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I release a breath. “No.” I refrain from asking questions but I feel like I’ll come out of my skin if I don’t. So I lift the screen of my computer and pretend to be engaged in business.
Chase grabs his helmet and stands. “Oh and try to act honored and shit when Pepper asks. Not like she’s a nuisance.”
I perk a brow at my little brother. “I don’t know. Treating her like she’s a pain in the ass seemed to work wonders for you.”
He shoots me a cocky grin. “What can I say? Chicks dig hockey and motorcycles.”
“Pretty sure she’s marrying you despite those things.”
He grabs his takeout order and I’m suddenly less inclined to go back to work right now.
2
One…two…three…four…five…s—
Shit.
I did it again.
I empty the stupid seven-day pill organizer and then toss the damn thing in the trash. It’s the second time this week I’ve refilled mom’s pills.
She doesn’t need them anymore. She hasn’t needed them for over three weeks.
I close the bathroom door behind me and stare at the empty bed where she spent her last days. It was peaceful and I was with her. The days leading up were odd. She seemed more relaxed. At peace almost. Reminiscing about dad and times when I was younger. She smiled more. Ate less. And looked at me like she was proud of me.
She was ready.
It’s why that morning came as no surprise. But it wasn’t any less heartbreaking.
I know it gets easier. I know that the tears in the morning when I wake up alone in this place will stop. And the ache I feel every quiet evening will subside. But some habits are hard to break. Like calling out to her before I leave the house each morning.
I take a breath and lift another box to take down to the communal storage room. The building provides each apartment with a six-by-nine storage unit. It’s a joke of a space but at least it will hold most of mom’s things until I figure out what to do with it all.
Which will have to be soon since I’m working on leaving town after Pepper’s wedding. Leaving is just one of many things I’ve been putting off. Being here for mom and helping her with every last cent so she didn’t have to go back to work after her diagnosis had been my priority.
I gave a thirty-day notice to my landlord just the other day and he asked if I could try and declutter the place to attract potential renters when he starts letting realtors show the apartment.
Yeah, like the questionable dark spots over the kitchen counter isn’t going to send them running.
It appeared months after last year’s flood in the apartment above and conveniently forgotten about by Roger Harris, the landlord. Who continues to forget, even with my countless emails, and reminders on Post-It notes over my rent check for the last few months.
Heaven forbid I’m a few bucks short one month, bet he’d notice that.
But I’m never late or short on rent. I don't make a lot of money but at least I've been able to maintain a roof over our heads. My job at the Hideaway Public Library allows me a comfortable salary. Of course, that depends on what your definition of “enough” is. To me, it’s groceries from the local market, rent, and boots.
My one vice in life is boots. I love my purple cowgirl boots. I get the same pair every time—or as close to the lightly embroidered deep violet mid-calf boots as I can find. Lucky Linda at the department store usually saves me a pair when she sees them come in. I call her Lucky even though I’m the one who’s lucky to have her looking out for me. And by the time I need them, they’re already marked down.
Score!
So yeah, I think I’m doing pretty well for myself. And truthfully…it has to be enough since I can’t work anywhere else. Hideaway Springs isn’t a big town and the job market is smaller than the farmers market. But I don’t mind spending my life around books.
At least until I move.
Still haven’t a clue as to where I’m going. But I’d made my mother a promise that when the time came, I’d leave this town—like I should have years ago.
When I made the stupidest mistake of my life.
Three years ago.
