Page 91 of Hold the Pickle
“Don’t worry about it, Mom.” That’s my job. No more pizza or burgers for me. Or morning coffee at the hospital cart. I’ll be eating ramen and brewing my own.
Maybe I can do DoorDash gigs during my twenty-four-hour breaks. Maybe I can get my med school loans reconfigured with lower payments. My brain buzzes with how I can help.
Mom’s voice has an edge to it. “I’ll get something soon. Everybody needs people. That’s why you see old farts like me sacking groceries.”
“Are you going to go apply for something?”
“Yeah, tomorrow. Or the next day. Soon. I’m being a lady of leisure at the moment. You doing all right? They treating you okay?”
“It’s good.”
“You send me pictures of your apartment, okay? I want to make sure my boy is someplace good.”
“I will, Mom.”
When she ends the call, I stare at the ceiling. I’ll need an extra thousand to cover her rent.
It feels impossible. My blood pressure is rising, my heart rate increasing. I need to think of something else for a minute.
I close my eyes and picture Nadia, her skin, her eyelashes on her cheeks when she slept.
My phone is still on my thigh. I pick it up to text her.
Me: Got a minute?
We’ve texted constantly and talk long hours when we can. The kittens are exploring her parents’ house. She’s escaped notice from her uncle so far.
She’s also started applying for jobs in LA, sending her resume far and wide. So far, no one’s called her for an interview. But she’s hopeful.
My phone buzzes with a call. I’m so relieved to see an image of her pop onto my screen. The contact picture is one I took of her sitting on the sofa with all the cats around her. It always makes me smile.
“Hey,” I say.
“Hey.” Her voice is like a balm to my frazzled brain. “Everything okay?”
Nothing is okay, I think. “Mom got fired again.”
“Again?”
“You try to raise them right…”
She laughs. “I hope to meet her someday. Will you go there for the holidays?”
Now that’s a question. I’m not sure how to squeeze in a flight across the country on my schedule. Or how to pay for it.
“I’ll try. I don’t know how many days I’ll get. We’ll likely be expected to work Christmas Eve.”
“Will next year be better?”
“A little. Residents don’t work the same crazy hours as interns.”
“That will be a relief.”
I’m so damn glad to talk to her. I want to reach through the phone and draw her close. But all I say is, “How are the kittens?”
“Ferris has figured out how to climb my curtains. They have a million little holes that make it look like stars when the sun shines through.”
“See, he’s an interior decorator.”
