Chapter 9
Chapter
Paws digging into my back wake me up.
“Grumps,” I groan. “Chill out. It’s my day off.”
Grumps gives zero fucks about my work schedule and craving to sleep in. He has deemed that I will be the one to take him on his morning walk, and he will try to tunnel his way into my bedcovers until I get up and fulfill his demands.
Rolling over, I come nose to nose with the surly cocker spaniel.
“You suck,” I mutter.
He sneezes in my face.
Muttering curses mixed with admissions that yes, he is the cutest dog to have ever existed and could never do anything wrong, and of course I’m the one who is the problem, I crawl out of bed and stumble my way through teeth brushing and into a pair of sweats that’ll ward off the morning chill.
Despite Grumps’s insistence that I get out of bed immediately, he is as slow as molasses on the walk, stopping every few feet to sniff a random patch of grass.
I use the time to plot out everything I need to do for the day.
Yes, technically, it is my day off. But days off mean house days.
Working to make sure the crumbling structure I poured all my savings into stays standing.
Anything I can do to lessen the stress in my mom’s life.
The road we walk down is nice, though. The same one that Mom and Marge would take Grumps for walks on when he was freshly rescued and learning what being loved and cared for was like.
They walked the half-mile from our two-bedroom apartment to get to this road with no outlet, and as they reached the driveway leading to an old Tudor-style house, they’d fantasize about a future when they’d buy the place and fix it up.
Replace the glass panels in the sunroom and fill it with plants.
Weed the backyard and plant a garden. Get a new roof installed and new floors…
honestly the place needs a new everything.
They fell in love with the bones of the house.
But they weren’t the ones to call the real estate agent. I was. That day when I realized life was short and there was absolutely no way my mother would reach the end of it without living in her dream house.
Such a sweet idea.
If only the results had reflected the thought behind the gesture.
When Grumps and I return through the back door, we find my mom and Marge in the kitchen, the latter scrambling eggs and the former with papers spread over the table that she doesn’t bother glancing up from when murmuring, “Morning.”
“Thanks for walking Grumps.” Marge smiles my way. “Cheddar in your eggs?”
“Yes, please.” After I pour kibble in the pup’s bowl, I settle across from Mom. “What’s all this?”
“A leasing contract for that space on Fifth.” She smiles up at me, her reading glasses having slid to the tip of her nose. “And a business plan for my plant shop.”
“You…” I clear my throat and try to tuck away my panic. “You’re looking into that?”
Along with her dream to live in this house, in the years before she got sick, my mom started to talk about owning a small shop where she can sell her plants.
The idea came after she set aside her corporate goals.
I’m not sure being a boss bitch at a Fortune 500 company was ever her true heart’s desire.
After growing up in the foster care system, I think she saw that as a stable life.
Until it wasn’t.
Now, after facing her possible death and overcoming a long stretch of depression, Mom’s therapist has helped her realize the things that would truly bring her contentment.
Spending her days with the woman and daughter she loves.
Building a comfortable home together.
And pursuing dreams that give her joy, like starting a plant shop.
This is a dream that I want her to achieve. I really do.
She tore her life apart for me and then went through a hell of a lot more that she never deserved. I want my mom to have everything in the world she could ever want.
But all I can see are the red numbers that go along with starting a new business.
The debt.
Will there ever be a time in my life when I don’t owe someone money?
“I’m just starting, really. Putting out feelers.” She stacks the papers and tucks them into a manila folder. “What do you have going on today?”
“Just fixing that gutter over the back deck. And replacing the flushing mechanism on the downstairs toilet.”
“Oh yes, thank you so much for handling that. I have a short shift at Posey’s.
” Posey’s is the flower shop she makes deliveries for.
Mom loves climbing into the flower-painted van and cruising around to drop off floral arrangements.
I think her joy arises from the stretch of time when she wasn’t able to drive herself.
The pain of a double mastectomy made gripping a steering wheel impossible for a while, and then the side effects of her chemo made being behind the wheel unsafe.
“And I’ll be swinging by the doctor. Just a routine checkup.
” She tacks on the last sentence in reaction to my shoulders stiffening, then hurries past the mention as if that’ll make me forget.
