It’s 6am.  The sound of my alarm rolls around in my head.  I do my normal eye-blinking to swim up from the fog that my bipolar medication buries me under, then sit up and pick up the blue journal next to my bed.  I have switched to making my gratitude entry in the mornings.  I’m finding that it helps me feel more appreciative all day.  And besides, I sort of unravel as the day goes along, and bedtime is the worst version of me.  Not really when I’m feeling the most grateful.  I open the notebook and write:

February 17, 2020

I am grateful for – 
1. Sunshine
2. Flowers
3. My bed
4. A day with Binky
5. Good coworkers

Today’s list is borne directly out of the early hints of spring that are peeking out all over Portland, the memory foam mattress I splurged on a few months ago, and the fact that my co-worker traded shifts with me so I can spend the day with my niece.  Today is Monday, and I am taking Binky all day because schools are closed for Presidents Day.

With the quetiapine, I need three cups of coffee just to feel like I can function.  I stand in the kitchen and drink them, one after the other, staring dumbly around my apartment.  A basketball sits in the corner, wedged beneath a little table.  I blink at it, feeling like it means something but I don’t know what.

When I get to Liz’s, Binky is still asleep.  “I’m letting her sleep in because she can,” Liz says, pulling her coat on over her blue scrubs.  

“Go save the world,” I say, only half joking.  Liz is a superhero in my eyes.

I poke around Liz’s house, waiting for Binky to wake up.  Everything is organized and clean.  Even with a huge job and being a single mom, Liz manages to stay on top of her life better than I do.  But one of the best things about Liz is we don’t compare ourselves to each other.  I want her to succeed more than anything.  Especially now that Binky is here.  

The story of Binky is a funny one.  Years ago, when Liz was in nursing school, she met Ginji, an exchange student from Japan.  They fell in love, hard.  Ginji stayed on past his visa to be with Liz, but eventually he had to go back.  They tried to make it work.  When Liz got the job at OHSU and moved to Portland, they even talked about getting married so Ginji could return.  But pressure from his family, and just the toll of trying to keep up a long distance relationship, got in the way.  Liz’s heart was broken.  She has been single since.  When she was 31, she decided to have a baby through artificial insemination.  Choosing the donor, she only looked at Japanese files.  We never talked about that.  So Binky is half Japanese.  You wouldn’t guess it looking at her, she actually looks a lot like Liz.  Liz still has a photo up of her and Ginji.  Binky used to ask if that was her father, and even though Liz and I tell her no, I think she still believes he’s her father.  I think Liz sort of believes it too.

I go to Binky’s room and snuggle up with her on her bed.  She rolls over and opens her eyes, blinks at me.  “Poop,” she says.

“Poop,” I say.  This has been our way of saying ‘hello’ lately.  Potty humor is big with eight-year olds, I’m learning.  Though it was pretty big with seven-, six-, and five-year olds.  Come to think of it, potty humor is pretty big with people my age, too. 

“We have the whole day together!” I say.

“I know,” Binky says, and sits up, throwing the covers off.  “Let’s get to it!”

We make pancakes, draw, play checkers (which we both realize we don’t like, and then remember we realized that last time we played), and run around the house pretending to be baby foxes looking for a den.  I’m exhausted by 11.  I lie on the couch, wondering how people have children.  Then I remember the magic of coffee and answer my own question as I get up to make a cup.

“Look!” says Binky, holding up a drawing.  “Do you like it?”  It’s me, Binky and Liz, smiling out of the colored pencil world.  Binky is looking at me with that sweet face of hers when she wants to be told she did something great, that she is wonderful and amazing.  Do we ever stop needing to hear this?  “It’s great kiddo,” I say, tussling her hair.  She smiles and spontaneously hugs my leg.

