Chapter One
At one o’clock in the morning the night before my family and I are due to leave for our big trip, I find myself sitting on the couch in our basement, watching old home videos on the projector screen. My medications are keeping me up again, and since I’ve already watched every other movie in the entire house at least ten times, I decided to start working my way through the massive stack of hand-labeled VHS tapes that everyone forgets we have and no one ever watches.
My movie choice is actually really appropriate, since the trip we’re leaving on tomorrow will take us back to the country I lived in for the first five years of my life, the country where most of these videos were actually filmed. I haven’t been to England since the move, which was thirteen years ago now. I hardly even remember the place. We’ll be in the heart of London, though, not my exact birthplace.
But it’ll still be nice to go back, I think.
The video I’m watching now is of my first birthday. A small, silent baby version of me blinks at the camera, staring into the lens with very large, dark emerald eyes. I’m almost completely bald, except for a few strands of black hair on the crown of my head. I find that pretty ironic, since nowadays my hair is waist-length, wavy, and so thick it takes me ten minutes to brush every morning. I’m sitting in a high chair in what must have been our kitchen when we lived in England. My tiny baby fist is clutching a pink plastic fork, and there’s a large slice of chocolate cake with creamy vanilla frosting on the plate in front of me.
“Go on, Leila, try the cake,” coos Mom. She’s standing next to the high chair, watching me with fond, happy eyes. This was definitely before the diagnosis, I think as I watch the video. I haven’t seen Mom look that relaxed in years.
Baby me just stares at the camera.
“Try feeding her a bite first,” suggests Dad. I can’t see him anywhere in the video and assume he’s the one holding the camera. “I don’t think she knows what to do with it.”
“Good point,” replies Mom.
She tenderly takes the fork from me, clearly trying not to upset me. I seem to be too busy staring into the camera to notice. Mom stabs a small piece of cake and holds it up to my mouth.
“Here, Leila. Try this, sweetie.”
Baby Leila momentarily looks away from the camera. My eyes swivel back and forth from Mom to the cake and back again. I don’t look very impressed.
“Go on, Leila,” urges Dad excitedly. “It’s really yummy. You’ll like it.”
I blink skeptically, as if to say, Really, Dad? Really? I’m clearly not buying it.
“She’s stubborn,” Dad comments conversationally.
“She must get it from your dad,” Mom tells him.
“My dad? What about your mom?” Dad asks, and the two of them laugh.
“Yeah, Grandma Anne is way more stubborn than Grandpa George,” says a voice from right behind me.
I jump in my seat. Startled, I turn around to see where the voice is coming from and who it belongs to. I spot a pajama-wearing figure leaning against the doorframe, looking at the projector screen. I sigh in both relief and annoyance.
“Geez, Melanie, what was that for?” I ask her irritably. My heart is pounding loudly from the surprise. I put my hand over my chest and take a very deep, very slow breath, trying to slow my heart down.
“It’s not my fault you’re so jumpy!” Melanie replies, wearing an amused grin. “Anyway, you agree with me about Grandma Anne, don’t you?”
