“The doctor said I’m okay to stand for short amounts of time. It doesn’t even hurt,” I say, holding out my arms, showing her that I’m fine.
Meghan frowns. “Short periods of time. Not in here, making yourself a whole meal.” She moves over to me, taking the butterknife out of my hand.
“I was just making a sandwich.”
“I’ll do it,” she counters. “You go sit down.”
“Bossy.”
She snorts before moving to the refrigerator to grab the cold cuts and other items for my sandwich.
“I could do it myself,” I grumble while also hobbling over to the kitchen island to sit in one of the white, cushioned leather chairs there.
“I can bring your food to the couch,” Meghan tosses over her shoulder.
“Here will do. If I spend another minute on that couch, I’m going to go mad.” It’s been six days since my accident. Though still sore, my hip and wrist are on the mend.
While my wrist is still in a cast, I give it one or two more weeks, at most, before I can get it taken off. And my hip will be fine in another few days.
“I got lucky,” I tell Meghan as she makes my lunch, her back turned to me. “That fall could’ve been a lot worse says the doctor.”
She gives me a look over her shoulder, sadness invading her eyes. “Please don’t remind me. I don’t even want to think what would’ve happened if it had been worse. Or, if Mr. Townsend hadn’t heard you yelling for help.”
She moves from the counter to lean her elbows on the island.
“I know you like living alone here, but I hate that you’re so far away.”
I pat her hand. “Your Aunt Wanda is only fifteen minutes away.”
“But she was out of town when you fell,” Meghan says. “What if?—”
“Don’t start. I’m not moving back to Atlanta.”
“But what about all of your friends out there? At least Shanice is there, too. She’d be nearby in case something happened.”
“Your sister’s busy with her own life,” I remind my youngest. “Besides, she isn’t thinking about me.”
“Don’t say that,” Meghan tells me. “Didn’t she call as soon as she heard you were injured? And hasn’t she called every day since, to check up on you?”
“Yes, Ms. Future Public Defender,” I answer. “She has.”
“I’m just laying out my case. Shanice might still be a little hurt, but she loves you.”
I squeeze Meghan’s hand. “I know she loves me, baby. And I love her, too. So much.” I don’t go into more detail. Because I know it’s deeper than Meghan wants to admit.
There’s been a wedge between Shanice and me ever since the divorce.
“Let me finish …” Meghan trails off when the doorbell rings.
“I’ll—”
“No,” she cuts me off. “Sit back down. I’ll get it.” She rushes off toward the door.
“Who are you ordering around?” I call back, my pride not allowing me to take orders from my own child. “I’m still your mother.”
Meghan doesn’t respond because she’s opening the door for whoever’s on the other side.
“Mr. Townsend,” I hear her say. “What a surprise.”
