Don’t Make Me Turn This Life Around by Pagán, Camille (dar e dil novel online reading .txt) 📕

“No, I’m serious,” I said. “I’m sorry I wasn’t more open about it. I should have told all three of you I was struggling, but instead of saying that, I doubled down on being positive, to the point where it was more harmful than helpful. It was the wrong way to handle my feelings, and it backfired.”

“Mommy, it’s okay,” said Charlotte, putting her hand on my shoulder.

I smiled. She’d been calling me that since we’d gotten back. It probably wouldn’t last, but I liked it. “I appreciate that, love. But if you guys feel like I’m being too rah-rah, just know that you can tell me.”

The girls glanced at each other. Then they looked back at me.

“Okay,” said Isa.

“Deal,” said Charlotte.

“Thanks, you two,” I said. I looked at Charlotte again. “I’ll get in touch with Dr. Ornstein tomorrow to make an appointment, and we’ll take it from there. Sound good?”

She nodded. “Thank you.”

I smiled at them both. “That’s what I’m here for.”

“How are you feeling about work?” Shiloh asked that evening. We were on our patio, and the neighbor’s mosquito zapper was buzzing; someone a few doors down was blasting eighties rock. I missed Puerto Rico, but in a strange way I was content to listen to the sounds of home, too.

I took a sip of my sparkling water before looking at him. “What makes you ask?”

He shrugged. “Nothing. It was just that you hadn’t mentioned it once while we were traveling.”

Even a week earlier, I would have deflected his remark by saying something about how I’d had bigger things on my mind, or how the whole point of vacation was not to think about work. And for a second I worried about overstating my ambivalence, especially given the “verbal diarrhea” Paul had accused me of having. But then I remembered what Milagros had said about repression and decided that I’d need to give myself the time and space to calibrate—even if that involved occasionally sticking my foot in my mouth.

So I said to Shiloh, “I need to make some changes. I’ve lost my enthusiasm for the work, and it’s not doing me or the foundation any favors. The trouble is, I’m not sure what to do. Every day has been feeling the same, but Rupi’s big idea about creating a camp seems impossible.”

“Lots of things seem impossible until you do them,” said Shiloh. “The real question: Do you want to do it?”

I took a deep breath. “That’s the tricky part—I’m not sure.”

“Hmm,” he said. He took a drink of his soda, then set it on the ground and looked at me. “There’s no wrong decision, you know. Anything you choose can be okay if you commit to making the most of it. If you had to decide right now about the camp, what would you do?”

I pressed my lids shut, trying to envision a camp. It took a few seconds before I could see it, but when it surfaced in my mind, it was clear and bright. There was a wood sign over a dirt road. A set of cabins. A lake and a dock and loads of happy kids.

And two of those kids were Charlotte and Isa.

My eyes flew open. “What if it wasn’t just for kids who lost a parent to cancer?”

“What do you mean?” said Shiloh.

“Well, what if we had different weeks for different kinds of kids, and at least one of those weeks was for kids with diabetes and their siblings? You know how we didn’t send the girls to camp this year because we were worried? We could have nurses on staff, more than usual. A doctor or two, and all the meals could be the kind of food that won’t cause problems. We’d set it up so that it was as normal as possible, but with all the help that was necessary in case anything went wrong.”

“Huh,” he said, looking impressed.

Then it hit me. “That’s not at all on point for the foundation’s mission,” I said quietly.

Shiloh laughed lightly. “Libby, who says you can’t change?”

“Our entire branding is centered around children and cancer,” I explained. “We can’t just abandon that.”

“Right . . . but you’re steering the ship. What would your mom have thought about branching out?”

I answered without even thinking about it. “She would have told me to go for it.”

He grinned. “Exactly.”

“But there’s a lot to consider,” I said.

“Sure—it’s a huge project. But I can tell by the light in your eyes that you’re excited about it. And you have a great team, Libby. You wouldn’t have to do it on your own.”

I felt a smile form on my lips. I guess I was excited. “I’m not sure what Rupi will say,” I told him.

“You won’t know until you ask her. But she’s ambitious and she’s already told you she’s up for a challenge. I bet she’ll be thrilled.”

“True. Still, it would be a lot of work, and the summers would be nuts. I wouldn’t be able to be there for the girls the way I want to. They need me.”

“Libby,” he said gently. “The girls do need you—they always will. They’re getting older, though. I think it’ll be okay for you to put more into your work, provided it’s the kind of ‘more’ you’re excited about.”

I blinked hard, suddenly overcome by the thought of the two of them, running out of their elementary school and across the playground with their arms flung wide open to me at the end of the day. That was our ritual: They ran, I scooped them up in one big hug, and then we walked home hand in hand. When we got to our apartment, they’d perch at the table while I made them a snack, which they would then devour even as they talked over each other, mouths full, in an attempt to tell me about their days. Which had always been the best part of my day.

But things were changing; now they needed me in a different way.