Liz has invited us to meet her for lunch at the hospital, which is exciting for Binky, who doesn’t get to see her mom at work very often.  After driving up the winding, tree covered road, we navigate parking and enter into the chaotic sprawl that is Oregon Health and Sciences University.  I’m sure there must be rhyme or reason to this hospital/medical school, but I get lost almost every time I come up here.  Add to that the adjacent Veteran’s Hospital and Shriners Hospital, all woven together into a tangled strand that seems in the beginning of a slide down the steep hillside, and I just give in to the disorientation and end up wandering around until I find someone at a desk who can give me directions.  Then I get lost again and repeat until I end up where I need to be. 

 We find our way up to the cafe, passing multiple signs alerting us to let someone know if we’ve recently traveled overseas, and others requesting that if we have symptoms of cold or flu to please wear a mask.  I know this is all related to the coronavirus, which is now being called COVID-19.  Liz and I have stopped talking about this virus because, I think, she is frustrated by my lack of worry.  I told her, “Why should I worry when there are people like you in the world?”, which was supposed to be a joke but she didn’t laugh.  I just can’t get worried about every new virus, or civil war, or flood, or asshole company caught exploiting people.  I’ll fizzle out.

Liz meets us a few minutes later.  She swoops Binky up and plants kisses all over her cheeks, which makes Binky squirm away.   Binky wriggles out of her arms and then takes her mom’s hand, beaming up at her, excited to see her at work.  We order and sit.  Doctors and nurses come and go, orderlies, janitors, I don’t know.  They are all in scrubs.  I like that about hospitals, it’s not as easy to spot the hierarchy.  As we eat, visitors stop at our table to say hi to Binky, or to meet her.  Binky acts very formal and leans forward to shake their hands.  Liz introduces me, too, I think just not to be rude, but I can tell they don’t care.  I smile and wave, my mouth slurping up pasta.  My obsession with food has not let up since going on the quetiapine, and a new plumpness is settling over my body.

Then a very handsome doctor walks over and smiles at us, his hands resting casually in his coat pockets.  He leans forward and addresses Binky.  “You must be Binky!  Your mom has told me a lot about you.”  Binky leans forward and bows, shakes his hand, acting like a newly hired diplomat.  I look at Liz and am surprised to see her blushing.  I give her a little kick under the table.

“Hi!” I say, leaning forward with my hand extended.  “I’m Mar, Liz’s sister.  What’s your name?”  

Liz kicks me back.

“Gilbert,” he says.

“Oh.”  I realize I sound disappointed.  Who names their son Gilbert?  “Nice to meet you.”  Liz likes him, I can tell.  “Would you like to sit with us?” I ask, scooting my things over to the next chair.  

Gilbert looks at Liz, who nods and wipes her mouth on her napkin.  Gilbert sits down and Binky clasps her hands under her chin, smiling at him coyly.  She is smitten, too.  I have a grin on my face as I study him.  He looks like Superman.  Like Christopher Reeves playing Superman, as a doctor.  Gilbert glances around the table at the three of us, Binky and I smiling expectantly, and Liz looking down at her napkin, her cheeks pink.  She is trying not to burst into a smile.  

“So, are you a doctor?” I ask, motioning to his name tag that reads Dr. Green.

“I am,” he laughs.  “What do you do?”

“I’m a shopkeeper.  I sell pencils.”  Binky laughs at this.

“She’s also a writer,” Liz says.  “A really good one.”

“Oh?” says Gilbert.  I know the question coming next, and already feel my chest beginning to cave inward.  “Would I have read anything of yours?”

This is why I don’t call myself a writer.  Without anything published, what does being a writer even mean to people?  “Do you read blogs about vacuum cleaners?”  I’m referring to a recent copywriting job I did to make a little extra money.

“Stop,” says Liz.  She turns to Gilbert.  “She’s writing a series of young adult books.  And Mar also does copywriting.”

“When I can get it,” I say.  “But enough about me.  What kind of doctor are you?”

“I’m an OB/GYN.”

