Page 22 of Don't Let Me Break
“Everything okay?” Mia asks, giving me the side-eye.
I shiver and drop my phone into my lap. “My mom’s being…my mom.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, she’s stressing about something outside of her control and is anxious for me to check in with her.” I roll my head toward Mia. “Enough about me. How was work for you?”
“Fine. Had to throw a few assholes out, but hey. Just another day in the life of a bartender.”
“Guess so.”
“Do any of your customers get rowdy?” she questions.
“Not usually. Butter and Grace has a two-drink cap on their customers.”
“Gotcha. Sometimes, I wish SeaBird had the same cap. You should’ve seen these two assholes. I swear…” She shakes her head, her exhaustion almost matching my own.
“Hey, look on the bright side. As soon as you have your nursing degree, you’ll be golden,” I point out.
Her expression changes almost instantly. “We’ll see.”
“What do you mean, we’ll see?”
“We’ll see if I can get hired anywhere.”
“I’m sure you will,” I argue, but the memory of my conversation with Ash rises to the surface. Is Mia having money trouble again? I open my mouth to dig a little deeper, but my phone buzzes in my hand. I look down, caught between annoyance and gratitude for the distraction when I recognize my mom’s name flashing across the screen.
Annoyance, it is.
I groan and squeeze my eyes shut while Mia turns onto our dark street.
“Who is it?” she inquires. “Your mom?”
“Yeah.”
“Are you going to answer?”
“Maybe?” I offer. “Haven’t decided yet.”
“Why not?’
“Because I don’t feel like hearing a lecture,” I answer honestly.
Mia clicks her fingernails against the steering wheel, lost in thought for a few seconds. “You should answer,” she urges as she pulls into our driveway, turns the car off, pushes the driver’s side door open, and tosses me her keys. “I’ll give you some privacy.”
The door closes, blanketing the cab in silence, and I look at the bright screen in my hand.
I know Mia’s right. And I know why the topic of parental figures can be a tricky subject for her. After all, her dad was murdered a few years ago, and her mom is Miss Independent, traveling for work and giving her daughter a wide berth. Not because she doesn’t love her, but because she expects Mia to handle her own shit the same way her mom was forced to handle hers from a young age.
Regardless, Mia’s always pushing family relationships, and I shouldn’t be surprised she’s encouraging me to answer my mom’s call.
Grumbling under my breath, I slide my thumb across the cell phone screen and press the phone to my ear. “Hello?”
“Did you take your medicine?” my mom blurts.
“Seriously?” I sigh and pick at my still-damp shirt sticking to my stomach. “This is how you greet a person?”
“Well, I’ve been texting––”