Chapter Fourteen
Ashlee
Friday
“Urgh,” I sighed deeply to myself as I finally made it back home after a horrible interview. I don't know why I sucked so hard, speaking to people running a practice in the mall, but I couldn't seem to hold my shit together. I stuttered, undermined my own achievements, and made myself look stupid more than once.
I knew that I hadn’t gotten the job, and while I was pissed off with myself, I was kind of glad, too. An assistant position was far below my skill set, which of course meant that it paid a lot less. Although it would have been something, it wouldn’t have helped too much. I didn’t feel like it would have put a dent in what I needed.
The worst thing about it was that was all I had. If I didn’t get something soon, I would end up flipping burgers or something; then, I wouldn’t be in any decent position to help Mom at all. Why the hell didn’t I save more money in New York? I knew that I couldn't because living expenses were so high there, but it didn’t feel good. I felt like I’d made a whole range of mistakes I couldn't take back now.
I half expected Mom to race excitedly to the door, begging to know how I’d done, but she didn’t. For a split second, I was relieved that I didn’t have to explain myself to her when I really wasn't in the mood, but then I instantly became worried. This wasn't like her at all; where the hell was she?
“Mom?” I called out loudly, walking a little nervously through the house. “You there?”
It was still strange to me to walk through the halls, seeing a different place. I kept expecting to find the old wallpaper up on the walls, and the same photographs hanging in the place where they’d always been. I found the new carpets strange, too... And that wasn't even getting to the inclusion of all my adult, New York stuff being there.
I’d tried to put it all in storage, but Mom really insisted that I didn’t, and I hadn’t wanted to upset her at the time. The only problem was the more I looked around, the clearer it became that it was more my stuff than hers, which made me feel weird.
I didn’t like to think that she’d just accepted that she was going to die because I didn’t want her to give up, but the evidence continued to point in that direction, regardless.
“Mom, are you okay?”
“Up here,” she eventually called, filling me with relief. “I’m in the bathroom.”
She sounded sick, which worried me, but she’d done a lot to reassure me that things had been good at the doctor’s, so I had to believe that.
I hadn’t wanted to go, to face Matthew after everything, so I had lied and told her I had a job interview to go to, but now I regretted that. I felt out of the loop, like I didn’t know anything. I should have pushed my own pride to one side for Mom’s sake. I wouldn’t make the same mistake again.
“Are you okay?” I asked again as I got back to her side, clearly seeing that she wasn't. She was pale, green, sickly, and hanging over the toilet. “Oh my God, what’s happened? Do you need me to call someone?”
“No, no,” she begged weakly. “I’m fine... I think I just need to get some rest.”
She held her hand out to me, and I took it quickly before tucking myself under her armpit and lifting her upright. She was far too light, but I had to do my best to look past that. I couldn't make judgments when I was so badly needed.
“I’ll be all right in a minute,” she weakly promised me. “I just need a little sleep.”
As soon as I got her into the bedroom, I tugged her top up over her head to try and get her into something more comfortable, and in the next instant, I felt a cold, painful bolt of shock racing right through me. She was thin...really thin. I could see every single one of her bones poking through her body and it made me feel dizzy and sick.
This was bad, it was really bad, and it left me totally heartbroken.
Was Mom going to die? Was this cancer going to kill her? I mean, I knew that I’d thought about it in a hypothetical way to attempt to prepare myself for it, but now it was hitting me like a massive thump in the face. Now I was starting to really understand that I might be left alone, after all.
“I’ll see you in a while,” I smiled weakly at her before lying her in the bed. I pressed my lips lightly up against her forehead as a stray tear fell from my eyes. “You just get some sleep; I’ll come and wake you up in a bit.”
As I moved seamlessly into the next room, the tears gave up trying to stay inside and they simply streamed down my face. I felt muddy, raw, and numb all at once. This was a real struggle, and it was only going to get worse; it was time to accept that.
When I’d moved back from New York, I’d expected things to be difficult, but I hadn’t expected it to be the time I lost my mother. I thought she would be sick, that I would help her back to good health, and that would be the end of it.
Little did I know...
