Chapter Nine Remi
Chapter Nine
Remi
The list of reasons why I didn’t sleep well at night was long, a constantly rotating battle for what was currently stressing me out the most: raising a preteen on my own, my aging grandfather who needed to move in with me because he was stubborn and ornery and we couldn’t afford for him to go anywhere else, the shelter.
But the most frequent visitor at the top of that list was—wait for it—my to-do list.
Sometimes I lay in bed and thought about the bullet points that I hadn’t checked off.
Had I showered? Maybe.
Shaved my legs? Don’t be ridiculous.
Gavin’s laundry was done but definitely not put away. Which was fine, because laundry was a morally neutral task. Getting it done didn’t magically make me a better person. But God, the way it piled up made me crazy.
Had I picked up Pops’s prescription?
Did the foster home for the new litter of puppies have enough formula to feed them through the first week? Maybe I should have sent more.
Truly, it was a miracle I slept at all. I’d often fade somewhere around two a.m., only to be woken, bleary-eyed, by the obnoxious scream of my alarm clock, reminding me that there was another day of this ahead of me.
Always going, always needing more than I had, and always feeling like I wasn’t quite enough to take care of it all.
My day off, for whatever it actually was, was even busier than my days at the shelter, because then I had to cram roughly two hundred things into my waking hours instead of one hundred.
And on this particular day off, I didn’t even get a full day.
Stuart was sick, and I had told Ness I’d take his evening shift and do the last feeding and let the dogs run before closing up the shelter for the night.
I remember feeling tired in high school.
What a fucking joke. Sixteen-year-old me didn’t know what tired was, that little shit.
The exhaustion that hung off my frame was deeper than anything I’d ever experienced.
No amount of sleep could erase it, and even though I joked with Ness that I didn’t want a sugar daddy, if there was some kind old gentleman who’d pay all my bills just for some pictures of my feet or something, I’d be tempted.
Maybe then I could take a day off on my day off, instead of whatever it was I was doing now. Surviving. Hardly.
That was the only reason why I fell asleep on the floor of my guest room when I was supposed to be scrubbing baseboards, readying the space for when Pops moved in.
The floor wasn’t even particularly comfortable, but the midday sun was streaming in through the window, an inviting warm spot, and there was a blanket in the basket next to the end of the bed, so I tugged it down next to me and thought, I’ll just enjoy the sun for five minutes.
I can take five minutes for myself without the world falling apart.
Brrrrrrring. Brrrrrring.
I jolted up from the floor. “Wha—” I scrubbed my hands over my face as my phone kept on with its incessant blaring ring. There was dried drool on my chin, and I groaned when I realized I’d been asleep for an hour. An hour!
“This is Remi,” I said around a yawn, not even stopping to look at the screen.
“Ms. Sinclair, this is Katie at your grandfather’s doctor’s office. He’s supposed to be here for an appointment, and we were just checking to see if he’s all right, because he was a no-show.”
I ran a hand over my forehead and sighed. “Yeah, I talked to him a couple hours ago. He was fine. I, uh, I probably should have driven him myself, but he said he was going to go with a neighbor who was running some errands.”
She made an understanding noise. “He’s been a little reluctant to see us lately.”
“I know. I’m so sorry for the wasted time. I’ll talk to him and reschedule when I can bring him myself. He’s moving in with us shortly, and that will make it easier.”
“He’s been receiving private-duty nursing support, correct?”
I stood up from the floor and winced at the ache in my lower back. “Yes. For the last month. It’s helped, but he’s so stubborn about people taking care of him.”
“Please make sure you’re getting adequate support when he moves in with you,” she said gently. “Caregivers often neglect their own physical and mental well-being when they’re stretched too thin.”
I couldn’t help it. I started laughing. “I’m sorry,” I wheezed. “It’s just . . . that’s my entire life in a nutshell, and I think I’m falling into a sleep-deprived state of hysteria at this point.”
There was a smile in her voice when she answered. “Well, I hope you can carve out some time to rest and relax.”
I scrubbed at the drool mark on my chin. “Yeah, me too.”
When the call disconnected, I sank onto the edge of the bed and sighed.
Something had to give. Pops moving in would help.
A little. There’d be another adult at the house with Gavin, and I could stop having to rely on my neighbor to watch him.
