Of course they didn't. They never do.
I sink into the armchair opposite her, exhaustion sitting deep in my bones. The last few days have been a blur of pharmacy runs for meds she won't take, follow-up calls with specialists she'll cancel at the last minute, and hovering over her every time she clears her throat too loudly.
Pete is about ready to leave for the day, and I feel a tight heaviness in my chest. Already dreading the conversation waiting for me when he walks back through that door tonight. This time, I'm not backing down.
He glances at his laptop before he closes it, and I feel compelled to ask, "Still the same application?" He nods, distractedly. "Four and a half million dollars buys a lot of paperwork."
"You said they had the money."
"They do."
"But?"
He rubs the back of his neck. "I don't know, I just don't have a good feeling about this… it's too complicated… to spread out."
I have no clue about this, but I read something similar somewhere, so I throw it out there, desperate to connect with him. "Don't all big companies do that?"
He rubs the back of his neck and admits, "Yeah, I suppose so."
Mom scoffs from the couch, pulling my attention back to her. "They don't know what they're doing," she repeats, blissfully unaware that Pete and I have shifted our conversation to something other than her.
"I have to go, honey," Pete rises. Kisses mom, then me. Mom beams, like the order he doles out kisses is the most important thing, and she's always first.
I grab my purse too. "I'll head out too, Mom."
"So early?"
I have a lot of time to make up, and I like to go in an hour early just to prove that I'm still there and reliable. "Yes, lots to do. Do you need anything?"
"No, don't worry about me. I'll be dead in a few weeks anyway." She smiles—actuallysmiles—at me.
I sigh. This is nothing new either. She's beendyingfor years. I kiss her. "Love you, Mom."
"Love you too," she replies, which is new. Before Pete and his family, I didn't even know this was a thing people did. Pete's dad was the first person to ever sayI love youto me without any romantic interest. It just wasn't something Mom and I did.
Outside, the sun is already up and hot. I squint when I hear the sound of a motor and catch sight of Pete's car just before it goes around the corner, followed by another car. I narrow myeyes. We live on a cul-de-sac. I know all our neighbors, and I've never seen this car before.Easy, Sherlock, I tell myself,probably just one of those private Amazon deliverers.
Getting into my car, I try to shake the feeling that I'm being watched that I've had ever since the ball. Some days, like today, I even think somebody is following me, and now I'm projecting that feeling onto Pete.You are your mother's daughter. Maybe you should take a Xanax. That advice feels right. The problem is that Xanax zonks me out, and I wouldn't be able to go to work.
I buckle up, ignoring the niggling voice in the back of my head. I've gotten good at ignoring inconvenient things, like the ingrown toenail that's been bugging me the last few days. And of course, it's on the inside, a place I can't reach no matter how hard I twist.Time for a pedi. I try to perk myself up and fail. Because a pedi costs as much as one of mom's copays. According to my big toe, it seems necessary, though.
The rest of the day goes by in a blur. Annette brings in one of her feral cats—she likes to trap them and have them spayed—but it's too busy to talk for more than a few moments. The boss is on me from the moment he walks in, handing me a stack of files he put sticky notes on last night. He really takes his four-legged patients seriously. I ruefully shake my head.More seriously than the real doctors do for Mom.
For lunch, I use some of my allowance—I'll never save up like Pete—and my coworker Becky and I order Chinese through Uber. The afternoon is not getting any better. An emergency is brought in by a frantic woman who ran over a stray dog, and I have to reschedule several appointments to make room for the poor pup. The boss takes out his spleen and declares it a success. The woman is all too happy to pay four thousand dollars for a dog she doesn't even own, yet. She leaves him overnight, promising to come get him in the morning. Looks like the dog's luck has changed. The amounts of money people drop for theirpets always surprises me. Of course, I'd drop it too, if necessary. Luckily, Mom's cats are pretty healthy, and they won't tolerate any other animal in the house. Not that I have that kind of money, but there are tons of people who take out credit just to care for their beloved animal. Something I know Pete would have a fit over. Even if we could afford it.
It's after seven by the time I finally lock up and exit into the alley behind the office to take the trash with me on the way to my car. I call Mom to tell her I'm going to be late.
"So apparently is your husband," she mutters into the phone as I open the lid to the trash.
"What do you mean?"
"He's not home, and I can't get a hold of him. I could be dead for all you and he…"
I tune her out and look at my phone for the first time all day. No messages, no calls. A funny sensation runs through my stomach. A feeling I can't quite name, premonition? That's not like Pete. He doesn't know what I want to talk to him about tonight, not even that I do. Usually, he checks in at least once or twice during the day via text. And he always,alwayscalls that he's going to be late, even now when it's almost a given that he won't be home before six thirty, when he should be home at four. Usually, I check my phone during lunch, but with the trauma emergency, there wasn't any time today.
"Did he not check on you?" I ask, dropping the trash to the ground, unable to find the will to lift it over and into the bin.
The nagging sensation in my stomach intensifies. For some reason, the car I saw this morning comes back into my mind.
