"Can we go somewhere with a pool, Mom?"
She packed three swimsuits though she had never worn them before, her pink goggles, a paperback she had no intention of reading, and the stuffed dolphin one of the nurses had given her during treatment.
***
At check-in, the front desk clerk gave us towel clips with our room number written on the tags.
"Just clip your towels to the reserved chairs overnight or before breakfast," she explained. "The pool gets crowded fast."
I thanked her.
"The pool gets crowded fast."
Then apologized because Mia dropped her goggles.
Then apologized again when my card didn't scan the first time.
The clerk smiled gently.
"No trouble at all."
I barely heard her.
That was what the last year had done to me. Hospitals, insurance forms, school emails, and waiting rooms.
Somewhere along the way, I had started apologizing before asking for anything, as if needing help was already an inconvenience.
I had started apologizing before asking for anything.
***
The next morning, Mia woke before sunrise.
Her swimsuit hung loose on her small frame, but she stood in front of the mirror and grinned.
"Do I look like a pool girl?"
"You look like the pool might not survive you, sweetheart."
She laughed, then touched the bracelet again.
"Should I take it off?"
"Only if you're ready."
She looked down at it.
"Mmm, not yet."
