“What?” Dad gasped. “I don’t think I want any dick prizes.”
“Same,” King drawled.
I feebly raised my hand. “I also don’t want dick prizes, but I will take whatever you have in the container.”
“You know what I meant,” Meg grumbled.
“Rest and just letting time heal is all he can do. And I would also like what is in the container, but no dick prizes,” Birdie laughed.
I listened to everyone moving around.
“Did you understand Dr. Gus when you had all of your stroke stuff?” Dad asked King.
“Ha,” Meg laughed. “I got to the point where I would record him and then listen to it back while I Googled what he said. He is brilliant but couldn’t figure out how to bring his explanations down to an eighth-grade level.”
“Fuck,” I laughed. “I need him to bring it down to a sixth-grade level.”
“I tried to make food that you can eat by yourself,” Meg explained. “I made calzones stuffed with all the veggies and sausage, and also apple hand pies.”
“I thought you were making eggplant parmesan?” Mom asked.
“Change of plans,” Meg sang. “I didn’t think Easy wanted his mom fork feeding him his dinner.”
“Thank you,” I grunted, “but you didn’t have to make something special for me, Meg,” I moaned. “Hell, you don’t have to make food for me. I can just get whatever the cafeteria has.”
“Gross,” Meg hissed. “And since you can’t see, I’m telling you I look completely disgusted.”
“She does,” King agreed. “And I am more than thankful that she made calzones because they are the shit.”
“You can have my calzone if I can have your pie,” Dad called.
“I’m flipping off your dad right now, Easy, because there isn’t a chance in hell he is going to get my apple pie,” King explained.
“You’re both crazy,” Mom laughed. “You’re going to scare away Birdie.”
“No, no,” Birdie called softly. “You guys are fine. And I would be happy with whatever Meg made for dinner.”
I wish I could fucking see. Birdie said she was fine helping me and hanging out but was she really? “You’ll stay for dinner?” I asked.
Silence.
“Birdie?” I called.
“Uh, of course, I’ll stay for dinner,” she replied softly.
“And you’ll be my translator?”
She chuckled. “I don’t think you really need me to be your translator, but I’ll help however you need me to.”
“Good, good,” I mumbled. It was hard enough being blind and wondering if I had cancer; I didn’t want to also be an idiot.
“I’m gonna hand you your food, Easy,” Meg called. “You need to eat your calzone before you get your pie.” She pressed the warm calzone into my hand and I raised it to my mouth.
“Even when I’m blind you’re making me eat my dinner before dessert,” I muttered.
“Sucks to be you,” Dad laughed. “I already got my hands on the pie.”
“They’re both good,” Birdie interrupted. “Not that I’ve tried either of them, but I’ve learned that if Meg made it, it’s good.”
