She’s silent for a moment. “Help you out in what way?” Now her voice is downright cold, not even the faint hint of warmth from before. This is Judy, the businesswoman. Not Mom anymore.
Another deep breath. “Anything you can spare, really. A loan? Or at least help with the down payment? Maybe cosign if they need that?”
Her answer is a sigh. And I know what’s coming. “Hailey. We’ve talked about this.”
“I know,” I say, my voice small. “I wouldn’t ask if I weren’t desperate. The cellist in my quartet just had a baby, and I haven’t been able to book enough solo gigs to make up for the loss of income from the quartet being on hiatus. Summer enrollment is down. I worked at the camp in June, but that money only went so far. Since the orchestra doesn’t play in the summer, I don’t have that income. I was doing food delivery to make up the difference, but I can’t do that without a car.”
“Have you considered getting a normal job? I know you said you were working on playing for a higher-paying symphony, but that hasn’t panned out so far.”
“No,” I whisper. “I know it hasn’t.” Tears are threatening, but I don’t want to sniff because I can’t cry. Not on the phone. Not with my mom.
When I was little, she’d hold me while I cried and rub my back. And even right after Hunter died, she’d sit and hold me and cry with me. But after a month or so, something flipped inside her. She cleaned out Hunter’s room, packed up all his things, and any time I cried after that—no matter what it was about—she had no patience for my emotions.
And once Judy is the one I’m talking to? Forget it. Business and tears don’t mix, according to my mother.
“Let me talk to your father,” she says at length. “If we loan you money”—she puts particular emphasis onloan—“it’ll come with significant conditions. You understand that?”
“Such as?” I ask, needing to know. I need to know the full details of this option, because if it’s tolerable, I can do that and not marry Jason.
But would marrying Jason really be so bad?
The logistics of moving to Seattle are a little overwhelming, but the actual day-to-day sounds fantastic. I could live in his place, drive his car, spend his money, and play music as much and as loud as I want.
It’s a dream.
Which is why it’s hard to trust.
Maybe I need to come up with some conditions there—a timeline for how long I’ll live with him before stepping out on my own again.
“For starters, you’d move back here and work for your dad and me.”
That’s the kicker. I knew it was coming, but I needed to hear her say it.
“And?” I prompt. I know there’s more. There has to be.
“We’ll lay out a repayment plan, and we’ll also make sure you get set up with retirement accounts. You’re almost twenty-six, Hailey. You need to be thinking about these things.”
“Of course, Mom,” I nearly whisper.
“Like I said, let me talk to your father. We’ll lay out all the details, then we’ll meet with you to make sure we’re all in agreement.”
It sounds like it might have some room for negotiation, but I know that’s just for show. “I don’t have a car, Mom,” I remind her. “If you want to meet in person, you’ll have to come here.”
She sighs heavily. “Which means we’ll also have to come get you to move you home.” Another sigh. “Well, I guess that can’tbe helped. We can do the meeting over Zoom, though, before we get to that point.”
I let out a choked laugh. “And you’ll send the contract over via Docusign?”
“Of course,” she says, not realizing I was being sarcastic.
Oh my god. She’s totally serious. They’re going to draw up a contract and send it for me to sign. I shouldn’t be surprised, really, and yet … I am. I guess at least she doesn’t want it notarized.
Swallowing hard, I force myself to say, “Okay, Mom. Thanks. Talk soon.”
She makes some polite noises, and we hang up. I sit, staring at my wall, my mind blank.
But the blessed blankness doesn’t stay for long. No, all too soon, my mind is whirring with all the possibilities of the future my mom outlined—spending twenty-four/seven with my parents.
“No,” I whisper, not meaning to voice the word at all. It just comes out. “No. I can’t. I can’t I can’t I can’t.” With each repetition, my voice gets louder. “I can’t do it.” My breathing comes fast and shallow. “I can’t go back there. I can’t work for them. I can’t let them control my entire life.”
