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I set the bill down and google “high gas bill” to see what might be causing it. After reading a few articles, I conclude that it’s the house’s age. It’s not weatherproofed for the cold, and we’ve got drafts everywhere, from pretty much every window and doorway.
The articles all give suggestions for how to make the house more energy-efficient with caulking and weatherstripping, and I dutifully make notes of what I need to buy, but my heart sinks as I total it. It’s going to take almost two hundred dollars of supplies to do enough weatherproofing for the merehopeof bringing down the gas bill.
I drop my head against the wall, trying to ward off the first whispers of hopelessness. Even with all my big plans and careful saving, I won’t be able to start my car fund for another two months. At least.
It’s too much. I have a sick kid, a decrepit house, and a mortgage that is already squeezing me even with my most conservative budgeting.
Tears burn behind my eyes, but I learned a long time ago that once they start, they don’t stop, so I close my eyes tight and take deep, even breaths until I feel the pressure behind them go away. Then I open them and grant myself some self-care by streaming a comfort watch on my laptop through my library account: Rock Hudson and Doris Day inPillow Talk, a movie I can not only quote from memory but also draw from memory. Those mid-century modern sets are delicious.
Evie wakes up once, and I get her to drink about four ounces of water and eat a cracker. It’s not enough, but I’ll wake her again in two hours and get more water into her. I know that matters more than anything right now, especially since she hasn’t peed since I got her from school.
When the movie ends, I go online and start looking for open jobs. I need something part-time to supplement my salary. I’ve filled out my third application, this one for a cashier position, when someone knocks on the door.
I hurry to open it before it wakes Evie and find Bill and Lisa standing there, Lisa looking worried, Bill looking almost . . . angry? It’s an expression I’ve rarely seen on his face. Lisa is the one with a temper.
“How’s Evie?” Lisa asks.
“She’s been sleeping most of the day. Still has a fever but it’s dropped some. No vomiting since school.”
“How come we had to hear about this from Gary?” Bill asks.
“I wasn’t going to drag you back from your celebration for a flu.”
“But you thought we’d be okay with letting our grandkid sleep on the back room floor?”
“Bill, I’m sorry. I didn’t think you’d mind if I set her up back there.” I’m shocked that he’s mad. “I’ll pay for the air mattress and sleeping bags—”
He cuts off my words with a slash of his hand. “I’m not upset that you made her comfortable back there.”
I look at Lisa, at a loss.
“Honey, he’s upset you didn’t call us. Grace would have. Tabitha would have. We wish you felt like you could have.”
I fall quiet, not sure what to say to this, so I step back for them to come in.
They settle themselves on the sofa, Lisa resting a hand on Bill’s knee as if to comfort him. “We love you,” she says. “We don’t want to stress you out any more than you already are, but we wanted to make sure that you know we care.”
“If you didn’t feel like you could call us, I wish you would have at least shut the store down and brought her home,” Bill adds gruffly. “Gary would’ve called you when he showed up for his shift. It wouldn’t have hurt the store. Hell, you’ve seen me do it several times since you’ve worked for me.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, meaning it so much it’s an ache in my chest. “The last thing I want to do is make you feel bad. I just felt like we’d finally been able to move out and quit relying on you so much, and in less than a month, I’m already failing at independence. I’m so thankful for all your help while I was finishing school. I didn’t want you to think I expected that from you forever.”
“Paige.” Bill says my name on a heavy sigh. “You’re not a burden.”
Lisa nods. “I raised two of the most stubborn girls to ever walk this earth, and you’ve got them both beat. It’s why you’ve been able to do so much in two years, but it gets in your way too. It’s not serving you right now. Let us help. We want to.”
I want to lean into that reassurance. But I have been nothing but someone else’s problem to solve for almost eight years since my parents died and I came back broken, broke, and pregnant.
First it was Noah. Now it’s Bill and Lisa. I can’t be someone else’s problem anymore. “I will never, ever be able to thank you for everything you’ve already done for me. And I promise that I will tag you in the next time something like this happens. But for the most part, wherever I can, I need to stand on my own. I need to know I can do it.”
“You’ve proven it to us a hundred times over, Paige. You’ve got so much grit you’re number twenty-four sandpaper.”
It’s such a Bill analogy that it wins a small laugh from me. “I’m really sorry, Bill. We absolutely love you guys. I will do better at leaning on you, but only if I really, really have to.”
“We’ll take it,” Lisa says. “But just know you never need a reason, honey.”
“Can we check on her?” Bill asks.
“Better let her sleep, but I’ll have her FaceTime you when she wakes up later.”
