Total pages in book: 57
Estimated words: 55491 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 277(@200wpm)___ 222(@250wpm)___ 185(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55491 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 277(@200wpm)___ 222(@250wpm)___ 185(@300wpm)
“Hi sweetheart.”
I could hear the strain of stress in her voice.
Oh boy.
“What’s up?”
Something was always going on. Whether it was drama between her and her sisters or her boss at work or that she’d seen my dad in town, there was always something that triggered my mom.
“Oh, honey, you won’t believe what happened. My air conditioner you bought me got damaged during the storm last night.”
“Oh no!”
This was Montana. Air conditioners were rare because it didn’t get all that hot. Maybe a week of uncomfortable temperatures, but it cooled down at night. But I’d bought my mom a unit a few years ago because her allergies made her so miserable, and she was having trouble sleeping. Depressed people who don’t get their sleep could go downhill fast. I knew cool, filtered air definitely helped with allergies and sleep.
“It’s terrible! I don’t know what to do. Do you think the insurance will cover it because of the storm?”
I sighed, looking at my own insurance nightmare. “Yes, but the deductible probably won’t be worth it.”
“Oh.” She sounded depressed.
Fuck it. I didn’t have the money, but I’d figure it out. “Mom, call an HVAC company to come out and take care of it.”
“I don’t think I can afford it if the insurance won’t pay,” my mom said weakly.
She worked part-time as a receptionist at an accountant’s office. Before my parents divorced, she’d been a stay-at-home mom. Baked cookies, did PTA. Relied on my dad for everything. It was their dynamic. After the divorce, even after all these years, she never really recovered. Never could handle taking care of herself–emotionally or financially. She cried. She spiraled. She tried–she really did. She’d seem to get her life together, but then something would set her back, and it would all fall apart again.
She couldn’t problem-solve for herself–her emotional state just made her shut down when things got complicated or confusing or required any effort.
I’ve been the one taking care of her ever since my dad divorced her.
She depended on me.
I knew depression didn’t make sense. Mom didn’t understand that she was supposed to be the grown-up. The parent.
As a teenager, I’d had to be the one whose shoulder she cried on. Who listened to her rant about Dad one minute, then cry about how she still loved him the next. I was the one who paid the bills. Who set a budget. Who got a job at the diner after school to bring in more money, then later at Cody’s Saloon, when she’d lose another job because she couldn’t get out of bed.
Over the years, nothing had changed. She was still depressed. Still needed me to rescue her.
“Doesn’t Clyde offer you more hours?” I asked, referring to her current boss. “You know he’s had a crush on you for years. How many times has he asked you out? He’d do anything for you.”
“More hours?”
“Yes. More hours–to cover the cost of the air conditioner.”
“Your father was supposed to–”
I sighed. Dad again. God. My parents had been embroiled in a years’ long custody and child support battle over me, which finally ended when I turned eighteen, and he moved to Missoula.
“Dad left a long time ago. He’s never going to pay that child support he owes you. Get Clyde to give you more hours. Or better yet, tell him yes to a date and let him take you out to dinner.” I grinned thinking about her out on a date.
She sighed. “I’m too old and–”
“You are not. Clyde wouldn’t ask you over and over if he wasn’t interested. In you.”
“Yes. You’re probably right. I’ll see. No matter what, I just don’t think I’ll be able to replace it until the first of the month, and it’s been so hot.”
“I know, Mom,” I said brightly. “A tree fell on my roof last night, and there’s a gaping hole in my ceiling right now.”
My mom gasped.
Oops.
This was why I didn’t want to tell her. She’d go into full-bore trauma and drama about it when it really wasn’t anything I couldn’t handle.
“Joy! Sweetheart, are you okay? That’s awful! Did you call the fire department? What are you going to do? Oh no. This is horrible.”
“It’s not horrible, Mom. I figure it’s an adventure. It will be like camping in my own house for a while until I can get it repaired. I was just telling myself I always wanted a skylight.”
My mom gave another horrified gasp. “Joy, you can’t stay there. Sweetheart, it’s not safe. And–oh God–you’re probably going to get mold!” she wailed. “Was there water damage? Mold can cause all kinds of health problems. Oh, this is a nightmare.” In my mind’s eye, I could see my mom pacing in her kitchen, wringing her hands over this. “Should I come over and help?”
“No,” I said quickly. The last thing I needed was my rain cloud of a mom over here “helping.”