I slumped my head back, falling deeper into the couch as the emotions flooded through me. I felt like I was bursting at the seams, slowly falling apart, and I didn’t know what to do.
“I wish you were here, Dad,” I muttered to myself, desperation clawing at me. “You would know what to do right about now.”
I spotted the picture of him sitting on the mantle, the one that would always be there no matter what, the constant in an ever-changing home. I stood up to grab it, needing to hold it closer to me.
I studied his face intently, seeing a lot of myself within him; we had the same shape of eyes, and very similar cheekbones, and we shared the same smile. We were similar enough to have a lot in common, and different enough to not fall out too much. He really was the perfect dad, and I wished that he’d been around to see me grow up. I wanted him to know the person that I’d become, because I felt a lot of that was to do with him.
The best part about my dad was that he’d always known what to do in any kind of a crisis. Not only did he always have the right answers to any kind of problems I faced, he always managed to lighten the mood, too. He knew just how to make me laugh, even when it felt like the world was piling on top of me, and that was exactly what I needed.
I tried to imagine what he would say to me in that moment, and I knew it would be some very inspiring message about staying strong for Mom because she needed me. That was exactly what I needed to do; it just wasn't as straightforward as it probably should have been.
It didn’t help that I was convinced Mom wasn't being totally honest with me. I had a feeling that she knew more about her condition than she was letting on, that she’d had some bad news at the appointment I missed and didn’t intend to tell me.
She hadn’t even decided on what treatment method she wanted to use yet, which was driving me crazy. Until she made that final choice, we couldn't move forward, and we both knew every moment counted. Each second was important, and I wished she could understand that much.
I had the horrible, gnawing sensation that money was the issue.
“Right,” I muttered to myself, standing up with a newfound determination coursing through me. If it was money she needed, then I would do my best to sort that out for her. I would get back online, back into the grind of the job hunt, however depressing it was, until I got it sorted. I needed to get a job now – any job – and I couldn't stop until I had that goal achieved.
“I’ll do it, Dad,” I told his picture as I set it back down. “I’ll be strong, I promise you that much.”
I logged on quickly and typed in all the same information as I had done the day before, expecting to see all the same job posts, but much to my surprise, I saw a brand-new posting, one that seemed too good to be true.
“Speech therapist,” I whispered to myself in shock. “Seriously?”
I clicked on the post, needing to know more, needing to find out what the downside to this was going to be, but I couldn't instantly see one. It wouldn’t be too different to what I was doing in New York, plus the pay was pretty good, too. I had to pinch myself to check that I wasn't dreaming.
But then my eyes fell on something else: the location of the job.
“Are you fucking serious?” There it was: the issue. The fact that the job would be in Matthew’s office would be killer, so much so that I almost logged off completely, totally disregarding it.
But then my eyes found their way back over to Mom’s bedroom and I quickly realized that I didn’t have much choice. I was going to have to do this; I really didn’t have any other choice. As much as it killed me, I emailed off my resume with aggravation spiking through my veins.
What would it be like working with him every day? Would I be able to keep my distance? Would it be awkward? I couldn't even begin to imagine it, but then again, my need for money and security was more important than my damn pride. My pride had held me back from too much in my life. I couldn't let it do that again. This was the time to finally make the smart decision, and I hoped that it wouldn’t backfire.
There was a desperate need within me to know more, so without even thinking, I did the thing that I hadn’t done for many, many years. Well...ever, actually. I’d always avoided logging on to his Facebook page before because I knew it would hurt, but with the thought of getting over myself floating through my mind, I searched for him and found his page.
“Fucking hell,” I cursed myself angrily as my heart fluttered at the mere sight of his profile page. Why did he always have to have such an effect on me? Why couldn't I just see him and feel nothing? It didn’t feel fair at all.
The image of him was a very simple, innocuous one of him standing in a bar with a pint in his hand, but it made me feel sick with nerves. How the hell could I be around that man without going insane?
Selfishly, as I closed the computer down, shutting his face away from me, I hoped he would feel as awkward as me and ignore my application. Life would be harder in a lot of ways, but also so much simpler if I just didn’t get the job.