“Saylor.” Her tone sharpens, just slightly. “I’m serious. You’re running yourself into the ground. I see you leaving at all hours, coming back looking like death warmed over. The ‘bartending’ job, the ‘security’ job, the other job you won’t tell me about?—”
“There’s no other job.”
“Don’t lie to your mother.”
I freeze with my own mug halfway to my lips. She’s watching me with those sharp blue eyes—my eyes, everyone always says—and I can see her doing the math. Putting together the late nights and the cash payments and the expensive clothes I sometimes come home in.
“Whatever it is,” she says quietly, “I’m not asking you to explain. I just need you to know that I see you. I see what you’re doing, what you’re sacrificing.And I hate it.”
“Mum—”
“I hate that you’re breaking yourself to take care of me. I hate that we lost everything because I believed a con man who promised he could fix me.” Her voice cracks, just slightly, before she steadies it. “I hate that every day I watch my son disappear a little more, and I can’t do anything to stop it.”
The silence that follows is heavy. I stare into my tea, watching the steam curl upward, because I can’t look at her face right now. I can’t see the guilt there, the love, the helpless frustration, without wanting to collapse myself.
“And I hate that you’re only in this situation because of me,” I finally say.
“Oh, Saylor. For the millionth time. The accident—” She stops short.
My hand tightens on the mug. We don’t talk about the accident. That’s an unspoken rule between us—it has been since the day we left Sydney three years ago. But apparently today is a day for breaking rules.
“Callie told me about a surgeon, Mum?—”
“No,” she declares.
“It’slegitimate. An experimental procedure?—”
“I’ve heard that before.”
“We’re trying,” I tell her.
“Experimental,Saylor. Do you know what that means? Out. Of. Pocket. Out of our budget. You need to start saving to get a new place.”
“You’re right about that,” I answer before taking a short swig of my tea. “Clearly the lift is never getting fixed and we need to be on the first floor somewhere. Actually, my friend Taio’s apartment is closer to your doctor’s office. He’s traveling indefinitely now, so I could ask him about a sublet.”
Mum blinks slowly, patiently waiting for her turn to speak.
“No,you, Saylor. You need to get your own place and leave me to deal with the stairs. I’m the parent. You’re my son. Not the other way around. You don’t owe me your life, honey.”
I stare into her big eyes, and despite the smile she’s wearing, they look so sad. “Don’t I though?”
“No parent wants to see their child like this. So busy surviving, you’ve forgotten how to live.”
I don’t have an answer for that. So I reach into my pocket and pull out the sticky note, smoothing it against my thigh. “We’re not giving up. End of story.”
“Fine. Email them,” she relents. “But Saylor? Whatever happens…whatever this costs, whatever false promises they try to sell us…promise me you won’t sell your soul for it. I’d rather live with the pain than watch you destroy yourself trying to fix me.”
I just nod, and lean forward to kiss her forehead, and pretend the ache in my chest is just exhaustion. She reaches up to wrap her arms around my neck and hold me close, but her tender embrace causes her to screech in agony.
“Oh,Mum.”
“I’m fine, I’m fine,” she whimpers, still shaking from pain. She hunches over, bent in an unnatural angle that’s buying her some sort of temporary relief.
“I’ll get the Styrica,” I murmur.
“And the nausea medication, please? It helps but it makes me so sick.”
“It’s too much medication on an empty stomach. What would you like to eat? I’ll whip up something.”
