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“Moira, what took you so long?” She snaps the words at me, and I recoil from the unexpected fury in her eyes.
“What happened? Are you okay?” I ask, frozen in place.
“I tripped over that stupid rug.” She gestures with one hand at the rug at the end of the bed. “And your father is away on a business trip, so he's not here to help.”
I hate that she doesn't seem to realize how stupid that comment sounds. Dad is retired; he doesn't go on business trips. But I also know that there's no way I can talk any sense into my mom. She is dead set on believing that he can do no wrong. To the point where she's willing to put up with almost anything that man does. He could rob a bank, burn down the house, and lure a small child into a van with candy, and she'd still find a way to excuse his behavior and forgive him. I don’t get her.
“Oh, you found her.” Michael walks in behind me and kneels down beside my mother.
She glances from him to me, her eyes clearly asking what the heck is going on here?
“This is Michael. We're kind of dating. No, I didn't bring him home to meet you. He's just here to help.” I figure it’s smart to get through every question as quickly as I can so we can get that out of the way and figure out what we need to do to help her.
“You didn't tell me you were seeing someone.” My mom somehow sounds more angry as she studies Michael. “He seems like a handsome man. Why is he with you?”
Michael squares his shoulders and I reach out and touch his back. “My mom thinks I'm a man hater because I have very, very high standards.”
“No, you have impossible standards.” I'm hoping it's the pain causing my mom to not pull any punches because I'm really not enjoying being a punching bag right now.
“Well, at least one of us has standards.” I can't stop myself from the words that pop out. My mom's eyes widen and Michael puts a hand on my knee.
He turns to face me mouthing words instead of saying them out loud. “I’m not sure that’s helpful right now.”
“I know,” I mouth back with a resigned sigh before speaking to my mother in a normal tone of voice. “I'm sorry, that was out of line and unhelpful. I'm just stressed out. What would you like us to do to help you?”
At this point I'm wondering if coming at all was a mistake. Not because I want my mom to be alone and in pain, but because clearly we’re only growing more toxic toward one another by the day.
“We’re here to help,” Michael says.
“I don't want to call an ambulance. Please just take me to the hospital.” For the first time, instead of sounding bitter and angry, she sounds afraid and in pain.
“Is it okay if I pick you up?” Michael asks my mother, who bites down on her lower lip and gives a slight nod.
He scoops her up as if she weighs nothing and I scurry to get out of the way, making my way to the front door. “It really is nice to meet you. I wish it could have been under better circumstances.” As Michael says the words, I wonder if he could be any smoother at meeting the parents.
And given that my mom offers him a slight smile, she's clearly reeled in by his charismatic charm. There's something so warm and kind and genuine in his face that I find myself melting a little bit inside. He really is a good guy. If I was in the market for someone long term, he would absolutely be someone I'd be interested in. But I'm not. I have to remember that I'm not interested in long term relationships, or really relationships at all. We can have fun, but things should really end there.
“Michael, you are very handsome,” my mom says, winding her arms around his shoulders and wincing in pain as he walks her through the living room.
“Well, thank you,” he says. “And you are lovely.”
My mother giggles, and I can barely believe the sound I just heard come out of her. My mom giggling over a handsome man is the strangest thing I've heard in a long time. I lead him out of the house and close the door behind him, careful to lock it and tuck the house key into my pocket. He carries my mom out of the house and toward my car, buckling her in the back seat before getting into the driver’s seat of my car.
I walk over surprised by this new development, and he gives me a sheepish grin. “Muscle memory. I'm sorry.” He makes a move as if to get out of the driver's seat, but I shake my head at him and offer the keys. If he wants to drive, he can drive; my concern is getting my mother to the hospital, not who drives her there.
I get into the passenger seat and glance at my mom in the rearview mirror. Her expression is contorted in pain, but the second she sees me looking at her as she tries to put on an air of strength.
“So how did you two meet?” My mom's question rings out in the car, and I glance at Michael, unsure how to answer.
Michael, however, seems to have no such qualms. “We actually met on a flight.”
My mom seems surprised. “Moira on a plane? Since when?”
Michael gives me a surprised glance and I try not to stress out about these two worlds colliding. “I flew to London for Olivia's wedding.”
Even though Michael's driving carefully, I wish he'd just floor it and get us to the hospital sooner rather than later, just to end this talk.
My mom wants to keep talking, however. “You went to a wedding? I thought you were anti-marriage, anti-relationship, anti-everything traditional, and anti-everything I taught you.”
