The sea foam walls of Millie’s hospital room do nothing to soothe my fried nerves. Maxine continues to file her nails, and if Millie doesn’t wake up soon, Maxine’s bound to break out the fingernail polish. I twist the string of my hoodie round and round my finger. Is now a good time to tell James his daughter is a total freak? Would it be appropriate to use this moment to ask why nobody told me Psycho Daughter was adopted? Why does this family keep everything from me? Maybe they even adopted Maxine. My foster grandmother yawns loudly then catches my eye. “Huevos Rancheros make me gassy.” I see a small movement of feet under Millie’s sheet. Then an arm shifts. And finally, two eyes struggle to gain focus of the room. James shoots out of his seat and settles on the bed next to his wife. “Hey, hon.” He smoothes her blonde hair away from her pale face. “How are you feeling?” Millie’s eyes travel across the room then settle on James. Her head bobs in a nod. “Not . . .
