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“Alright, I'll let you go now. Take care of yourself and your mom, okay? And call me if you need anything.”
“Thanks Val, you’re a good friend,” I say even as the lump in my throat grows.
“So are you, Moira. Bye for now.” With that, we end the call and I shove my phone in my pocket. I take a moment to try to regain my composure before opening the door to my mother's room. I glance at her and see that she's awake and watching me.
“Sorry, I stepped out to take a phone call. I didn't want to bother you.” I angle my body toward the door, as if telling her that I'll leave if that’s what she wants.
“Thank you for letting me sleep. Who were you talking to?” She sounds hopeful as she says, “Michael?”
I shake my head. “No, I was talking to Val.” I already know that she doesn't like Valerie too much; she thinks my friends are loud and obnoxious. Which sounds strange coming from someone with no friends. But who am I to judge how she lives her life? “She was just checking in on us.” I know that's not why she called, but that was part of the conversation I’m willing to share with my mother.
“That was nice of her,” she says. But she doesn't sound very sincere. I guess I should be glad she's making an effort. Usually, she doesn't even do that.
“So how are you feeling?” I ask.
She lifts the arm with the IV. “Like a human pin cushion. Can I go home now?”
“The doctors haven't been back to tell us your results yet.” I feel bad for her because I know she doesn't want to be here. Still, it's better to make sure that we take care of everything before we leave. If the doctors think there's a good reason for keeping her, then she's going to stay.
“I really don't want to be here.” She sounds impatient, and I worry she's going to start tugging at the various tubes coming out of her body.
“And hopefully it won't be too much longer. Would you like me to call in a nurse and see if there are any updates?” I don't actually want to bother a nurse, but I definitely would have to call a nurse if mom started pulling out her IV, so I’m not sure what else to do.
To my surprise, my mom shakes her head. “So how serious are things between you and Michael?”
I stop and think about it for a moment, while aware that she's not going to like the truth. “Very casual at this point. You know I don't do serious relationships, Mom. That's how you get your heart broken.”
My mom shakes her head. “You have living proof of what a good relationship looks like in your life. Why are you so afraid?”
That's such a loaded question, I'm not even sure how to respond. Things between her and dad aren't good. My retired father is out on a business trip and isn't returning phone calls. He's cheated on her more times than I can count and bullied her my entire life. That's not love, that's not a good relationship, and I'm not interested in getting stuck under someone’s thumb like she did.
“I'm not sure that's a conversation we need to have right now,” I say, wishing the doctors would walk in right now and save me from this whole crappy situation. I don’t know how to tell her the truth about dad - I swear she's blind where he’s concerned.
“Maybe you should marry Michael. He seems like a good guy.”
It’s all I can do to hold back a groan.
“Here we go again,” I say.
“What do you mean?” my mother asks, looking much more formidable all of a sudden under the light-colored thin hospital blanket. I'm not sure there's even a name for the color of the blanket; it's an off white, maybe an eggshell color, maybe slightly gray. I don't know. It's dingy and I dislike it.
“You're just always pushing me to get married. What if that's not in the cards for me? I don't want to wind up tied to someone that I hate later because I realize how much of a dick they really are.” I start to pace in the tiny room and try not to vent my frustration, but unable to hold back these words any longer.
“Moira, I just want you to be happy.” My mom suddenly sounds tired.
“And I am. I'm happy alone. I don't know why you can't see that.” I want to tear out my hair as I continue pacing back and forth on the already-worn floor. “I don't need someone to complete me. I don't need someone to fill out my life. I am happy as I am. I enjoy spending time with Michael, but I'm not going to let him take over.”
“And nobody is asking you to. Marriage isn't about someone taking over.”
I have to fight not to roll my eyes. It's insane to me that she doesn't see how hypocritical she's being. She married my dad and let him take over to the point where she couldn't do anything without his help. I mean, she needed me to bring her to the hospital because he wasn’t there and couldn’t be reached. A fact that still bothers me.
“I don't want the other things that go with marriage. What if I don't want to live with someone? What if I don't want kids? What if I'm not interested in that?”
I stop pacing and stare at my mother, seeing the shocked hurt in her eyes. “You don't want kids?” Her voice is barely a whisper as she speaks.
“Well, I certainly don't right now, and I might not ever.” She does understand that this is my life, my choice, right?
“Never? How can you say you never want to have kids?” She seems completely stunned, as if this thought had never even occurred to her.
