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“That’s almost the same thing you told me when you gave up your dream job to stay home with your mom.”
“Seriously?” We’d talked about this. “She has cancer. Who else was going to take care of her? Huh?”
“But she’s getting better now, right?”
I nodded. Mom was doing better, but she was still undergoing treatment. There were still risks—generally and that she might backslide in her recovery.
“Don’t you think it’s time you finally stopped living in limbo?”
I jerked my head back. “What?”
“House-sitting? Tutoring?” she asked.
“What’s wrong with my jobs?”
“Nothing. Except for the fact that they’re not your dream.”
“And nannying is yours?” I asked, even knowing the answer.
Before Emmy had started nannying, she had been a two-time Olympic gold medalist. But ever since she’d torn her plantar fascia and had to miss the qualifiers, she’d been floundering. At first, she’d been intent on returning to training as soon as she was healed enough.
But that had been nearly a year ago. And while she’d rehabbed her body, her mind wasn’t in the right place to compete. Not at the level she was used to. She claimed she needed to live life, enjoy having some freedom after training so hard for so many years. But I sensed there was more to it than that.
“I love working with kids. And nannying allows me to be picky about my future job.”
“Are you being picky, or are you procrastinating?” I asked, knowing that she kept putting off any decisions about competing. But by not choosing, she was effectively deciding.
“Pot meet kettle,” she said, hand on her hip.
“It’s not the same, and you know it.”
“At least I still have dreams,” she shot back. I couldn’t believe she was pushing me on this.
“Yeah, well, that’s what happens when someone you love has cancer.” I turned my back to her and angrily swiped away a tear.
She crossed the room and hugged me. “I’m sorry, okay? I wasn’t trying to be insensitive. I just don’t want to see you give up on your goals.”
I nodded. “I know. But my brain is so full of all the stuff for my mom and my tutoring classes and now this house. I can’t make space for much more, let alone my dreams.” And even if I could, it was too painful.
I’d landed my dream job. I wouldn’t get it again. It didn’t matter now.
“Can we please just go watch TV?” I all but begged. The last thing I wanted to do was argue with my best friend.
She was quiet a moment then finally, mercifully, nodded. “Sure.”
We spent the next few hours marathoning our show. Usually, it was a good escape from reality, but my mind kept going back to our earlier conversation. Was I really living in limbo? Had I given up?
We didn’t speak of it again. And after Emmy left, I set the house alarm and tidied up. Then I logged on to my computer and put in a few hours of tutoring. By the time I’d finished with my students, I still wasn’t ready for bed, but it was getting late.
I didn’t know how long I stared at the ceiling, watching the way the light of the moon reflected off the waves of the pool, dancing on the space above me. It was mesmerizing.
When I heard a noise, I jumped. But everything seemed fine. I was probably just keyed up from staying up late. Besides, I got a boost of energy from teaching my classes, and it often took me a while to wind down.
But, deep down, it was more than that.
I was worried about my mom.
I pulled the covers closer, missing her and the sense of home she provided. Worried about the future—a potential future without her.
