do you remember the last time she had pneumonia? It almost killed her."

Dorothy, ever the considerate one, chimed in, "Ruth, just tell me what you want to eat. I'll order takeout and have it delivered to your school."

"See? Dorothy cares about you," my mom said, pulling my jacket tighter around Dorothy. Then she turned to me. "You should head back to school. Don't come home for a few days. We'll talk when you're feeling better."

Dorothy added, "Ruth, don't take it the wrong way. I've got a competition coming up, and I really can't afford to get sick right now."

My parents sent Dorothy to dance classes when she was little, just to make sure she kept moving.

She was gorgeous, and watching her dance in her wheelchair was always a showstopper.

I didn't linger; I just turned and walked away.

Eating seafood stew with them held no appeal for me.

For more than twenty years, Dorothy had been the center of our universe, always surrounded by my parents' love, shining for everyone to see.

And I could only stay by her side, moving within the limits of her life.

It didn't matter. I was used to it.

Dorothy got me plenty of food, but I wasn't hungry, so I gave it all to my roommates.

Late at night, I came down with a serious fever.

My roommate felt my burning body, panicked, and dragged me to the hospital in the middle of the night.

The cold was nothing serious, but my ankle was a real problem.

The doctor checked the X-ray, then stared at me like I was crazy. "Seriously? Did you hike up a mountain with a fractured ankle?"

I just nodded.

His eyes widened behind his glasses, totally stunned. "How did you even put up with that? That pain is no joke."

He suggested I stay in the hospital for a few days.

My roommates helped me get my classes covered, then they headed back to campus.

After I finished all the paperwork, I kept hesitating, but finally called my mom. I just wanted to ask if she could come stay with me for a few days. My leg was really messed up, and I could barely move.

However, the call never went through.

I tried calling my dad next, and it rang forever before he finally picked up.

The place was noisy and chaotic, but I could hear their laughter.

I said, "Dad, I fractured my ankle. I'm at the hospital."

"What? What's going on? I can't hear you." He sounded like he couldn't care less.

Finally, I just shouted at the top of my lungs, "I broke my ankle."

There was a brief silence on the phone, then his tone turned impatient. "It's just a fracture, not a full break. Rest for a few days, and you'll be fine."

Holding onto a sliver of hope, I asked, "Could you come take care of me for a few days?"

"Come on, Dorothy has been in a wheelchair for twenty-five years, and she's never made such a fuss," he said.

Then he hung up.

Hearing the busy signal, all the feelings I'd been ignored for hit me at once.

When I was a kid, I took dance lessons, too. My dance teacher always said I was flexible and coordinated, a natural dancer.

During one lesson, I misstepped and crashed into a glass door.

Glass cut into my knee, leaving it all bloody and raw.

By the time we got to the hospital, I hadn't even shed a tear yet, but Dorothy's eyes were already welling up with tears.

She said, "I really envy Ruth for being able to run and jump, for actually feeling pain. My legs are completely numb, and there's no feeling at all."

Then she started talking about wanting to jump off the building, her voice trembling with despair.

My parents were crying as they hugged Dorothy tightly, apologizing over and over, but none of them even bothered to look at my bleeding leg.

My mom, afraid it would hurt Dorothy, pulled me out of dance class.

My dad even warned me, "If you get hurt again from running around, no one is gonna take care of you."

And now, he really meant it.

My phone buzzed, and the screen lit up.

My mom had sent me 1.5 thousand dollars, along with a message cold as ice. [For your medical bills.]

I accepted the money and got myself the priciest clam chowder, like somehow that would get back at them.

Without thinking, I opened Instagram. The newest post was a photo of my parents taking Dorothy to dance class, all smiles and warmth.

And right next to Dorothy was Matthew Larson, the guy I'd been quietly in love with for seven years.

Before I could even finish the food, my tears fell straight into it.