My eyebrows raise.  Liz must have a giant crush on Dr. Gilbert Green!  Why hasn’t she mentioned him to me?  Just then, almost as an answer to my question, a gorgeous woman in a white coat, with long red hair and the type of athletic body you see beaming out of a rowing team photo walks up to our table.  She smiles cooly at me and Binky, and hardly looks at Liz at all.  Then she turns her full attention to Dr. Green (I’m going to have to call him that, I just can’t call him Gilbert), and I swear her red hair fans out as she smiles.

“Are you ready?” she asks him.

“Oh,” says Dr. Green, and looks at his watch.  “Ten minutes?”

“Well, I thought we could walk down there together.  I have some ideas I’d like to run by you.”  She is playing on his niceness, I can tell.  So he’s a nice guy, and cute, and he must be single or what is going right now?

Dr. Green smiles defeatedly and turns to Binky.  “It was a pleasure meeting you, Binky.  I hope you come back to visit soon.  And Mar, nice to meet you.”

“You too,” Binky and I say in unison.

He smiles at Liz and stands up.  “I’ll see you later.

Liz smiles up at him.  I can feel the wrath of the red-headed ice doctor slashing across everything that is happening right now.  

After they walk away, Liz exhales loudly, as if she’s been holding her breath for a while.  

“What is happening?” I whisper-shout.  “Are you guys filming an episode of ER here today?” 

“Yeah, who was that guy?” Binky asks.

“Yeah, who was that guy?” I repeat.

“Stop it,” says Liz, glancing around.  “Shhh!”  She closes her eyes and takes a minute to compose herself.  “That’s Dr. Green.  Obviously.  He’s here to do a research project.”

“He’s cute,” I say.

“He’s nice,” says Binky.  “I like him.”

“Well, yes,” Liz says.  “And he’s a very good doctor.”

“And who’s the charming redhead?” I ask.

“Clarissa.  She’s helping him.”

“Ah, Clarissa.  We can get rid of her,” I say.

“Stop!” Liz admonishes, kicking me again beneath the table.  Oh, this is going to be fun.  I have not been able to tease Liz about a crush since she was in high school.

“Does he have a dog?” I ask.

“Why?” says Liz.

“Because I saw he had a bone.”

“Mar!” cries Liz, and then she crumples onto the table as her nervousness gives way to a fit of laughter.  

“A dog!” cries Binky, not understanding the joke but wanting to be in on the laughter.  

Over Liz’s quaking back, her head still on the table, I see Dr. Green heading back our way.  Oh no.  I prod Liz with my foot but she waves me away with her hand, her head on the table.

He stops next to Liz.  “Wow, what joke did I miss?”

Liz bolts upright, her face red.  

“Do you have a dog?” Binky asks him.

I turn to Binky, my eyes wide.  I shake my head no.  She looks at me, confused.  Liz buries her face in her hands.

“Nope.  No dog.” He says.

“Oh,” says Binky.  Despite the frantic appeals in my head for her to be quiet, Binky persists.  She turns to me.  “Why did you say he had a bone?”

I could answer that she misheard me, or that I was talking about someone else, but that would be throwing Binky under the bus.  So instead I turn to Dr. Green and say, “I made a joke about you having a bone when you walked away from our table.  I have the humor of a seventh grader.”  I feel my face flushing.

He smiles and opens his mouth.  Liz has turned so red she looks like a derma peel gone horribly wrong.  “I’m sorry,” she whispers.

Dr. Green looks at Liz with what can only be adoration.  “That’s ok,” he says.  “I kind of did.”

Oh my god.  Now I stare at the table, probably beet red myself.  This is by far the best and worst lunch I’ve had in a long time.  

“Um, I was wondering if you could show me the projector setup later?” he asks Liz.

“Of course!” she says.  “Yes.  I can meet you there in a couple hours?”

“Ok.”  He grins and looks embarrassed.  Aw, I like Dr. Green!  “I’ll see you later.”