“Text me any supplies we need for salon night, and I’ll grab them on my way home. ”
Salon night, aka a gathering of almost everyone I care about. The routine will help ease some tension if Mom’s appointment doesn’t go as smoothly as we all hope.
“I could go to the doctor with you,” I offer.
Mom’s smile is tight, then eases, and I can almost read the thoughts in her head.
How my hovering stresses her out until she reminds herself that I only worry because I love her.
She reaches across the table and squeezes my hand.
“Honestly, Beth, I’d rather go on my own.
But I promise to call if I need you. Okay? ”
I nod and try my best to give her a carefree smile in return.
But for the rest of the day, I worry. Which is why, when my phone rings just as I’m about to climb the ladder to work on the gutter, I abandon the chore. Shawn’s name flashes on the screen, and I know if anyone can distract me, he can.
“Aren’t you supposed to be working?” I say instead of hello.
“As long as I’m on my phone, looking busy, everyone assumes I’m talking to someone important,” Shawn replies. “And this time, they’d be right.”
I fight off a smile. “You’re so corny.”
“Never claimed I wasn’t.” I hear a squeak like he’s leaning back in his chair. “How was the flight club thing? You going to join?”
I’m glad we’re not FaceTiming so Shawn doesn’t see the way my face falls. “That’s not really in the cards for me right now.”
“Why not?”
What is always the limiting factor in my life?
Money. Money money money.
“I’m figuring things out.”
“Well, I bet George would like you to join. So he could have a buddy.”
I can’t help my loud scoff. “Yeah. Sure. I’ll definitely keep in mind how much me joining would mean to George.”
My brother is delusional if he thinks my decision matters to George at all, other than inconveniencing the man.
“Good.” Shawn sounds genuinely happy with my statement.
Obviously, I did not lay on my sarcasm thick enough. On the other hand, he could just be that oblivious.
For being raised by such a ruthless man, my brother is surprisingly naive. Or maybe just overly optimistic. I think that’s one of the reasons he keeps stumbling into friendships and relationships where the people are only out to use him.
Like with me?
My stomach turns queasy at the thought, and any spark of annoyance at his pushing about flight club evaporates.
“Hey, uh, I know that you probably pay some barber a thousand dollars for your corporate guy haircut. But if you want to come over later, tonight is salon night.” Shawn hasn’t ever attended one of the gatherings, but I want him to know that he’s welcome in all parts of my life.
“Seriously, Beth? You invite me now?” Through the phone I hear a groan.
“Is that a problem?”
“I have to go to dinner with Dad and my mom tonight,” Shawn whines like he’s six years old.
I snort, experiencing a mixture of disappointment and relief.
Disappointment because I love hanging out with Shawn.
Relief because I’m not sure how Mom would feel having my brother over outside Thanksgiving. Especially when she could be extra vulnerable today after visiting the doctor.
“Oh well.” I walk over to the back door when I spy Grumps staring at me through the glass, demanding with his droopy eyes to be let outside with me. “I guess I’ll tell Darla her haircuts aren’t good enough for you.”
“No!” he wails. “Tell her I want her hands in my hair!”
“Yeah, no. I’m not saying that. Especially not when she’s going to have scissors inches from my jugular.”
“That’s fair. Maybe I can come to the next one?” Shawn’s voice is so hopeful. And all I can think is that he might have cut me off by then.
“Yeah,” I say, keeping the sadness out of my voice. “Definitely.”
“Cool. And I would’ve invited you tonight, but, you know, my mom will be there.” He coughs, and it’s like that sound stands in place of the scandal of the affair. “I could always set up a dinner, just you, me, and Dad.”
Every inch of my body tightens with guilty discomfort, knowing my next words will be a subtle misdirection from the truth.
“You know we don’t get along.” My voice is careful, trying to shut down the subject without revealing to my brother that the relationship he thinks is strained is actually nonexistent.
Throughout my life, whenever Shawn brought up our father, I’ve given him every excuse for why I don’t spend time with Karl.
“He and my mom don’t talk, and I don’t want to upset her.”
“Our personalities are too different and we clash.”
“I’m not interested in him judging or trying to dictate how I live my life.”
All of these are technically true, and I try to use that as a valid reason for misleading my brother. But in reality, there’s only one reason Karl Newton is not in my life.
He doesn’t want to be.
“Please don’t push this,” I add.
“Fine, fine. I was just offering.”