“You should let him loose in the attic,” I suggest. “Maybe that’ll keep the squirrels out.”
Mom chuckles at the idea, and I take a moment to savor the small noise. There was a long time when she wouldn’t even smile, let alone laugh. For a while I thought I’d lose her before she found happiness again.
But things are different now with her health and medication.
I remind myself of those positive changes anytime I stress about money and Shawn. That at least I have my mom back. And I plan to keep it that way.
After pouring myself a glass of water, I sit down heavily at the kitchen table, biting back a groan as my body lets out twinges of protest for being made to work a ten-hour shift.
Still, Mom must sense my exhaustion.
“You were only supposed to work eight hours.”
I shrug and try for a reassuring smile. “Things got busy. And the plane-crash-girl label kept earning me extra tips.” I grab a potato andthe extra peeler and get to work. “Besides, if nurses can handle twelve-hour shifts saving lives, what’s ten hours serving burgers?”
Mom snorts, but I feel her eyes on me as I help with dinner prep.
“How are you feeling today?” she asks. “Shaky at all? Any panic attacks?”
Only when George popped up at my place of work. “I’m fine.”
“You don’t have to be.” Her hands keep working. “It’s okay to not be okay.”
I’ve heard the assurance before, and I’m glad that Mom’s therapist brought it into her lexicon.
But it doesn’t apply to me. Not in this case.
“Seriously, Mom. I’m good.” And because I know that won’t be enough, I add, “The emergency was scary while it was happening, but I’m okay now.”
She pauses her peeling to reach over and give my wrist a loving squeeze. But what I find most reassuring about the gesture is the sight of silver polish on her nails. The chemo she underwent made her nails chip and fall off, so she never bothered painting them.
They’ve grown back. And she’s taking care of herself.
While I decompress from the demanding day to the sound of my peeler slicing through potato skins, I end up staring at the more-than-life-sized horse head on the table. The thing gazes back at me with wide eyes and a gaping mouth.
Probably the same expression I had on when George made me that offer.
Say yes. That’s a good girl, a deep voice from my imagination rumbles.
I bite the inside of my cheek hard and remind myself that my near-death experience rewired my brain. That’s the only explanation for why I’m suddenly attracted to a man I intensely dislike and want him to act out a newly acquired praise kink.
I never gave George an answer, and when Shawn returned from the bathroom, the pilot didn’t make any more arguments, staying silent on the topic for the rest of lunch. Maybe George thought Shawn would get him to make even more concessions if my brother joined in the discussion.
Still, when they rose to leave, George slipped a folded napkin my way before following Shawn out the door. On it, I found a string of digits and a simple message.
Call me when you’re ready to go up.
I’m tempted to pull out the number and stare at it, just to make sure it’s real. But then Mom would ask questions, and I’d probably end up telling her about the offer.
An offer made by a guy who works for—and is an heir to—the company that tried to ruin Charlotte Lundberg’s life.
Yeah, that’s something I’m keeping to myself.
After her health issues, I’ve made it my goal not to bring unnecessary stress into my mom’s life. For one, she’s had it hard enough and deserves the quiet, happy existence she’s always wanted. But more importantly, I’ve come so close to losing her—multiple times—that I’m not about to take my chances by setting off her anxiety and sending her back to the hospital.
Luckily, I was the one to tell her about yesterday’s emergency landing, so she already knew I was safe on the ground and unhurt.
Would knowing I want to go up again worry her too much?
