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. Momloves 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.
