On Growing Up - Part Two (Continued.)
Merry's mother answered the door. I didn't see her father anywhere in sight, and I gave a silent sigh of relief. Merry had said her father was a wonderful person, and he was more than polite when we had encountered each other in the hospital, but I always felt it was a surface politeness, due to the nature of our meeting each other in a place where there were sick people, and Merry's serious illness,
"Mari! Merry Christmas - and do come in. Merry's feeling a little better today, and she's lying on the sofa. I think she'd welcome a visitor."
I was honest as I stepped over the threshold. "I can only stay a minute. My Papa's waiting on me - he brought me over. I have - a - a present for Merry."
I brought it out from behind my back, a little awkwardly. Mrs. Christensen's tired face - she always looked tired, since Merry's illness - wreathed into a smile.
"Well, that IS wonderful! Merry will be so happy to receive it." She led the way into the living room. In one corner stood the bedecked Christmas tree, trying to dispel the gloom of the outdoors by being switched on.
Merry was propped up with two pillows. Her eyes glowed like two sapphires in the semi-gloom and she was still terribly, horribly white, but she looked a bit stronger and better than she had been in the hospital. Mrs, Christensen disappeared into the kitchen.
"Hi," Merry offered, struggling to sit up a little. Her voice was a little weak and scratchy, like a badly scratched record, and I felt awfully disappointed. I wish she had let me speak first.
"Hi yourself," I returned. "How are you feeling?"
"Okay." She didn't sound like it. She moved restlessly again and sighed."I just wish I could get off tis couch and resume life. But my Mom - she's always hovering, and babying me every minute - "
"She's worried, Merry. You know that."
Sudden resentment flashed. "I know that! But - well, it's - mortifying, is all."
"Why?"
"Watch this." She raised her voice. "Mom, can you bring me some orange juice,please?"
There was a general scramble in the kitchen, then Merry's mother came back with a damp glass full of orange juice in her hand.
"Thank you," Merry acknowledged, taking the glass from her. Despite her words, she drank copiously and steadily, and, I thought, rather thirstily. She almost dropped the glass returning it to her mother. Mrs, Christensen caught it, wiped the moisture from the outside, then took Merry's hand and wiped it, too, as though she was a little girl. I saw the cross look that appeared on her face. I said nothing and placed my gift on the buffet behind me. I should be getting on -
When Mrs, Christensen had disappeared, Merry turned to me.
"Y'see? She treats me like I'm an invalid - or three years old. Sometimes,both. I wish to God she'd cut the apron strings and let me grow up."
I didn't know wjhat to say. I murmured a few pleasantries and took my leave.
This wasn't the Merry I knew. Something had changed. Radically so.
(To be continued.)
