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The silence lasts even longer this time. I’m guessing Liam was expecting me to sayThat would be a bad idea.
“We should talk when I get back,” he finally says.
“Okay,” I agree.
“Okay. Bye, Natalie.”
“Bye, Liam.”
He hangs up. I lean my head back and close my eyes.
The next time I wake up, it’s to the sound of an Olivia Rodrigo song. The general message of the song isMen suck.
I unlock my phone and stare at the call history. The latest entry is the incoming call from Liam Stevens.
Maybe not all men.
I’m tempted to roll right back over in bed until I remember why my alarm was set in the first place. I turn it off and climb out of bed, quickly showering and getting dressed in a cotton sundress.
The hallway is quiet and empty, the door to the master suite shut. I ignore my growling stomach as I hurry through the kitchen, deciding it will be faster to stop for something on my way to the community center. I grab my car keys, along with the set for the convertible my dad stores in the garage but never drives, just in case.
A detour toDaily Grindwill be cutting it too close, so I stop at a chain in Alleghany instead, ordering a coffee and a bagel to go.
I make it to the community center with only a few minutes to spare. I’m still setting up as my elderly students start to filter in. Today’s class is the most advanced I teach. I mostly supervise as they all work on their own individual projects.
Worried I’ll fall asleep if I just sit here and do nothing, I pull out a drawing I haven’t worked on in a while and set to work as well.
The hour passes quickly. I clean the brushes and straighten up the room before heading back home. I was supposed to go to the lake this afternoon, but I’m too exhausted. I need another few hours of sleep before going anywhere else.
I stop at the pharmacy on my way home to pick up some painkillers for the headache I’ve had all morning. There’s a middle-aged man and his middle-school-aged boy in the aisle across from me, looking at the display of hair gel. A sales associate is standing with them, patiently explaining the differences between the brands. The father looks like he’s memorizing every word. The son looks like he’d rather be anywhere else.
There’s something sweet and plaintive about it. I don’t have any memories like that with my own dad, and it’s nice to know there are parents like that out there. The man’s hair is cropped close to his head. The gel is obviously for his son, who keeps brushing floppy bangs out of his eyes.
I pay for the painkillers and head home. I park in the driveway, walk into the kitchen, and freeze. “Dad.”
“Don’t look so surprised, Natalie,” he tells me, looking up from the papers spread across the counter. “You certainly didn’t pull any punches to get me here.”
“I shouldn’t have needed to, Dad,” I reply. “All I should have had to say was Mom was in the hospital. Hell, you shouldn’t have even left after the first time she got pulled over.”
He tosses his pen down. “Life isn’t that simple, Natalie. I can’t quit my job just to babysit your mother. If you think she’s depressed now, see how she acts when the money well runs dry.”
“So your plan is what? Do nothing?”
“No. I’ve handled it.”
“You’ve handled it? Handled what?”
“Your mother is on her way to a facility in New York. At the end of her treatment, I’ll reassess what needs to be done.”
“What—how—she’s gone? Just like that?”
“You told me to handle it. I did.”
“How? You’ve been home, for what? An hour?”
“Twenty minutes.”
I shake my head, trying to compute all the changes taking place. “And when are you leaving?”
