I’m so much more excited to see him
than I was to see Obi this morning.
The bouquet of flowers from Obi
trumpet orange and yellow beside me
from a vase on Vass’s bedside table.
I pray Matt doesn’t mention them.
“You look busted!” Matt says.
“How many colors is that bruise?”
“I decided I wanted to match Vass’s bedroom
with a rainbow and some evil-eye blue.”
Matt takes in the colors of Vass’s bedroom.
He looks at my arm again,
and lets out a laugh.
I love Matt’s laugh.
I think of what Obi said:
Laughter is the best medicine.
Matt thinks of something:
“That has to be the most mixed-race bruise
I’ve ever seen.
You can never make your mind up
what color you wanna be.”
I’m dead. Buried. A ghost.
“Matthew! How dare you?!” I howl.
We both take a moment to recover.
Still catching his breath,
Matt says, “Vass said to tell you
they’re helping their mum make lunch.”
He regards the big, showy flowers.
“Are you staying for lunch?” I ask.
“Auntie Estélla insisted,” Matt says
