Chapter 24

Samantha asked for mac and cheese, and we only had the boxed type. She was okay with that.

"Want hot dogs in it?" I asked.

"Hot dogs? In mac and cheese?" she asked.

"Yeah. Haven't you ever had that?"

"My dad never got hot dogs. And only the cheap kind of mac and cheese. Sometimes," she said.

"Do you want to try it? I think we have some hot dogs in the freezer," I said. "And it'll be a good bit of protein."

"Okay," she said. "I like hot dogs, and I like mac and cheese, so, how bad could it be?"

Jenna got the hot dogs out of the freezer and started breaking some apart, and I pulled out a couple of boxes of mac and cheese.

"You're making two boxes?" Samantha asked.

"Yeah. Jenna and I are hungry too, you know,"

"But, a box of mac and cheese is eight meals," she said. "You're going to eat 13 servings of mac and cheese?"

"Sam," Jenna said, looking at the box. "There are only four servings of mac and cheese in a box. Theoretically. Tyler can eat a whole box himself."

"What do you mean there's only four servings? My dad always told me there were eight servings. That way it lasted for lunch and dinner for, like, four days."

"What do you mean? You'd eat one box of mac and cheese for four days straight?"

"No. That would be crazy," Samantha said. "I could have it for lunch or dinner."

"What would you have otherwise?"

"Sometimes my dad made me make chicken and potatoes," Samantha said.

"Oh, that's not so bad," Jenna said.

"Well, that's what he'd have. Sometimes I'd get his leftovers. If he had any."

"What do you mean?"

"If he didn't finish his chicken or potatoes, I could have what he didn't finish."

"Couldn't you make sure you made enough for both of you?"

"He left exactly how much he wanted me to cook. And locked everything else up," she said, speaking more and more quietly, and looking at her lap.

Jenna stared at Samantha, then turned away, a tear falling from her eye.

"Well, we don't lock any cabinets in this house," I said. "If you want a snack, you can have a snack. But you do have to test and take your insulin. That's the only rule. Oh, and you have to tell us if you finish something, so we can buy more."

Samantha kept looking at her lap.

"Macaroni is almost ready. Have you tested and taken your insulin?"

"No," she said.

"Okay, kiddo," Jenna said, going over to sit beside Samantha, and unzipping her kit. "Let's get this blood checked, okay?"

Samantha nodded and, with shaky hands, pulled out the lancing device and a test strip. I watched as she took a deep breath and tested her sugar.

"Good job," Jenna said.

I strained the macaroni and the hot dogs that I'd boiled in a separate pot, and put them on a cutting board to cut them up once I made the cheese sauce. I put butter and milk into the pot with the macaroni, and let that warm up for a bit before adding the neon orange "cheese" powder.

"Okay, insulin," Jenna said to Samantha. "Do you know how much?"

Samantha nodded, and sighed.

"I know sweetie. I know it's hard. You can do it," Jenna said.

I stirred the macaroni and cut up the hot dogs and added them in while I watched Samantha dose her insulin. She stopped and looked at the insulin pen, tears forming in her eyes.

"It's okay, Sam. You can do it," Jenna said.

Samantha took a deep breath, set her insulin and then injected herself.

"Good job, honey," Jenna said, hugging Samantha and clearing away her kit. "You did so well."

Samantha gave a small smile.

We knew she needed encouragement, something that was obviously in short supply when she lived with her dad.

I dished out mac and cheese and hot dogs into 3 bowls and took the ketchup out of the fridge.

I placed a bowl in front of Sam, and one in front of Jenna.

"Thank you my darling husband," Jenna said.

Samantha looked at the bowl in front of her as if she was being asked to eat an entire cow or something.

I poured some ketchup on my mac and cheese. Samantha looked at me as if I'd grown an extra head.

"What?" I asked, mixing the ketchup into my mac and cheese.

"You put ketchup on your mac and cheese?" she asked.

"Don't knock it until you've tried it," I said through a mouthful.

"It looks disgusting," Samantha said.

"Pfft, you just don't know fine cuisine," I said.

Samantha looked at me skeptically.

"That's what you call fine cuisine?" she asked.

"When I cook it I do," I said.

She looked at Jenna.

"Don't look at me. I think it's gross, too."

Samantha laughed.

"So," I said, "Sam, we need to discuss school."

"Ugh," Samantha said.

"Sorry kiddo. You're 13. Too young to work full-time. And you're 13. You don't know everything yet."

"I'm 13. I know everything," she smiled.

"You're a smartass, that's for sure. But seriously. Do you want to go back to your old school, or do you want to go to the school near us?"

"Uh," Samantha said. "How about homeschooling?"

"Nice try," Jenna said. "But you need a real education, and believe me, we are not teachers. I mean, Tyler could teach you music, but that's pretty much where his expertise ends."

"Hey!" I said. "I know other stuff!"

"Oh, right. Maybe geography. Since he's traveled soooo much."

"Well, my old school kinda, wasn't a great place. You know. Because my dad didn't let me take enough insulin and I got sick at school a lot. So, would it be okay if I started at the school near here?"

"Of course. We'll go in early and get you registered, and I'm sure they can get your records from your old school," Jenna said.

With that decided, and a very obviously nervous kid, we turned our attention to dinner.

"Where should we go to celebrate?" Jenna asked.

"Could we go back to the first restaurant you took me to? Where I spilled the water?"

"We could. But I was thinking a bit more fancy."

"I'm not allowed in fancy restaurants," Samantha said.

"What do you mean? Everyone who can afford to pay for the food can eat in any restaurant," I said.

"No," Samantha said. "Diabetics aren't allowed in fancy restaurants. My dad said so. It's the law."

I looked down and tried to control my rage. Not only did this bastard do just the bare minimum to keep Samantha alive, and just barely at that, he made sure she had as little joy in her life as he could.

"Samantha, I promise you, there is no law that says diabetics can't eat in fancy restaurants. But, if you'd be more comfortable, or would prefer to go to T.G.I.Friday's, it's your celebration dinner. We can go there."

Samantha looked conflicted. I'd just given her another piece of information that her father had told her and that I'd said wasn't true.

"Would I have to wear fancy clothes? I don't have any fancy clothes," she finally said, pushing her macaroni around.

"No. Just a nicer pair of pants. Maybe your khaki cargo pants? And a nice shirt. We got you a few nicer shirts. Unless you want something fancier. We can go shopping after lunch," Jenna said.

"No. That's okay. I don't really like, like skirts or stuff. I've always dressed, kinda like a boy. I guess because my dad wished I was a boy."

"If you don't want to go shopping, we don't have to. I think we have enough stuff that you'll look nice enough in. We want you to be comfortable. We want you to be you."