Page 99
I sigh, rubbing at my temple, the strain easing behind my eyes. The muscles in my throat relaxing. Shoulders lowering from my ears. “Don’t think because I told you guys all this we’re friends now.”
Camden waves me off and gestures for Nico to follow him to the door. “Of course we are. We expect you to be at the next poker night with a report on how therapy’s going. Or else you’re kicked out.”
“You can’t kick me out of something I’ve never gone to.”
Nico shoots me finger guns. “See ya there, and be sure to bring enough cash. Buy-in’s five hundred bucks, and we’re not giving out any more IOUs. The Serbian’s ruined it for everyone.”
They close the door, muttering about how the “big guy” can bring McDonald’s but not any money.
So, I guess I’m going to fucking therapy.
And should probably learn poker while I’m at it.
God, I hate it here.
CHAPTER 29
MILLIE
As soon as I open the door after work, I kick off my shoes and flop on the couch. I’ve been working at an accountant’s office for exactly three weeks, and I hate it. I hate the fluorescent lights and the stupid little cubicle they stuck me in. I hate the mind-numbing data entry and how my boss talks to me like I’m an idiot. I hate that I have to wear a bra and proper shoes instead of my sneakers. I hate that I have to pretend to be someone I’m not, someone who cares about debits and credits and tax codes.
But I need this job. I need the steady nine-to-five paycheck. I need to be able to take care of Noah and Mom. So, I do what I do best, paste on a smile and bear it.
Lisa, the home care nurse, greets me with a warm smile. “Hey, Millie. How was work?”
I force myself to sit up to address her. “It was okay. How was Mom today?”
Her smile softens. “We played some cards, watched a little TV. She’s been resting since lunch. Her shortness of breath was noticeable today, and I think it’s because of the changing of the weather. I’m sure you’ve already experienced it, but the season changes can really affect her lung capacity. You might want to think about buying a few humidifiers, or at least one for her bedroom for right now.”
“I will,” I say, grateful for Lisa’s help, but also unable to ignore the pang of guilt that hits between my ribs. I should be the one here, taking care of her, not a stranger. But I push the thought away because this is our new normal, and I have to accept it.
Lisa gathers her things. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Try to get some rest, okay?”
I thank her and see her out, then make my way to Mom’s room. She’s sleeping peacefully, and I brush a kiss on her forehead, careful not to wake her, and pad down to the kitchen.
I’m just pulling out the ingredients for dinner—French toast because it’s Wednesday—when Noah bounds in, all sweaty and grinning from baseball practice. That’s the other difference. Now that I’m back to working full time, I can’t be the one to cart him around whenever and wherever. I have trusted parents who have volunteered to drive him when I need them to, but it still makes me anxious not to be the one with him, driving him, being there during practices.
“How was it?” I ask, and he grabs a Gatorade, downing almost half of it in one go, then burps. I snort, and he laughs.
“It was good. I was talking a lot with Coach about fall ball.”
Yet another travel team. It never stops. The emails and group text notifications. The tryouts and aggravated adults, yelling at the kids. I almost wish Noah weren’t as talented as he is so we could avoid all of the stress. But he loves it and I love him, so I have next weekend blocked out on my calendar for fall ball tryouts.
“I think I pretty much got a spot on the team,” he tells me, and that’s what I mean.
“How do you know?”
“The tryouts are for new people. They know how I play, and they know they want me on the team, so…”
I don’t understand the politics of it all and don’t really want to either. With a shrug, I say, “I hope you keep your head about you when you’re out there. Treat everybody like you wanted to be treated. Include the new kids.”
“I know. I do.”
I drag him to me for a quick hug, but he’s dirty and smells. “Go take a shower. You reek.”
He makes a face at me then takes off upstairs, leaving me to only slightly burn the French toast, and after I carefully carve off the extra browned bits, I call Noah down to set the living room table—because we’ve kept it clean all the weeks since Austin first came to visit—and I head upstairs to help Mom back down.
Although it’s impossible to know how much time she has left, Lisa has assured me that we aren’t in the final stage yet, and that we would know when we get there. She said it’s totally normal for Mom to be sleeping more, and although she had a few good weeks there with a peak of energy, this is the natural course of things. She will continue to be fatigued more and more. Some days her pain is worse in her head or in her back, but the medications tend to knock her out, which is good. I’d rather her sleep through it than try to stay awake, only to be in discomfort.
