30. Dalton
30
DALTON
G oing home feels pointless without Nadia there, so I spend less and less time at the apartment. I drive out to Harrington’s place to eat pizza and drink beer. I meet Fitz and her boyfriend for burgers.
I shower and sleep in a place that used to feel like home.
About a week after Nadia left, Mom calls on one of my off days. She doesn’t bother with pleasantries.
“Well, your old lady got fired again.”
I sink onto the sofa. “What happened this time?”
“I told you about old Joe, the shift manager?”
“Right, the one who said you shouldn’t fake being a redhead?”
Mom changes her hair color every season with drugstore dyes.
“Yeah, that one. He slapped my ass, and I punched his lights out. He went down like roadkill.”
“And they fired you?”
“Nah, they fired both of us. If they’d just fired me, I’d have sued the pants off them.”
I lean my head against the back of the sofa. “Are you going to be able to pay rent?”
“They won’t do nothing over one month. You have to rack up three or four missed checks before they get testy.”
“Mom, you shouldn’t do that. You’ll lose your deposit.”
“This place sucks anyway.”
I blow out a long breath, quietly, so it won’t register on the call. “I’ll call them and make the payment.” Somehow.
“You can’t do that, Baby D.”
“Don’t worry about it, Mom.” That’s my job. No more pizza or burgers for me. Or morning coffee at the hospital cart. I’ll be eating ramen and brewing my own.
Maybe I can do DoorDash gigs during my twenty-four-hour breaks. Maybe I can get my med school loans reconfigured with lower payments. My brain buzzes with how I can help.
Mom’s voice has an edge to it. “I’ll get something soon. Everybody needs people. That’s why you see old farts like me sacking groceries.”
“Are you going to go apply for something?”
“Yeah, tomorrow. Or the next day. Soon. I’m being a lady of leisure at the moment. You doing all right? They treating you okay?”
“It’s good.”
“You send me pictures of your apartment, okay? I want to make sure my boy is someplace good.”
“I will, Mom.”
When she ends the call, I stare at the ceiling. I’ll need an extra thousand to cover her rent.
It feels impossible. My blood pressure is rising, my heart rate increasing. I need to think of something else for a minute.
I close my eyes and picture Nadia, her skin, her eyelashes on her cheeks when she slept.
My phone is still on my thigh. I pick it up to text her.
Me: Got a minute?
We’ve texted constantly and talk long hours when we can. The kittens are exploring her parents’ house. She’s escaped notice from her uncle so far.
She’s also started applying for jobs in LA, sending her resume far and wide. So far, no one’s called her for an interview. But she’s hopeful.
My phone buzzes with a call. I’m so relieved to see an image of her pop onto my screen. The contact picture is one I took of her sitting on the sofa with all the cats around her. It always makes me smile.
“Hey,” I say.
“Hey.” Her voice is like a balm to my frazzled brain. “Everything okay?”
Nothing is okay, I think. “Mom got fired again.”
“Again?”
“You try to raise them right…”
She laughs. “I hope to meet her someday. Will you go there for the holidays?”
Now that’s a question. I’m not sure how to squeeze in a flight across the country on my schedule. Or how to pay for it.
“I’ll try. I don’t know how many days I’ll get. We’ll likely be expected to work Christmas Eve.”
“Will next year be better?”
“A little. Residents don’t work the same crazy hours as interns.”
“That will be a relief.”
I’m so damn glad to talk to her. I want to reach through the phone and draw her close. But all I say is, “How are the kittens?”
“Ferris has figured out how to climb my curtains. They have a million little holes that make it look like stars when the sun shines through.”
“See, he’s an interior decorator.”
She laughs. “The others are asleep on my bed.”
“Did you ever find room for yourself?”
“We’re figuring out bed boundaries.”
I remember lying on the bed, the two of us both halves of a circle, the cats in the center. “I miss you.”
Her voice catches. “I miss you, too. I’m a wreck. I don’t think I’ve changed clothes in two days.”
“That’s all right. You’re a single mom.”
“I will pull myself together. I’m giving myself some grace.”
I lie back on the sofa. “It’s so quiet without you.”
“I bet. I had a dream about you last night.”
That gets my attention. “Did you?”
“It was very sexy.”
“I’ve had those dreams, too.”
“This is hard, isn’t it?” Her voice has a note of despair in it.
“It’s not forever.”
She goes quiet. I wonder if she’s giving up hope already.
“I love you, remember,” I tell her. “I can wait however long it takes.”
“I know. I do.”
We’re both quiet then, but the silence is all right. We’re still connected, still in the same moment.
After a while, she says, “I’ll talk to you soon, okay?”
“Okay, Nadia.”
I set the phone on my belly. She’s there, and I’m here. The distance feels impossible.
The apartment no longer smells of her. It didn’t take long.
I force myself to get up and head to the kitchen. There’s a leftover casserole she made in the fridge. I’ve been reluctant to eat it, not wanting the last piece of her to be gone.
But I take it out. It’ll go bad otherwise.
She left all the dishes and pans for me, so this room feels like it always did. I lean against the counter, waiting on the microwave to ding.
I never realized that I was actually living until I stopped. Now it’s all a grind again. Work, eat, sleep, try to keep my mother housed and fed.
I want my life back. I want Nadia back.
I need a home, not four walls.
Dinners, not reheated food.
Conversations, not mindless chatter.
The microwave finishes its cycle. I don’t want to resent those kittens. I should aim my anger at the apartment complex for forcing our hand. Why should they refuse a litter if they were going to charge us extra and keep our deposit if the place got damaged?
And there’s the matter of the lease. We could have gotten out of it if they kicked us out. But now I’m stuck here.
I stab the chicken and noodles, not wanting to eat. But I have another long shift coming up, and I need the fuel to get through it.
The savory bite nearly unravels me. It’s like Nadia is here, sitting next to me, spooning it onto my plate. A meal. Nourishment. Company.
Real life.
I had it for a while.
And I don’t know exactly how to get it back.