Page 43 of Yard Sale

He got a check because I had the cash to spare, but I hated myself a little for it.

“Can I just go put my things down?” I asked after more silence. I was starting to feel like a goddamn circus attraction.

“Yes, honey.” Ah. Mom. “You’re sharing a room with Oliver.”

I was sharing. With the teenager.

Amazing.

My fingernails dug into the handle of my cane. “I see.”

“He’s in there now,” Thierry said unhelpfully. “You can stop making that face. He’s not that bad.”

Oliver was seventeen, and we hadn’t spoken face-to-face since he was maybe ten, if that. Back then, he looked a lot like our side of the family—like my mom with her very thin lips and small, round nose—but he had his mother’s scowl.

I took another deep breath and wondered how badly the room would erupt if I asked them to give me a tour of the house. If I mentioned even for a second how much I couldn’t see, my dad would probably leave the house.

As it was, I knew he was probably glowering at my cane and wondering when I was going to put it away.

After a short forever, there was a groaning sigh. “Come on, I’ll show you to the room.”

That was…Anne. It took me a second to recognize Thierry’s wife. A second later, she stepped mostly into my line of sight, and I was startled because he hadn’t told me just how pregnant she was. She looked like she was about to burst, but I wasn’t going to say that.

My social skills sucked even before they were corrupted by a hockey locker room, but even I knew better than that.

“Do you…want my arm?” she asked very slowly.

I folded my cane and tried to ignore the collective breath of relief from the entire family as I tucked it into my carry-on bag and then grabbed my suitcase handle.

“I could use a few more lights on, but otherwise, it’s fine. I can follow you.”

Anne stepped ahead of me, bare feet tapping on the tiles, and then the hallway brightened up a bit.

“Turn that shit off!” my dad bellowed.

The corridor went dim again, and I lost all sight. Fantastic. “Okay. Verbal instructions are fine, then.”

Anne’s feet stopped moving. “You…you really need that?”

I tried not to put my fist through the wall as I pulled the suitcase behind me. “It does help me not to walk into things.”

She was quiet for a beat, then started walking very slowly. “Your eyes, um…I thought bright lights hurt them.”

Had I even talked about it with her ever? Or had she done research? I knew Thierry hadn’t told her anything because he was a jackass, and my parents would die pretending like I was just being dramatic.

“So, my retinas are dying,” I told her. “Actually, I lost all my light perception in my right eye.”

There was a long pause, and then she said, “Oh. When?”

“Recently. After my surgery.”

“Did the surgery⁠—”

“No,” I told her quickly as she and I both came to a stop. I’d had my elbow against the wall, and suddenly, there was no wall left. “It wasn’t from the surgery. It’s just the nature of my disease.”

“There are treatments though, right?” Her voice sounded tense. “Like…stem cells and maybe some experimental medications, and⁠—”

“Anne,” I said very softly, “it’s a shitty disease, okay? And I appreciate someone in the family actually taking ten seconds to give a shit after all these years. God knows my parents probably think that my RP is some sort of curse because I’m my mom’s family shame baby…”