He’d save money by not having to rent his apartment anymore, and he’d already insisted on using some of his social security payments toward my rent.
The weight of my entire existence kept getting heavier and heavier, and I wondered when it had started to feel like too much for me to handle.
I loved them both so much, so fiercely, that it was hard to breathe through most days.
I’d do anything for them, and I wondered when I’d have to admit there were some things I couldn’t do, couldn’t fix, in my endless pursuit to make their lives better.
My phone rang again, and I sighed before flipping the screen over.
It was the school.
“This is Remi,” I said.
“Hey, Remi, it’s Marie from the school office.”
“Is Gavin okay?”
“Oh yeah, he’s fine. I was actually calling because we were going through our list of people who volunteered at the beginning of the school year to help out where the PTO might need it, and we’ve been covered for the last couple events, but we’re really short of bodies for Field Day.”
Field Day, I thought, barely keeping my groan contained.
Organized chaos and sweaty kids and teachers and parents who were just trying to make it to the last day of the school year.
I’d helped every year, because just like with the class parties and the field trips and the reading groups in the classroom, I knew there’d be a day when Gavin didn’t need me around as much.
And the teachers . . . they were so appreciative.
Dogs couldn’t really say thank you, so it was nice to help out the human variety too.
“Yeah, of course,” I said, injecting some enthusiasm into my voice. “You know I’m always there.”
She chuckled. “Everyone regrets it when they get these phone calls, if it makes you feel better.”
“Past me thought I’d have more energy at this point of the year.”
“May really is the worst. No one warns you about May before you have kids in school.”
“They don’t. I wonder why,” I mused.
She laughed quietly. “Is that a yes for Field Day?”
“Of course.”
“You are the best, thank you. I told our PE teacher we can always count on you to help.”
See, that was why I did it. Being needed, being someone people could count on, was such a good feeling. No doubt about it, I had a praise kink left untapped somewhere.
“I try.”
“Besides, even if you’d said no, I know how to wear you down.” It was said with a teasing lilt, but we both laughed because we knew the underlying threat was so frickin’ real.
For about thirty minutes, my phone was blissfully silent, and I finished cleaning in the guest room, then moved on to getting dinner into the Crock-Pot. There was no soccer practice that night, so Gavin would be home with the neighbor while I went to the shelter.
Paying a babysitter usually made any post-school hours I worked a fairly moot point.
After securing the lid so the roast and vegetables could cook—it would be done by the time I got home for a late dinner, and heat up well for the rest of the week—I pulled out my phone and sent Pops a text.
Me: You are in so much trouble.
Pops: I don’t know what you’re talking about.
Me: Did you think the doctor’s office wouldn’t call me?
Pops: That’s a breach of confidentiality.
Me: If I wasn’t your medical power of attorney, yes, it would be. Don’t deflect.
Pops: Those doctors never tell me anything important. I saved myself some money.
Me: You are a stubborn old goat and I love you. Want to come over tomorrow for dinner?
Pops: Not tonight?
Me: I’m covering for Stuart tonight. G will be home with Mrs. Patterson.
Pops: Okay. See you tomorrow, bug.
I set my phone down and glanced at the clock. I had about two hours before I needed to head to the shelter.
The top of my to-do list was in Ness’s handwriting.
For the love of God, take a shower, dry shampoo can only do so much.
I smiled and decided to listen to my best friend.
An everything shower was a luxury I often skipped. Two rounds of shampoo. Hair mask. Face wash. Armpits and legs shaved. After thirty minutes, I hopped out of the shower feeling like a new woman, my skin pink and pruny from the hot water.
The mirror was steamed over, and I ran a hand through the condensation so I could see my reflection. I dropped the towel and turned to the side to study my profile.
My legs were still toned from all the physical work I did at the shelter, my stomach softer than it had been in my early twenties.
Faint stretch marks left white streaks on my lower belly from my pregnancy with Gavin, and I dragged my hand over the white lines, trailing up my stomach and between my breasts.
Now those I was proud of. Yes, they often hid behind a baggy T-shirt, encased in a sports bra, but I had a great rack.
My chest held light freckles, just like the bridge of my nose.
I sighed as I pulled on my cotton underwear and some lightweight shorts.
The tank I’d picked had a bra built in, and it gave me the kind of cleavage I used to show off ten years ago.
Like I showed off the night at the bar.