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“You don’t have to decide right now.”
“I have. I have you and Dad, and I love you both so very much.”
I hugged her and yawned when we broke apart.
“Let’s get you some rest.”
She threw back the sheets, and I climbed into the bed. Mom got in behind me and rubbed my head—something she did when I was young. I used to think her hands were magic and could remove all the heaviness on my mind. While what Mom did was comforting, my mind wanted to think about Paul. She disliked him now, and I couldn’t talk to her about him anymore.
While I should have let go of Paul as planned, I hadn’t lied to Mom. There were many good memories. How he’d listen and advise me about my work or ask my opinions about his own. How tender he’d been when he took my virginity. How attentive he was when I shared my hopes and dreams. And now I didn’t know how I should feel.
And I just wish I didn’t already miss him.
Mom shook me awake. “The hospital found a matching kidney. Dad needs to go now!”
I rolled out of bed and quickly changed into a pullover and jeans. Once downstairs, I dug through the hall closet for my tennis shoes and made it outside to a new hybrid SUV. Then I remembered I hadn’t heard the clanky noise of our old sedan last night.
“You have a new car, Mom?” The words were out of my mouth before I could stop myself.
Mom used a fob to unlock the doors and opened the front-end trunk to place her work bag. “The dealership told me they were offering a special trade-in. It was part of a new government program, so the city offered the loans…or so I thought.” She furrowed her brows.
“I told you so,” Dad chimed in as he took the front seat.
“No, Dad. I’m sure the city has a program; I read about it online.” My tone was as even as I could muster. It was also a little lie, but it got Mom to move on to her hospital stay checklist for Dad.
I climbed in, and Mom set off for Froedtert Hospital.
It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that Paul had a hand in the “special city program.” Mom wouldn’t get more than five hundred dollars for the old car, and this SUV and charging station were almost as much as they originally paid for the house.It also meant a possible tax rise, which I suspected Paul hadn’t considered or had already planned to cover.He must stop.
I took out my phone and sent him a text message.
Nadia: You’re out of control here. The car, the station, etc. We appreciate it, but it’s too much, and we can’t afford to pay you back.
We had only gone a few blocks before my phone vibrated in my handbag.
Paul: I don’t care about the money. I did it for you.
Nadia: You may not care, but we do. Take the car back.
Paul: The car is practical. It’s reliable transportation. They can’t return it to me.
I tensed. I wanted my mom to get rid of it, but we had gotten stuck or stranded somewhere during a snowstorm in below-freezing weather so many times. What bothered me the most was that Paul did things without speaking to me.Because he knows I’d beg him not to.
However, there could be more to it.Did Paul give so much because there was a natural expectation from the rich?Perhaps Paul felt that was all people wanted from him.He seemed so confident, but maybe he used money because he was insecure.
Nadia: It hurts me to see you spent money. I don’t want your money, and you don’t need to buy my family. I like you a lot, Paul, and that’s enough for my parents.
Or it was until my conversation with Mom last night.She’ll never accept anything from him now.
Paul: You still like me. Does that mean you’re returning?
Nadia: No. It means no more gifts.
Mom and Dad started singing Lonnie Donegan’s “Does Your Chewing Gum Lose Its Flavor (On the Bed Post Overnight)”. A corny tradition Dad started whenever he had to go to the hospital so we would laugh instead of worry. It was an old song, but I knew it by heart.Because over the last few years, we sang it so often.As usual, Mom and I groaned as he added in extra silly trumpet sounds to make us laugh.
I was a teenager when Dad had his first transplant, and I didn’t know I could lose him. He was our big mountain. I used to swing on the muscle he made by flexing his arm or sit on his shoulders when we went to the parades.
I stared at the back of his head, listening to the rasp in his voice as he crooned. And another veil pulled back from my eyes. I saw what I had missed or fought so hard to ignore. How much less of him I hugged last night and the stiffness in his movements.He’d been in pain.But he talked and joked as if I’d just walked back in from school.How I wish I’d spent more time talking with him last night.
