“You’ve got what? Two more weeks with the team? Have you taken any of them on as clients?”
I finished chewing a bite of my vegetables and nodded. “Yeah, two weeks left until the end of training camp. I’ve gotten three players, two on the offensive line and one from the special teams that contacted me for my services once camp is over.” The three additional clients were well worth the time I’d put into preparing for this four-week seminar with the team. “A few more have shown some interest, so we’ll see if they follow up. All in all, it’s been a pretty good endeavor.”
“That’s great. I knew it’d work out for you. I’m so proud of how you struck out on your own.”
I smiled, feeling a sense a pride at how she complimented me. “I wouldn’t have had the courage to do it without your support.” Though Brenda firmly believed in climbing the corporate ladder and showing the men that women were just as capable—if not more so—of working in our field, she wholeheartedly encouraged me to strike out on my own when I first approached her with the idea. She could tell that after four years in the corporate sector, I wasn’t happy and had grown uneasy with some of the products I was pushed to sell our clients.
“You would have. I’m just glad I was able to help you. Great show the other day, by the way.” Brenda was an avid listener of the podcast, often complimenting Resha and I on the topics we discussed. “I had a client come in the other day. She’s going through a nasty divorce. Finding out her husband hid money from her for years.” She tutted, shaking her head. “I recommended your podcast to her.” She gave me a wink. We often discussed handling money and financial planning before, during, and after a divorce.
We talked some more about work and our plans over the next few months while we ate our meals. As we headed out of the restaurant and waited for the valet to pull up with Brenda’s Mercedes, she pulled me into a warm hug.
“I can’t believe you’re still walking everywhere. That’s why you’re as tiny as you are.” We laughed.
“I only live about a mile from here. Plus, I’m stopping by the cake shop to pick my mama up a slice of her favorite raspberry, chocolate truffle cake before heading over to visit her.” It was just around seven-thirty so I knew my mother would still be up for a visit.
“How’s she doing by the way?”
“She’s doing well. The medications she’s on help with the tremors so they aren’t too bad. She loves the housing she’s in. It’s me that you need to be worried about.”
Brenda grinned. “Still feel guilty for letting her live in a senior facility?”
I nodded. “She insisted so I had to let her but I feel like I gave up on her or something.”
“Hush!” Brenda chided. “You visit your mother three times a week and are on the phone with her every other day. She is in one of the best facilities in the city of Williamsport thanks to you helping to pay for it. Your mother is well taken care of because of you. Let that guilt go.”
I nodded. “You’re right.”
“But still …”
“But still,” I agreed. Letting the guilt go was easier said than done.
We parted ways and I watched Brenda pull off, waving in her rearview mirror at me. I tossed her a final wave before crossing the street to head into the bakery. I’d placed my order earlier in the day, knowing that I’d be over this way around dinner. Once I picked up the dessert, I decided to catch a Lyft over to my mother’s place. On the way over, I couldn’t help but replay my and Brenda’s earlier conversation regarding Tyler Townsend. No matter how much I wanted to stop thinking about him, the man would often creep into my thoughts. That was not a good sign.
****
“Look at what my baby girl brought me!” My mother grinned and clapped in delight when I opened the bakery box that had two slices of her favorite cake and another slice of vanilla bean cake for her close friend, who lived next door. “Ida is going to love this. You know her daughter still hasn’t come to see her.” My mother made a clicking sound with her tongue, shaking her head.
“I’m sorry to hear that.” From what I knew, Ms. Ida and her daughter had a strained relationship. The younger woman also lived three states away, making it rather difficult to drop in on a whim as I could.
“Do you want to eat now or should I put it in the fridge for tomorrow?” I questioned.
“Chile, I want my cake now.”
I laughed, already knowing what her response would be. My mother loved her sweets. I moved from the table, grabbing one of her smaller ceramic plates from the overhead cupboard, and then a fork from the drawer, bringing them to the table. I plated my mother’s slice of cake for her and took it over to the wooden coffee table that sat in the center of her relatively small but comfortable living room.
“Did you want to eat it in here?” I asked only after realizing she may have wanted to eat at the dining table.
“No, here’s fine.” She shook her head and I stood, admiring her as she slowly reached for the fork and the plate.
I had to tamp down on the urge to help her, remembering that my mother was just as strong-willed as I was and she often wanted to do things on her own. The ache in my heart started when I watched the plate in her hand wobble a little as her hands trembled. But she managed to bring the first bite to her mouth without spilling any of it on her.
My mother was an older version of me. We were the same height at five-feet, three inches and had the same warm mahogany skin tone. Over the years my mother had gained about thirty pounds to her small frame thanks to not being able to move around as much, and of course, her notorious sweet tooth. A few years back she’d cut her mid-back length dreadlocks and opted to wear her hair in a natural twist out most days. Her hair was mostly grey as she chose to skip the dyes a long time ago. My mother was always immaculately dressed, as well. Resha and I had both garnered our love of fashion from her.
“Resha said to tell you she’ll give you a call this weekend,” I said over my shoulder before turning back to open the refrigerator. I looked around and saw the carton of vanilla almond milk I’d bought for my mother the previous week. Lifting it, I saw that it was half empty. “You like the almond milk, huh?” I questioned, pulled a glass from the cupboard.
“It’s good. I didn’t think I’d like it but I do,” my mother answered as she slowly brought another bite of cake to her mouth.
“I told you, you’d like it. They also have chocolate. I’ll pick that up for you to try next time I’m at the store.” I placed the glass half filled with almond milk on the table next to her plate before pulling out my phone to add the chocolate almond milk to my list of groceries. Once that was completed, I finally sat down on the couch next to my mother.
