The Nest Read Online Free

Dad.
    â€œThere’s a wasps’ nest on our house,” I said. “Way up high, under the roof.”
    â€œReally?” Mom said.
    â€œVanessa and I saw it. Shouldn’t we get an exterminator or something?”
    Dad nodded. “Yeah. I’ll call someone.”
    Mom asked, “Did you make the appointment with the allergist for Steve?”
    â€œI’ll do it tomorrow,” Dad said.
    â€œHow’s the baby?” I asked finally.
    â€œWe’ve got an appointment with a specialist. She’s supposed to be very good. One of the few people who know about these things.”
    Nicole said, “And after that the baby’ll be all better.”
    Dad smiled. “Don’t know about that, Nic. But we’ll know more anyway.”
    â€œI was sick when I was born too,” she said.
    â€œNo you weren’t,” Dad replied.
    Indignantly Nicole said, “Yes I was. I was yellow.”
    Dad sniffed out a laugh. “Oh, that was just jaundice. Postnatal jaundice. Lots of babies have it. It clears up in a couple of weeks.”
    Mom looked at Dad. “We were worried, though, remember? It seemed worrying. At the time.”
    I hated it when her eyes got wet. It made me scared. Like she wasn’t my mom anymore but something fragile that might break.
    After dinner, when Mom was giving Nicole her bath and I was helping Dad clean up the dishes, he said to me, “How are you doing, buddy?”
    I shrugged. “Fine.”
    â€œA bit crazy around here.”
    â€œIs the baby going to die?” I asked.
    He was doing a pretty lousy job arranging the plates in the dishwasher. Usually he was very particular.
    â€œNo, I don’t think so. It’s not like that, really. There’s a lot that’s . . .” He searched. “Not working like it should. And some of that they can treat. But a lot of it has to do with his level of ability and how he might develop in the future. Whether he’ll be low-functioning or high-functioning.”
    â€œLow-functioning,” I said. It sounded like something you’d say about a machine, not a person.
    â€œI know, it’s an awful term.”
    I rearranged a baking dish so it wasn’t taking up half the rack. “So . . . we’re high-functioning?”
    He gave a small chuckle. “Supposedly. Though, some days it doesn’t feel like that, does it?”
    I was wondering if he was thinking of me. I definitely felt low-functioning sometimes.
    â€œIt’s something to do with his DNA, isn’t it?” I said.
    He looked at me. “That’s right.”
    â€œCongenital,” I added. It made me feel better to have the words. As if knowing the names of things meant I had some power over them.
    â€œRight. He was born with it. It’s very rare, apparently. There aren’t a lot of recorded cases yet. It only got named a couple years ago.”
    I was about to ask what the name was, but didn’t. I wasn’t sure why. This was a word I didn’t want to know.
    Later, when I was going to bed, Mom hugged me and thanked me for being so brave.
    â€œI’m not brave,” I said.
    â€œI’m sorry we’ve been away so much. It won’t be like this for always. . . .”
    I didn’t want her getting teary again, so I said, “We should do something about that wasp nest. I don’t want to get stung again. And it’s pretty close to the baby’s room,” I added, hoping that would make her take it more seriously.
    â€œWe’ll take care of it.”
    â€œDid you ever believe in angels?” I asked. She smiled. “When I was little, I think I might have.”
    â€œNot now?”
    â€œI don’t know that I do, Steve. It’s a nice idea. But I don’t think so.”
    Before I turned out my bedside light, I went through my two lists. First I read all the things there were to be grateful for. A lot of the time I felt pretty low,