When I was at home with no one around to stop me from, say, taking a hammer to my laptop or sending a nasty email to Steven the nepotism employee at my old office who gets away with feeling up women because of his last name, I decided to make the smart decision and job hunt in public. Where I would second-guess my intrusive thoughts.
I’m just hoping this period of my life doesn’t end with me in a straightjacket and criminal charges.
My phone vibrates across the coffee table. I’ve never snatched it up so fast in my life. My heart is in my throat and hope is blooming in my eyes, until I see my mom’s name flash across the screen and disappointment sinks into my stomach, quickly replaced by guilt.
I’m not disappointed it’s her, per se, I’m disappointed it’s not a company offering me a 401k and a salary. That, and I’ve been dodging her calls during the day, choosing to talk over textbecause I’m a coward and I don’t want to see her stress when I relay the news that I was laid off.
So, I just…don’t.
Turning my back on the bustling café behind me, I put on the cheeriest voice I can manage and hit accept.
“Hey, Mom! Is everything okay? I’m just about to head into a meeting.” I pause. “This isn’t another confession, is it?”
The barista that walks past side-eyes me, her friendly attitude leaving as she witnesses the blatant lie roll off my tongue. I give her my best ‘don’t judge’ look. Except all it does is send her running.
Great, now I need to find a new café.
“Hi, love. Sorry, I won’t keep you long,” she says with a small chuckle. “And no, I’ve restricted myself to one confession a day.”
The sound of her voice calms the rapid beating of my heart. When we’re on the phone like this I can pretend she isn’t sick. I can pretend that she hasn’t lost twenty pounds due to chemotherapy. I can pretend her skin is still radiant and glowing and not a dull gray.
I can pretend she isn’t dying.
Because out of everything that has changed, her sweet voice has remained the same.
Perhaps I should record her talking while she’s still…
Emotion clogs my throat at the thought.
“It’s all right, I’m not in a rush.”
The guilt that hit me before doubles down. I despise lying to her.
“I was just wondering if you’re still coming over for dinner.”
There’s a slight change to her tone that makes me pause. My body tenses, and that sense of calm she installed moments before vanishes.
“Of course I am. Why? What’s wrong?” I lower my voice, not wanting the judgmental barista to find out I’ve been lying to a cancer patient. “Is it the chemo from Monday? Are you still feeling sick?”
It’s a foolish question; she’s always feeling sick. However, the day after chemotherapy is always the worst, and if it’s a particularlyheavy dose, she won’t feel well until four days later. But it’s Thursday and she should be feeling some improvement by now.
“No, no, I’m feeling slightly better. The nausea has finally subsided.”
I should feel relieved but I can still hear the slight edge in her voice, can practically feel the tension radiating off her through the phone.
“What is it, Mom? Do you want me to come over now?”
“No, honey! Stay at work. I don’t want you to miss any more days than you have to.”
If only she could see my grimace. “It’s fine, really. I can be over shortly.”
“No, Bella, you need that job. Don’t give them a reason to let you go.”
Now I really want to slam my head against a wall.
Clearing my throat, my eyes slide to my computer as a ping comes through. “If you insist,” I murmur, half paying attention once I notice it’s an email notification.
My heart soars as I read the title.
