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We usually get her up in the morning to spend a little time downstairs and then again around dinnertime. The rest of the day and night, she’s in her room. Lisa and I have talked about options for converting the living room to a bedroom with a portable toilet for her, though Mom is adamant about not forcing Noah to live in a “hospital,” but I don’t like her idea of moving into a hospice care facility.
But again, that is a fight for another day.
Tonight, it’s about hoping she’ll take one more bite then enjoy some water ice I picked up over the weekend.
“You ready for school?” Mom asks Noah.
“No,” he grumps, and I laugh.
“I always loved school.”
“That’s because you’re a nerd.”
I pretend to be offended at that, and even Mom wheezes a soft sound of amusement.
“I got the list of supplies from your teacher, so we can try to go shopping this weekend. Or I can order it online. Do you care?” When he was little, he used to love to go shopping with me, but he’s going into fifth grade. Practically an adult. Too cool to care about what color folders he’ll use for his subjects.
When the obvious answer is red for math, blue for social studies, orange for science, and yellow for language arts.
“Online is fine,” he says, right as the doorbell rings.
I’m not expecting anyone, so I’m surprised to find a man standing on my porch, a large box in his hands. “Millie Sheehan?”
“Yes…?”
“I have a delivery for you.”
He’s not wearing a uniform from any delivery service, nor is there a truck parked in the street. Only a nondescript black sedan.
“He told me that you would be suspicious.”
“Who?” I glance behind me, mentally calculating how long it would take me to find a weapon I could use to protect my family.
“Austin Ashwood.” When I whirl back around to face him, the man says, “He also told me to tell you that your suspicion is one of his favorite things about you. And that’s not a joke.”
It physically hurts to hear Austin’s words, even if they’re being spoken through a stranger, and I clasp at my chest.
“What is it?” Noah asks, appearing at my side to take the box.
I wave to the man as he leaves and make sure to lock the door after, watching as he drives away. Can’t be too careful.
But Noah’s already got the scissors to cut the box open. Even Mom stands to get a look as it’s revealed.
“School supplies,” Noah moans, more and more let down as he pulls out the notebooks, pens, pencils, a new camel-colored JanSport backpack, along with an aluminum Thunder water bottle, Thunder baseball cap signed by what seems to be the entire team at a quick glance, and Under Armour socks. A Post-it note sticks to them with his scrawl. Noah, these are the exact socks I wear for games. Thought you might like them too.
Mom hums. “Generous of him.”
Noah admires the hat as he murmurs something about keeping it on the shelf and then holds up the backpack. “This is pretty nice.”
“You should call him and thank him for—wait, this one’s for you,” Mom says, holding out an envelope with my name on it.
I open it with trembling fingers to find a folded-up piece of loose-leaf, like he tore it out of one of the notebooks.
Millie,
I hope this is okay. Since I don’t have an assistant anymore, I have to buy my own socks now (that’s a joke), and I thought of Noah. I wondered if he might like to wear them during games. And then I don’t know what happened. I think I went into some kind of trance, started hitting the buy button without thinking. I hope it’s all useful with school starting soon.
If he already has supplies, I thought you could use them instead for when you go back to school. Because I know you will one day. You’ll do all the things you want to. I can’t wait to call you Dr. Sheehan. (Not a joke.) I’ve included a check, which I’m sure you will try to return, but I won’t accept it. Consider this severance and the start of YOUR school tuition.