Liz watches him walk away.  “Bye Gilbert!”  Binky calls.  He turns to wave.  My mouth is hanging open when Liz turns back to me.

“He kind of did have a bone?” I say.

“Mar!  Stop!  That is so crass!”

“Why?” asks Binky.

“See?” says Liz.  “Now I have to explain this to Binky.”  She smooths Binky’s black hair down.  “I’ll tell you later, sweetheart.”  Liz looks at me and says, “You are never allowed to come here again.”

“You’re welcome!” I say.  “Now you know that he likes you.”

“Ok, stop.  I really don’t want to talk about this.”  She starts stacking our dishes.  “Besides, he lives in Philadelphia.”

“So?  It’s not-” I catch myself.  I almost said it’s not Japan.  Liz knows what I was going to say and shoots me a withering look.  Hmmm, we are in more delicate territory than I thought.  

Liz isn’t really mad at me, I know that.  But it hits me that if she truly likes Dr. Green, this is a really big deal and I should be kind.  

“I’m sorry, Liz.  He seems really great and I shouldn’t have been so juvenile.”  

Liz smiles and I spontaneously hug her.  Binky joins in.  We say our good-byes and I watch Liz walk briskly back up the hallway.  I hope Gilbert Green is a goddamn superhero because Liz deserves nothing less.

Binky and I head to my apartment.  We still have a few hours together.  I watch her little head bobbing to music in the backseat.  I love my time with Binky, but I’m still not sure I want kids of my own.  You’d think that by 34 I would know.  Maybe the very presence of my uncertainty is evidence that I don’t want to be a mom.  Liz always knew.  When I was very little she used to dress up and pretend to be my mom.  Mostly that entailed sitting in chairs, drinking from coffee mugs, and reminding me to do my homework.  I was three.  

It’s a nice day for February, so Binky and I decide to play outside.  My apartment complex has several outdoor courts – tennis, basketball, volleyball – and I grab the basketball I noticed earlier in the day.  I hear the echoing thunk thunk of a basketball as we walk to the court.  Binky and I are usually the only ones playing, but there are four hoops so we’ll be fine.

“Let’s play PIG!” says Binky.  She grabs the ball and dribbles to the hoop.  The hoops are high for her, and she rarely makes a shot, but she keeps trying and I admire that.  

It’s not long before I start to pay more attention to the person shooting hoops next to us, specifically his tall, graceful frame, and gentle lope as he dribbles the ball.  I haven’t noticed him in the building before.  He looks over at me and gives me a quick, self-conscious smile.  Binky notices me noticing and makes a bid to get my attention back by throwing the ball at my stomach.  “Let’s keep playing!” she says.  

But it’s too late.  My attention is split between Binky and the other basketball player.  She and I shift into a game of keep away, and I can tell that I’m showing off a little.  Not with my basketball skills, which are pretty much nonexistent, but with my playfulness.  I’m using my relationship with my niece to attract the attention of a cute neighbor.  I try to stop myself.  But Binky says, “Look,” and I follow her eyes to the man, who is doing some cool trick where he spins the ball backward as he throws it and it ricochets right back to him.  Binky takes the ball and starts trying to do it herself.  The ball keeps bouncing away from her.

“No, it’s like this,” I say, and take the ball, flicking it quickly away like I saw him do.  It spins back faster than I anticipated and whacks me in the face.  Binky shrieks with laughter, and I self consciously glance at the neighbor, who I am mortified to see is watching us and smiling.

“Come here,” he says to Binky.  “Let me show you.”  

Binky looks at me to see if it’s okay to go over to him.  I nod and walk over with her.  There is an excited rustle in my chest as we get close.  He’s actually quite gorgeous, and shyness radiates off of him.  He crouches down a little to be closer to Binky.  “Look,” he says, and spins the ball in slow motion in his hands.  “Can you do that?”

