Mom
Some friend.
Cooper
I’m serious. Maybe I need to stop being so showy.
Mom
You don’t have to make yourself smaller for a sport that’s been around for almost two hundred years. Baseball is big enough for you. If your “date” thinks otherwise, she’s an idiot.
Cooper
She’s not an idiot.
Mom
You’re the best part about the game.
Cooper
You’re nice, Mom.
Gotta run.
Love you.
Mom
Travel safely. I love you!
I put my phone away, feeling somehow even worse. I opened up the door a crack, looking for real advice, but my mom treats me like I can do no wrong, and I’m not sure it’s always helped me. I used to worry so deeply that I’d caused her anxiety and agoraphobia. I would obsess over what I might have done wrong. Was it because I was such a turd in elementary that she always had to come down to the school to talk to the principal? Did all my trips to the hospital for possible concussions and stitches overwhelm her? Did my high energy simply drain the life out of her?
I sigh. I hate thinking about my old worries. If I’m not diligent, they’ll flood back in, washing away my peaceful acceptance of my mom’s condition.
I close my eyes and focus on regaining my “radical acceptance” of reality. Mom is sick. It isn’t my fault. I can loveher and accept her for how she is and not feel brokenhearted that she’s living her life through a virtual reality set instead of making efforts to live it in the real world.
This is just how it goes.
It is what it is.
Whatever stupid, trite saying you can think of, insert it here.
My eyes open. Nothing is working.
“This sucks,” I whisper to myself.
“Excuse me?” Liesel asks.
“Nothing. Just talking to myself.”
“No, by all means, say it louder.”
“It’s nothing. My flight was delayed.”
Her exhale speaks volumes. Unfortunately, it’s in a language I don’t understand.
“Do you wanna tell me what’s going on?” I ask.
