Chapter 2
Jeannie
You’re a Mean One, Mr. Gas
I stared at the balance on my utility bill. Even the protection of the dark mode on my beat-up laptop wasn’t enough to stop it from searing into my eyeballs.
I swear I paid that.
Anxiety twisting in my gut, I opened a new tab and quickly signed into my bank account, searching for a charge I was afraid wouldn’t be there.
I’d learned to be pretty meticulous about my budget since I’d first gone into the world on my own, but even with absolutely perfect planning, I often came up short.
So, the idea that I’d forgotten a whole utility bill had my stomach not just sinking out of my body, but starting its own excavation company to get to the center of the earth.
Heart pounding, I tried to keep my expression neutral in case my son happened upon me. I couldn’t describe the relief that washed through my body when, sure enough, I saw a charge from the utility company at the beginning of the month.
I had paid it!
Clearly, something was wrong, and I needed to call the company.
It wasn’t the first time a company had accidentally double-billed me. Thankfully, with electronic bank statements, it was so much easier to prove than when I’d first been on my own. I was only thirty, and yet technology had come so far since I was a teenager.
Taking my phone off the charger, I typed in the number under the Contact Us tab.
After a few rings, I was connected with someone.
They went through the usual rigmarole of confirming my identity and pulling up my account, which I patiently waited through because I knew they had no choice.
I’d worked in a call center for all of nine months while I was doing my online degree before I got my first gig editing another student’s paper for food money, and almost everything was scripted in some way or form.
Honestly, it made me wonder why they didn’t use robots more often, because I’d felt like one.
Eventually, however, it was time to explain my issue, and I did, even giving the nice young man the date and time as well as the amount that had been taken out of my bank account. After that, he put me on hold, and I bounced my foot as I waited for him to tell me that my account had been corrected.
“Thank you so much for holding. I did a little investigation and looked at your charges; the one you listed was from October. You called ahead and set up a payment plan so you could pay it late without any sort of penalty.”
The smile dropped off my face, and my stomach swooped like it always did when I felt like I had fucked up. “I’m sorry?”
“The charge you mentioned? It’s from October.
The bill you are looking at now is November’s bill; however, it’s late to your account because we had an issue with upgrading meter readings in your area, which put us behind.
That likely led to your confusion. Your bill for December will arrive in two weeks on the normal schedule. ”
I was used to pinching pennies, but during winter it wasn’t unusual for my utility bill to be over two hundred even for our small, two-bedroom townhouse. So, not only was I two hundred dollars off in my estimation for the month, but I would also have another two hundred due in two weeks.
Shit.
“I don’t understand how a company could mess up people’s bills and not even notify them,” I said, trying to keep the rage out of my voice.
It wasn’t easy. Sure, I’d messed up when I forgot about the payment plan I set up in October, but still, shouldn’t the company at least have emailed me that something was going on with their billing?
“We were not expecting the delays we experienced, so we didn’t know in advance that this would be an issue.”
I reminded myself that this guy was likely getting paid very little to be verbally abused on the phone all day, so I took a deep, centering breath. I told myself not to freak out, even though I sorely wanted to.
“Look, I know this isn’t your fault. I am fully aware that you’re just doing your job. But it’s Christmas! You can’t drop a double bill on people and expect them just to handle it. Not with how tight everything is getting for everyone.”
Even though I was trying my best to control my voice, I was still getting too loud. I looked around for Max, and when I didn’t see him, I moved all the way to the kitchen. Hopefully, my voice wouldn’t carry.
“We apologize for any inconvenience this may have caused, and as an apology, we’d love to apply a twenty-dollar credit to your account.”
I winced at the scripted response even as my rage boiled over.
After everything my son and I had fought through to get back on our feet again, we were about to get put right back into that hole.
And for what? For a multi-billion-dollar company that had just lobbied hard enough in our state government to change the cap on how much they could charge U.S.
citizens? Ridiculous! And it wasn’t like they even paid their employees fairly.
There was no way the guy I was talking to made a livable wage.
“Twenty dollars? You know that’s an insult, right? You’re talking about four hundred dollars being taken out around the holidays! And again, it would be a different thing if you had notified people, but this is the first I’m hearing of it.”
“I understand, ma’am, and I apologize again for the inconvenience. However, that is all that I am allowed to compensate you for. Would a payment plan help you? We can split up the December balance over the next six months.”
I didn’t know how to explain to him how far back two hundred dollars could set me with everything else I had going on, but what else could I do?
If our gas or electricity were turned off, not only would my son get incredibly sick, but that was grounds for eviction in the city we lived in.
And if I ended up homeless, I would have to surrender custody of my darling Max to the state.
Although he was an incredibly brave, powerful, and wonderful boy, he wouldn’t survive it.
“Mama?” he called from the top of the stairs.
Shit! I knew I was being too loud.
There had been a time when Max could sleep through anything, only waking up to vomit, take his medicine, or chug down whatever nutrient drink I made for his tender stomach.
But since he rang that bell? Now, he woke up from simple things like loud noises, wanting a glass of water, or even having a nightmare.
Sure, I didn’t love that my child had bad dreams, but I was ever so grateful he wasn’t trapped in them anymore.
“Coming!” I called before returning my attention to the call. “Yeah, I gotta go. Please, do the payment plan for now.”
“Of course, would you—”
“Just exactly like last time, I consent. I really have to go now.”
