Chapter 13 - Etta learns Oliver’s name
Etta remembered Oliver.
Fragments.
A blue blanket.
Hospital stickers.
Him calling her “bug.”
But three years is enormous when you are six.
One evening she found me holding an old photograph.
Oliver in a baseball cap.
Etta as a toddler beside him.
“Is that my brother?”
“Yes.”
“Grandma said Lucas is brother now.”
I looked at her.
“When?”
“At hospital.”
“Exactly what did she say?”
Etta concentrated.
“She said after Oliver, Lucas is the boy.”
Not brother.
The boy.
“What did you think she meant?”
“That boys stay.”
My throat tightened.
“Stay where?”
“In family.”
I sat on the floor beside her.
“Etta, you are in this family.”
“I know.”
“Being a girl does not make you less important.”
“I know.”
She said it too quickly.
Then:
“Grandma doesn’t.”
There was no reason to defend Lenora.
“You’re right. Grandma has said and done things that make it seem like she values boys more.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
That was true.
Culture.
Her father.
Her own history.
Control.
None made the belief acceptable.
Then Etta asked:
“Did Oliver get more?”
Sometimes.
He had been older.
Sicker.
Needed more medical attention.
Not because he was male.
I said:
“He got different things because he was older and because his heart was sick. You were both loved.”
She leaned against me.
“Lucas didn’t want my bed.”
May you like
“I know.”
That mattered to her.
