Page 4 of Not You Again
“Me too.” I’ve been a tangle of nerves since she told me she had to have her operation. I put in for a transfer to Atlanta as soon as I heard. Someone needs to take care of her, and I’ll be damned if I’m not here for her. I can do better now, stay this time.
I take my messenger bag off my shoulder and flip it open. “I’ve been looking into some home health nurses to be here when I can’t.” I pull out a stack of tabbed brochures and flop them down onto the small dining table. “I’m still planning on coming by every Wednesday for dinner, like we planned, but—”
She scowls at me. “I can’t afford a nurse, Kit.”
I swallow. “But I can.” Thanks to her guidance, I managed a scholarship for undergrad, and a fellowship for grad school. Now I work for an international resort chain and have the bank account to match.
She breaks eye contact and shakes her head, mumbling under her breath. “You should be living your life,” she finally tells me as she wanders to a drawer in the kitchen. “Building a career.”
“I’ve done that,” I say softly. I’m not a billionaire, but I make enough to send her groceries every week. Enough that I cover her medical bills for all the testing she’s been through, and enough to cover what comes after her mastectomy. Including a home health nurse and any experimental drugs she may need if the approved ones don’t help.
She waves me off. “Making friends, putting down roots.”
I frown. Because I travel to wherever my company needs me, I haven’t had to put down roots. They pay for my accommodations wherever I end up, so I haven’t had to buy a home or rent an apartment in years. It frees up money to take care of her, so I’m okay with not having a permanent home.
“Finding a partner?” She raises a brow and pulls out a stack of paper from the drawer she yanked open. She closes it with a bump of her hip and drops her document on top of the home health brochures.
“I’m fine on my own, I promise,” I insist. I’ve had girlfriends; I know how to date. It’s just not something I have room for in my life right now. Not with a new assignment and her surgery looming.
She jabs a finger at the document she just dropped. “You may be grown, but I’m still your mother.”
My eyes dart to hers. I can’t remember the last time she pulled the Mom Card. She used to do it all the time before Dad died. She was broken beyond repair when I departed. It still keeps me up at night, knowing I should have stayed. I should have done better.
“You need a partner,” she says firmly, tilting her chin to look me in the eyes. “Someone to be there for you and make new memories with.”
I bite my tongue. She gave up everything for Dad, and he left her behind to clean up the mess. That’s the thing about partners, isn’t it? Till death do us part?
But the spark in her eyes makes me so happy I could cry. She jabs at the papers again.
I sigh and pick them up. “What is this?”
She smirks, and I’m stunned by the glimpse of who she was before. “There’s a show filming in Atlanta. That’s an application.”
I flip through the pages. The show films from mid-July to mid-September, then airs several months later. “I have a job.”
“It’s a matchmaking show.”
There’s a determined set to her mouth, a seriousness to her gaze.
“I’m not going to be around forever, Kit.” Her words are soft, angling right between my ribs and straight into my heart, too tender for its own good. “And I want to see you settled before I go.”
“The doctors said you’d—”
She shakes her head once, firmly, as if she doesn’t want to hear it. “I don’t care what they say. You need someone in your life to be there for you.”
I clench my jaw as something in me long dormant wakes up. A distant memory rises to the surface: two bodies tangled in a tiny dorm room bed, a murmured I love you, and the promise of a future we never saw.
The long-suppressed echo of hurt gains a pulse, like it’s alive and breathing again. My gaze falls to the teetering pile of paperbacks on the end table by the worn-out sofa.
Mom always has stacks of thrifted books scattered around the house. Most are romances, and growing up I read quite a few. It was nice to read about people finding the kind of love that was strong enough to last forever. They gave me hope. That hope was tangible years ago, just before it sifted through my fingers like sand. Out of time.
I swallow, looking at the application in my hands. I’m being melodramatic, thinking for even a second that love will solve everything. Mom still has her surgery in front of her, and the results may be devastating. In any case, the heroes in all those books were the ones who saved the day. No one is going to save me.
“You’re a good man,” she says, growing serious. “You deserve to find someone who appreciates you like I do.”
“You show your appreciation by returning all the checks I sent to pay off your mortgage.” After she sent the last one back in shreds, I finally gave up. All I want to do is take care of her after I failed so miserably at it the last time. But she won’t give me the chance.
“Kit.” She puts a hand on her hip, like she used to when she was about to ground me when I was a teenager. “I need you to worry less about me and more about yourself.”