“How much weight have you lost?”
“Too much,” I said, and my mom shook her head.
“I should have come earlier,” she said, and I had to fight the urge to say,Yeah, probablyas my mother stepped around me to take a seat on the couch, patting the empty cushion next to her.
“Your nice roommate let me in before she left for work,” she said. “I was just about to call you. I haven’t been here long, a few minutes at most.”
“Where’s Dad?” I asked, shutting the front door behind me with a bit harder force than necessary.
“Work,” said Mom, and I had to stop and think about that for a moment.
“Didn’t you say he lost his job, Mom?” I asked, recalling that during my visit for the wedding he’d been asleep in the chair almost the entire time.
“He did, Macey,” she said, turning in a circle to check out the entirety of my apartment. “And then he got a new one.”
“That’s good, I guess.” The truth was, I wasn’t any closer to my dad than I was my mom, and that’s how it had always been. Even Melanie hadn’t been able to secure my father’s unconditional approval before the accident. Sometimes, I wondered if he’d wanted us at all.
“So,” Mom said, clapping her hands together in that obnoxious way that grinded my eardrums. “What have you been up to?”
I almost laughed. “Up to? You mean besides the whole cancer debacle?”
Mom sighed like I’d totally disappointed her, shaking her head. “It would be nice if you could try, Macey.”
“Try what?”
“Try to be happy that I’m here. Try to welcome me into your home without spewing hatred.”
“Seriously, Mom?” Glancing at my work boots near the door, I kicked off my sneakers and slipped the boots on as my mom continued to stare at me from her place on the couch. “Sure, I’m glad you’re here, but this isn’t a good time. I have work this morning.”
“No worries,” Mom said, clapping her hands like Betty Crocker might. “I can wait for you here, can’t I?”
“Uh, sure. I guess.” Zipping up the jacket I hadn’t bothered taking off, I backed towards the front door. “You’re welcome to use the TV down here or hang out in my room. Just—please don’t go through my stuff, okay, Mom?”
“I would never,” said my mother, and I bit back a retort, wanting desperately to remind her of all the times she’d let herself into my and Melanie’s room to snoop when we were teenagers.
“Ill see you soon,” I said, stepping out the door and closing it firmly behind me. Fingers trembling, I went to the car and got in, still trying to wrap my head around the fact that my mother was in Colorado, poking around my house.
I arrived at the fire station a short while later, going straight to the kitchen where I knew Hansen would be making breakfast for everybody.
“Well look at you,” he said with a grin, turning to glance at me as I took a seat at the empty table. Outside the back window, I saw the guys (and girl) running drills up and down the tower stairs. “How are you, sweetheart?”
“Better,” I lied, and I could tell at once that Hansen didn’t believe me.
“How’s the chemo?” he asked, and I shook my head, pushing his question aside.
“Mom’s here,” I said instead, taking a bite from the plate of eggs and bacon that Hansen laid out in front of me, but I could only swallow a tiny bit without feeling the need to hurl it back up.
“She’s here?” Hansen asked. “In Denver?”
“Yep.”
Hansen said nothing to this for a moment, just watched me push my food around from the other side of the table.
“You don’t seem too pleased,” he said after a moment, and I shrugged, pushing my barely touched plate aside.
“Mom is full of drama,” I said. “The things she says and does...I don’t know. It can be trying.”
Hansen laughed, sliding my plate in his direction. “She’s always been like that,” he said. “Even when we were kids. Your mother is only tolerable in small doses.”
