Moonface by Angela Balcita Page A

“yes, but not yet.”
    In midsummer, I told Charlie that the dialysis treatments were beginning to wear on me. My appetite was decreasing, and my broomstick arms were looking silly in tank tops. He could tell I was getting anxious, so he suggested that we take a quick trip back to Baltimore while the hospital finalized our surgery date. We wanted to see Charlie’s newborn niece anyway—a nine-pounder who was quickly gaining more weight. “We have to see her before she weighs more than you,” Charlie said. We rescheduled my dialysis treatments so they fit snuggly around a three-day weekend, and we took off due east.
    I knew Charlie was excited to be back home, but I was a little worried about seeing his family and hearing what they had to say about him giving me his kidney. I knew they were jokesters, that the funny bone had passed down through the lineage, and that they protected members of their brood with their lives. If Charlie’s mother wasn’t enough evidence of that, take, if you will, my memory of meeting Charlie’s dear Aunt Wendy for the first time. She had shaken my hand, and then put that same hand over Charlie’s chest. “If you break his heart, I will hunt you down and I will hurt you,” she’d said. At first, I was too scared to look at her. But when she got a riotous reaction from other family members who stood nearby, I knew she was using those words for comedic effect. Afterward, she slapped my shoulder and gave me a hug.
    â€œOkay, I get it. Your family loves you,” I’d said to Charlie. I had known how Charlie’s family felt about his heart, but I was afraid to find out how they’d feel about me taking one of his other organs.
    â€œDon’t worry. You don’t have to tell them,” Charlie said. “I will. Just follow my lead. Trust me, they won’t think you’re an organ harvester.”
    â€œA kidney hog,” I said.
    â€œThe Renal Reaper,” Charlie said.
    In the living room of Aunt Wendy’s house, we walked into a boisterous welcome from aunts, uncles, and cousins waiting in line to bear-hug Charlie and gently wrap their arms around me.
    â€œYou look well,” Aunt Wendy said to me, looking at my face carefully. I wanted to believe her, but I knew that I was tired from the flight and probably looked so. Charlie’s grandmother stood behind me and brushed my hair with her fingers.
    â€œHi, Grandma!” I said, turning around.
    â€œLook at that hair. Such beautiful black hair. Such pretty straight hair,” she said. “Come look at this, Wimpy.” She called Charlie’s grandfather over, and Pop, the bounding octogenarian, came to give me a hug.
    â€œYeah. Pretty girl, ain’t she? You still got that pretty hair, too, Holly. Feel it!” Pop put Grandma’s shaky hand up to her head. Charlie’s grandmother was older than Pop, and not quite as quick as he was anymore. I was happy she remembered me. I watched the two of them as they remembered what she looked like years ago, her hair curly and less gray. Pop eased his arm around her as he escorted her back to the couch, and I could see where Charlie got his charm.
    Charlie and I lingered around the party separately, but I always kept one eye on his location, just in case someone were to ask me about the transplant. I wasn’t sure how I’d respond; I was hoping that it wouldn’t come up at all. I was hoping that we could explain our little exchange after it had happened, after both of us were in the clear. But it never came up, and I spent a large part of the afternoon holding Charlie’s niece Genevieve, a soft, sleepy bundle impervious to Charlie’s loud relatives. She burped in her sleep, wriggled in my hands, and tried to suck on the edge of my collar. She was the first thing that I’d held in a while that was warm and alive and full of life. I was staring at her tiny nose when I heard Charlie