If I Tell

disappeared into a thin line. “Nothing.”
    She couldn’t be implying what I thought.
    “Can you please explain what you mean?” She stepped back at the ferocity of my tone. It stunned both of us.
    She glared at me. I glared back.
    “You know, it’s not like I’ve never seen that look before. But a tiny little baby doesn’t deserve that from someone like you.”
    “Someone like me?”
    “You think because he has a black father and a white mother, the baby is bad or evil or something?”
    “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” The nurse turned up her nose, but her cheeks got splotchy.
    “You know what? I think you do. But it’s your problem. Not his.” The tiny baby I hadn’t even met brought out a protective side of me I hadn’t even known existed. I wasn’t about to let a stupid nurse label my baby brother.
    I stood taller. I decided right then that I’d have to teach him how to handle people like her. Meanwhile, until he was old enough, he’d need someone to stick up for him. I stepped up to the plate. I wouldn’t let him deal alone. He’d never be alone. I’d protect him.
    Without acknowledging the nurse, I tiptoed inside my mom’s maternity room. A blue curtain separated two beds. One was empty, but the bed by the window looked lumpy. I crept toward it.
    “Mom?” I whispered.
    Her eyes opened, bloodshot and watery as if she’d been on a serious bender.
    “Hey,” I said, overcome by strange almost motherly feelings for her. I saw the hospital bracelets on her wrist. Two of them. “So you had a baby.”
    She laughed, but it sounded dry and humorless. “Either that or I got hit by a truck.” She sighed as deeply as one of Aretha Franklin’s soul-searching songs. “Don’t tell Grandma I said that,” she told me. “She’s probably mad I was only in labor for an hour.”
    “I hardly think that’s what Grandma thinks.”
    Mom closed her eyes. “Even though he was tiny, it hurt.” She paused for a minute. “I hope he’s going to be okay. He’s really small.”
    I reached as if to pat her hand, but I pulled back before I touched her. “He’ll be okay.”
    “Simon’s in there willing him to good health.” She opened her eyes. “He weighs over five pounds. He’ll be fine.”
    Her robotic voice worried me a little. “What’s his name?” I asked softly.
    She turned her head, looking out the window. “We don’t know yet. We haven’t agreed on a name. We’re talking about it.”
    I waited, trying to think of something to say. It was like talking to a stranger.
    “I wanted to talk to you about something.”
    I held my breath, waiting to get shit for hitting Simon.
    “I’m sorry I haven’t been a better mom.” Her voice stayed flat, which kind of canceled my relief at not getting in trouble.
    “Mom. Forget it. You were young when you had me, and things turned out okay. I mean, I knew you cared and stuff. It was just different.”
    “I was like a sister. And not always a very good one.”
    I shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. I knew who you were to me.”
    Tears plopped from my mom’s eyes and rolled down her cheeks. “Of course it matters. I didn’t even raise you myself.” Her face scrunched up as if she was in pain. “You’re such a good kid. You don’t even yell at me or complain.”
    I looked out the window, but the only view was the brick wall of the hospital. “You’re emotional from having the baby, that’s all. You should rest.”
    She grabbed my hand, startling me. “If anything happens to me, make sure that Simon is the one to look after the baby.”
    “Mom, nothing’s going to happen to you.” I tried to pry my hand away, but she held on.
    “But if something does happen. Simon’s his dad. Promise. I don’t want Grandma raising him.”
    “Okay, Mom. Okay.”
    She dropped my hand and closed her eyes again. “Thanks. Thanks, Jaz. I knew I could rely on you.” She smiled weakly. “You should see him. He’s darker than you. Simon said he’s as black as his daddy’s behind.”
    I giggled at the comment as the evil nurse walked into the room. She marched over to the bed without smiling. I wondered if she’d heard us. I moved aside for the nurse to take my mom’s pulse and blood pressure.
    “Your husband is on his way from the Level Two nursery,” she said as she pulled apart the Velcro straps for the blood-pressure monitor.
    “He’s not my husband.”
    The nurse glared at her and then at me. “I heard.”
    I raised my