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???
“That’s two events you’ll be missing out of six.”
“I know,” I say.
“You’re on contract for the full year, and you’re only allowed to miss two. Are you sure?”
“I don’t really have a choice. I have to take care of something,” I say.
“If you miss any more, your contract for this year is terminated, and you’ll have to wait a year after that before you can reapply.”
“I know,” I tell her.
“Okay… And, by the way, your regular requested special accommodations. We’ll have to tell her that you won’t be able to make it.”
“She did?” I ask, surprised.
“Yes. She requested a room, at least.”
“I didn’t know.”
“How would you?” she asks.
“Right,” I say. “Well, will she get her money back?”
“We’ll offer that or the room with another escort.”
I bite my lower lip.
“Of course,” I say.
“We’ll see you next month,” she replies.
An hour later, I’m upstairs with her. We’re watching some game show she likes when I ask her what her guess to the question would be. I don’t get a response, so I turn to her. Her eyes are closed, and I lean over – she’s not breathing.
???
It’s two weeks later, and she’s gone. The last three years of my life – all the hospital visits, the tests, the hair falling out, the vomiting, the bathing and feeding her – is over. She’s gone, and I’d take her back if it meant another fifty years of having to take care of her. Of course, I know that’s selfish of me because she was in so much pain, but she’s the only parent I’ve ever known, and it shouldn’t have ended this way. She was too young to go, completely healthy before the cancer came. She beat it once, but it came back, and I hate it. I fucking hate cancer.
“Why don’t you stay with us for a while,” my friend says at the funeral. “We have the guest room. We’ve made it up for you.”
“I have to clean up her house. It’s a mess still from when the paramedics came. I haven’t even been in there since we left for the hospital.”
“Let us take care of that and stay with us,” she says.
“Maybe, but not tonight. I should be home.”
“Sweetie, you shouldn’t be alone.”
I walk over to where there are several bouquets of beautiful flowers. There’s one from an old friend of my aunt’s, another from someone she used to work with, and I nearly break down when I see one from her favorite nurse. Then, I’m confused because I see a massive bouquet of lilies and roses with a card attached that just reads, ‘My deepest condolences.’ It’s not the message that sticks out; it’s the name provided on the card – it says they’re from Wall Street.
MONTH 7. PART 1. – The Night It Changed
(POV Member)
I spot the two women over by the bar. The escort has her hand in the member’s. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think they were a couple at a cocktail party. I do know better, though, and I know one of them is married to a man, and the other is being paid to have sex with her. I really don’t know why I’m so fascinated by these two, but I find myself wanting to see them here every time I come. I watch as the member removes her hand from the other woman’s and, instead, wraps it around her waist and rests her head on the woman’s shoulder. The escort’s now-free hand moves to the member’s ass, and she gives it a little squeeze. I smirk at the exchange while finding it kind of cute.
“Well, hello.”