Binky copies him.  “Good!” he says, and then shows her how to do the same spin as she lets go of the ball.  After a few tries she’s got it.  

“Look, Mar, look!” she yells, flicking the ball away from her and catching it on the rebound.

“That’s awesome!” I say.  I smile at the neighbor.  “Thank you.  That was really cool.”

“No problem!”  He grins at me shyly.  His smile is genuine in a disarming way.  He looks down at his feet and then back at me.  “I’m Jamal,” he says, and extends his hand.

“Mar.”  I shake his hand.  Even his handshake feels shy.  I’m suddenly acutely aware of his being Black.  There are very few Black people in this neighborhood.  Portland is a pretty white city, but also fairly segregated.  It still bothers me, having grown up in Manhattan, but I’ve grown used to the culture here, where Black people rarely reach out to whites.  It hits me that Jamal is being brave, and even more so because he is obviously shy.  

“Is that like, Spanish for the ocean?” he asks.  

“Yes,” I say, “but in my case it’s short for Martina.”

“Martina.  That’s pretty.  How come you don’t go by Tina if you want a nickname?”

I scrunch up my face in disgust.  He laughs.  

“Do you live here?” I ask.

Jamal turns back to the hoop and flicks the ball, making a perfect shot.  “Why?  Would that be weird?”

I frown, not sure what he means.

“I’m just kidding.”  He laughs and shakes his head.  “I live over there.”  He motions across the street, to a small white house with a brown door.  “But don’t get me in trouble.” He grins and makes a perfect shot while looking at me.

“Ok, that’s really annoying,” I say.  Jamal laughs and catches the ball, then does a little lap while dribbling.  Binky is still practicing the throw Jamal taught her.  

“Watch Mar!” she says.  “Can I teach you?”

“Sure!”  I go over and bend down, acting very intent on learning.  Binky loves teaching.  Out of the corner of my eye I watch Jamal make one perfect shot after another.  He throws the ball in such a way that it goes through the hoop, then hits the bottom of the post, and flies perfectly back into his hands.  It’s beyond impressive.  

Binky finishes the lesson and hands me the ball.  “Your turn,” she instructs, then gives me careful pointers while I practice.  We play for a while longer.  I catch Jamal watching me several times, and he catches me watching him.  Binky has tuned into what is happening, and wiggles her eyebrows at me every time I look at Jamal.  When it’s time to go, Binky and I walk to the edge of the court and pull on the hoodies we had tossed off.  

Jamal catches his ball and watches us.  “You leaving already?”

“Yeah.”  I smile at him, wanting to talk more but feeling awkward with Binky there.

Jamal motions to the apartments behind me.  “So, you live in one of those?”

I hesitate.  He seems really harmless and nice, but I’m not sure I should tell him where I live.  “I do,” I say, without looking at the apartments.

“You two and… her dad?”

I try to hide the huge smile that wants to bust out of me.  “No.  Binky is my niece.  I live alone.”

Jamal doesn’t try to hide his smile.  My heart skitters.  “That’s good,” he says.  “Well, I’ll be out here tomorrow.”

I nod, feeling embarrassed.  “Cool.  Maybe I’ll see you around.”

“I hope so,” he says.  He waves at Binky.  “I’ll teach you another move next time.”

“Ok!” yells Binky, waving and walking away, her mind already onto the next thing.  

“Bye Jamal, nice meeting you,” I say.

“Bye Martina.”  

“Martina?” says Binky as we walk away.  “You hate that name.

“I know, but I didn’t want to be rude.”

“It’s rude of him to call you a name you don’t like.”

“He doesn’t know I don’t like it.”  

I don’t like my name, but I honestly didn’t mind the way it sounded when Jamal said it.  I listen to the steady thunk thunk of the basketball get quieter and quieter as we walk back to my apartment and tuck my orange basketball back under the table.  I pause, then take the ball out and set it by the door.

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