“I’ll take care of this and send you a confirmation email. If you do not receive one within twenty-four—”
“Call support. Yeah, I know. Thank you. Bye!”
Normally, I wouldn’t try to hurry something so important, but it was the freakin’ holidays.
The last thing I wanted was for Max to be worrying about the bills.
As much as I’d tried to shield him from it, my nine-year-old was sometimes a bit too keen for his own good, and he most definitely would notice if I wasn’t careful.
Not only that, but I knew he was also likely to blame himself, which was ridiculous.
Yes, his cancer treatments and being a single parent with a sick child had taken their toll on what little savings I’d managed to accrue during his first six years of cancer-free life, but that didn’t mean we were broke because of him.
I never wanted him to feel that way. Unfortunately, my son was that perfect mix of being old enough to understand some financial troubles and that medicine costs money but too young for me to fully explain health insurance, capitalism, and the fact that some people thought healthcare should have a price tag.
Honestly, I wished I could hide the fact that money existed from him—mostly because I hated it—but that was a bit too close to the things my parents used to say when I was a kid and they refused to buy food for me, so I quickly squashed that temptation.
“Hey there, Maxi-Bear,” I said as I came around the corner, pasting a smile on my face and tucking away my growing terror about where that extra two hundred dollars was going to come from.
I’d pay that bill a million times over if it meant I kept getting to look at Max’s face and seeing him grow stronger.
And it would all be worth it.
“Hey there, Mama Bear.” He opened his arms wide, wordlessly asking for a hug.
And boy, did I take that opportunity. Not all that long ago, doctors were telling me to prepare for the possibility of never hugging him again. We’d been so close to my worst nightmare, but now my son was in remission and improving every day.
“How ya doin’, big man? Did I wake you up?”
He shook his head as I picked him up and let him dangle a bit.
We called it “hang time”. I’d started doing it after one particularly bad bout of treatment sent burning pain up and down his spine.
I loved it, but with my grand five feet and two very significant inches, I wouldn’t be able to do it soon.
As much as I wasn’t ready for my son to grow up, I was thrilled that he’d have the chance to do so.
While acute myeloid leukemia, which was what my Max had, was considered to have a very high five-year survival rate after diagnosis, Max’s journey had been touch-and-go.
Normally, most children went into remission after the initial induction phase of chemotherapy.
Normally being the operative word. Because Max had never been a big kid—he’d been colicky as a baby and highly sensitive to food as a young boy—he didn’t have a lot of extra weight on him to lose, and because our lives could never be boring, other medical complications popped up.
Long story short, he ended up needing another round of chemo as well as consolidation therapy and a stem cell transplant.
But it was all worth it, because I’d gotten to cry and cheer when he rang that bell in the cancer ward—a bell I’d stared at with longing for two and a half years.
“No, I had to pee,” he answered through a long yawn as I put him down. “Is it almost time to go see the Christmas lights in South Town?”
I couldn’t help but grin at how eager he was.
Although we didn’t have much, he didn’t seem to mind.
His big thing was experiencing all the stuff he’d been forced to miss out on because of his cancer, and he was thrilled at how much he was already able to do.
So, even with the sudden surprise of the double bill, we were having the best Christmas we’d had in three years.
“It’s still light outside, you silly goose. You gotta wait until it gets a bit darker.”
“I’m not a goose, I’m a gander. You’re a goose!”
“I’m not a goose, I’m your mother!” I retorted with faux triteness. I loved how Max giggled before he replied, the gap between his front teeth making him that much more adorable.
“You can be a goose and a mommy! They’re usually the mean ones!”
“The mean ones, eh?” I asked, curling my fingers like claws. “Well, then maybe I am a goose because I’m gonna getcha!”
I made grabbing motions with my hands. Max let out a quiet shriek—he was still working on being loud like his mama—then raced up the stairs, howling with laughter.
Naturally, our chase didn’t last long, but it didn’t need to. Again, it was the fact that we could do it at all. So, when we flopped on my bed, hands clasped as we caught our breaths—man, when had I gotten so out of shape?—I wanted to weep with joy.
But I’d cried enough over the past few years. Max and I were in our era of laughter and contentment and growth and healing.
“So, when is sunset gonna be?” Max asked.
“I think perhaps in an hour or so. The sun hasn’t started setting yet, but it’s winter, so it does happen pretty quickly.”
Max nodded, and the dutiful expression on his features told me he was thinking.
“Do you want to lie down for a bit longer? I can wake you up right as it’s starting to set so you have time to get ready.”
He shook his head. “No, I think I’m up-up.”
“Okay then.” I paused, trying to think of something sedate we could do because I really wanted to save Max’s physical stamina for when we went to see the lights.
I had a walker for him and a wheelchair if he needed it, but it still took a toll on him if he was really exhausted.
“I’m a bit tired, though, so would you mind reading me a book while we wait for it to get dark? ”
“I can do that! Do you wanna pick?”
I loved how happy my son was at the suggestion. All too soon, he would be too busy with high school and teenage stuff to want to narrate something to his uncool mom, but I was incredibly grateful he’d get to that phase.
Just… not quite yet.
“You can pick, Maxi-Bear.”
He got off the bed and walked on unsteady legs. I watched him go with pride. We hadn’t had an easy journey so far, but this Christmas was our time to start over and forget all the stress and pains of the past.
It was our do-over, and I was going to make the best of it.