“Why is everyone full-naming me today like I’m a child in trouble?” I muse.
But Kwan isn’t stopping there. “You can’t take care of everyone and then refuse to let others take care of you. This is getting ridiculous. I’ve talked to you about my issues with my daughter foryears. You take care of my dog whenever I go to visit her. You introduced me to Dane when you heard I also loved pool. I’m not your patient, and I’m definitely not going to listen to some excuse about elders and whatnot. We arefriends. And just because it took Dane ratting you out for you to start talking about some of your problems, doesn’t make them any less important. You’re not paying some strangers to take care of George when I’m right here and I’m happy to help.”
Dane looks gleeful, and Tom is watching with intense trepidation to see what happens next. Kwan keeps staring me down, I guess hoping I’ll eventually break.
I rustle off another piece of my babka, the chocolate-and-Nutella interior making my fingers sticky and forcing me to resist the urge to lick them like the toddler everyone’s treating me like. I hand a piece over to Kwan, and he gladly takes it. But he doesn’t break eye contact as he waits me out.
“Okay, okay,” I finally say, and he sits back down, triumphantly taking a big bite of babka. “I just didn’t want to bother you.”
“I’m an old retired guy. You’re not ever bothering me,” he says matter-of-factly.
“And you can bother us!” Tom interjects. “It’s okay to bother your friends. That’s kind of the whole point!”
I’m about to fidget my way to a thank-you to both of them when my phone rings. Dane snatches it out of my hand before I can even look at it and scoffs. “Oh hell no.”
“Who is it?” I ask, my sticky fingers now becoming more comical as I try to grab it back.
“It’s your mother, and we do not need this today,” she says, standing up and walking away from me. I try to get up, but it reallyishard to get out of a canvas beach chair. I should’ve given Kwan more credit.
But Tom stands up first—far more elegantly than should be allowed—and motions to Dane to give him the phone. She hands it over without a second thought while I give her an elongated wave to indicate I’d prefer I get my own phone back.
They’re both ignoring me, though, and Tom lifts the phone to his ear. “Hello, Nora’s phone,” he says crisply.
After a beat he responds, “Oh yes, this is her friend Tom. She had to step away for a moment, and I saw you were calling and wanted to take a message for her.” He pauses and then laughs. “No, it’s not chivalrous at all. We’re just neighbors and I’m old fashioned.”
I can hear my mother chattering away on the other end, probably flirting with Tom. He nods along as he listens, but his face morphs from amusement to confusion the more she talks.
“I’m afraid that’s not going to be possible,” he finally says, and now I have absolutely no idea what’s going on. “Mrs. Fischer—”
I love that this man probably two decades her senior is calling her Mrs. Fischer. But his politeness doesn’t seem to be an obstacle for her to keep talking.
“Mrs. Fischer, I’m really going to have to interrupt you there,” he says, in a sterner voice than I’ve ever heard come out of Tom. “Nora is not your handyman. I know how much Nora does for you, because, well, my wife is a little bit of a gossip. And I’ve even heard how much Nora has had our own super do for you! But it’s not her responsibility to house you in her studio apartment because you’ve made some errors in renovation judgment. And I’m fairly certain Nora’s extensive psychiatric education does not equip her to come help you figure out your tiling errors. Really, Mrs. Fischer, you shouldn’t be putting all of that on your daughter.”
I’m frozen, with a piece of babka in my hand. It’s raised to go into my mouth, but I’m unable to move it. I must look ridiculous, but I can’t seem to force my body to do anything other than sit still, lest this upside-down conversation disappear. Is gentle Tom really scolding my mother right now? Using his most authoritative anchorman voice, which sounds like something out of a 1950s newsreel?
But he barely lets her speak before he continues. “I’m happy to relay your message, but I’m really going to insist on putting my foot down here. I’m under the impression that you and your husband are still in excellent health, correct?” He pauses, and I’m amused by the old-person-to-old-person way of discussing their ailments. “Well then, if you’re not able to afford your life, you need to reconsider your lifestyle. That’s just my two cents; obviously it’s none of my business, really. But I think someone should be looking out for Nora, and it’s disappointing that it isn’t you. Good day, Mrs. Fischer.”
He hangs up and looks over, as though he finally remembers there were three other people listening in on his conversation, all now standing stock still in response.
“What?” he says calmly.
“Tom, that wasbrilliant!” Dane shouts. “IwishI’d said that to Tina years ago. Truly badass.”
“Quite right,” Kwan says, nodding with immense approval.
I’m still standing here gaping. “Tom!” I finally blurt out, and he turns to me. He at least has the good sense to look a little sheepish. “What just got into you?”
But he keeps his ramrod posture intact. “We’re stepping in, Nora. You can’t go on like this. It’s admirable that you want to be there for your parents, but they’re taking advantage of your kind nature. This has to stop.”
“Damn,” Dane says quietly.
“Nowthat,” Kwan emphasizes, “is being parental.”
“Okay, this isn’t a day to blow up every single piece of my life all in one go,” I point out.
“No, that’s true,” Tom says, and I love that Dane’s face looks like she was about to argue the point.
“So what am I supposed to do?”
