“How much?” I ask quietly.
There’s a pause. Like she knows she’s already asking too much, but that I’ll give it, anyway.
“Just five hundred.”
Just.
I close my eyes. I know I’ll do it. Of course I will. Because no matter how wrong I know it is, or how many times I’ve tried to help her with her spending and budgeting, she’s stillmy mom. And I can’t let her down.
“I swear it’s only until next month,” she says. “You’ll get it right back.”
She won’t. I know she won’t. But I don’t say that.
“I’ll send it after this call,” I tell her. “But this is the last time.”
My voice sounds flat and rehearsed and I can’t wait to put this phone down.
There’s a pause. Then she sighs, relieved. “Thank you, baby. You’re a lifesaver. I’ll pay you back as soon as?—”
“I know.”
“And anyway! I also just wanted to hear your voice. Check that you’re ok. You’re so far away up there.”
And maybe that’s true. Maybe she did.
But I’ve learned the hard way that just because someone wants you, doesn’t mean they know how to keep you. Or care for you. Or show up when it counts.
“I’m fine,” I say softly. “You don’t have to worry about me.”
“I know I don’t. I always said my little Delilah is an old soul.” She chuckles. “You’ve always been so good at taking care of yourself.”
I bite the inside of my cheek.
“I’ve got to go,” I tell her.
“Okay,” she says brightly, like this was a perfectly normal, warm, mother-daughter call. “Love you, baby.”
I hesitate.
“You too.”
“Oh! Send it to my second account, baby. You know the number, yeah? 5-0-3?—”
I hang up. I know the account, I’ll send the money now.
And yeah, I’ve still got savings. I’mcareful. I work hard. I plan ahead because I have to. But it still stings every time.
I tuck my phone away and keep walking, the cold biting at my cheeks, sharp and bracing.
And somewhere beneath the numbness, there’s that same old ache in my chest. The same two conflicting points that are somehow both true simultaneously.
The one that says: “She’s your mom, you can’tnotpick up.”
But also: “She’syourmom, you know you can’t count on her.”
And I keep walking.
I findTroy exactly where I expect him—leaning against the railing outside the engineering building, coffee in one hand, looking like he doesn’t have a single real problem in his entire life.
