Ope. Autocorrect is a real bitch these days, huh?
Elise
Adhira, if you don’t start answering soon, I’ll break down your fucking door.
Letty
Wow, someone is in a moooood today.
Chelsea
She’s always in a mood.
Can we get back to me and my impending doom now? Come on, people. Work with me here.
The messages have been going like this for the last hour I’ve been gone, andlucky me, there are only two additional threats aimed at me by the time I reach the end.
I was grocery shopping, you absolute bloody eejits.
Chelsea
FUCKING FINALLY!!! I HAVE BEEN HERE WAITING ON MY DEATH BED!
I’m sure Chelsea wouldn’t be going on like this if she knew what I’ve been dealing with, but I’d never fault her for it. It’s not on her that I’m keeping things from them. But when I eventually tell her, I really hope she doesn’t think back to this conversation and feel any kind of guilt.
I start triaging her, firing off questions to work through possible diagnoses and whether it’s something I can suggest treatment for or if she needs to see someone. In the end, I determine she likely has allergies from moving into a new place with Letty, which, according to her, had a layer of dust so thick it may as well have been carpet.
Take an allergy pill and use some of that nasal spray I got you last time something like this happened. Twice a day. Oh, and a neti pot to flush that shite from your sinuses.
AND rinse your eyes out too.
Chelsea
Blessed be. You sweet, sweet angel.
What would we do without you?
I hope they never have to find out.Though if my body doesn’t respond properly to treatment, they may be crossing that bridge sooner than any of us would like.
My phone rings, pulling me out of my doom spiral and launching me straight into another as I register the name on the screen. I groan, clenching my eyes shut and releasing a long, calming breath.
If I don’t answer, she’ll know something's wrong and start bothering my friends, whose texts and calls I've already been struggling to respond to with enough consistency to keep them appeased. If she reaches out to them, I’ll be bombarded with calls and people banging down my door, which is just about the last thing I want right now. I don't need another reminder of everything I'm losing, and I certainly don't need more people to disappoint.
So I put my big-girl knickers on, pulling them up so high they cover my nipples and give me a metaphorical wedgie.
“Beta, who do you keep talking to on the phone all day?” The delicate lilt of my mother’s Gujarati accent filters through the speaker, the sound itself feeling like home. I can almost smell her kitchen, longing gnawing at my chest.
“What do you mean, Mummy? I haven’t been on the phone all day.”
“Ah, ah.” She tsks. “You must have been since you haven’t called your Mummy intwodays.”
I roll my eyes.
“Don’t roll your eyes at me,beta,” she scolds, knowing me too well for my own good.
There’s no use denying it. “I’m sorry. I’ll do better. How has your weekend been?”
“It’s much better now that I’m talking to myonlydaughter. Have you eaten today? You looked thin at graduation.”
