Me at 20's Arc

Chapter 3 of 3

I stayed at my sister's house for almost two weeks. Every morning I woke up on her couch and listened for the baby crying. When she did, I got up and changed her or walked her around the living room until my sister was ready to feed her. I learned how to hold a bottle at the right angle and how to tell the difference between tired crying and hungry crying. My sister said I was good at this. I believed her. But then the itching started. First on my stomach, then my back, then everywhere. I thought it was just the couch, maybe the detergent my sister used. By the third day the spots appeared and my sister saw them before I did. She said I had to go home. The baby couldn't be around chicken pox. I packed my bag and left before lunch. She didn't hug me goodbye. I spent the next week and a half alone in my apartment. The calamine lotion sat on my bathroom counter in three bottles because I kept running out. I wasn't supposed to go anywhere or see anyone. My sister called once to check on me but kept it short. She didn't bring the baby to the phone. I thought about Canada's Wonderland, about the trip I'd gone on right before the spots showed up, and how stupid I'd been to think I could just be a normal person doing normal things. Now I was stuck here while my niece learned new things without me. On the tenth day the spots started to fade and I called my sister to ask when I could come back. She said the doctor told her two weeks minimum, maybe longer. She said her friend from work had been coming over to help instead. Her voice sounded fine when she said it. Not sorry, not missing me. Just matter-of-fact. I told her I understood and hung up. I looked at the empty lotion bottles lined up on the counter and knew what I'd always known: the second you start to belong somewhere, something pulls you back out.