by Kat T. Masen
“Mama, I don’t understand. You want to sell our house?”
She nods, keeping her lips tight and emotions restrained. “It isn’t supposed to be this way, the two of you taking care of me. I can’t live with myself knowing that. I don’t want to be a burden on you.”
“Mama.” I push my chair back and fall onto my knees, clasping her hand in mine. “You’re not a burden. Please don’t do this. I’ll find another job. Granted, it may not pay as well as now, but I can pick up a third job. Many people have three jobs, and if that’s what I need to do to pay for a full-time nurse, I will, too.”
She shakes her head, ignoring my desperate pleas. This is just another one of her episodes. This will pass. Tomorrow we will all wake up, and this conversation will be forgotten.
“I know what you’re thinking, Milana, and this won’t pass. I’ve spoken to a professional who will follow through with my plans despite my condition. I can’t do this anymore. You have to understand that I only want the best for you both, and that’s not staying here.”
She called me by my full name. She only does that when I’m in trouble and when she’s dead serious about something. On its own accord, my head is shaking left to right, fear turning into anger, refusing to allow her to do this. She isn’t thinking straight. This is our family home. A home that my grandpapa built with his bare hands. He will be rolling over in his grave if he knows his only daughter is selling this prized possession.
“This isn’t the best for us!” I raise my voice, pulling away from her. “You’re our mother. Taking care of you is our job. Just keep the house, and we’ll sort something out.”
“Full-time help is costly, and frankly, I’m tired.” She lowers her head, keeping her gaze down. “I don’t know what will happen tomorrow let alone five minutes from now. I need to be somewhere with people who know how to help me.”
Flynn is quietly sitting at the table, offering no words to stop Mama from making this rash decision. I glare at him, demanding he speak up and help me convince her this is stupid. When he doesn’t say a word, I begin to panic at the thought of this going ahead. The knot in my stomach is tightening, and my fingers twitch while I hold down the urge to dry heave from the tightness in my chest.
“I promise you we can keep the house. Like I said, I’ll just get another job.”
“About that…” She pulls another piece of paper out of the envelope. “One of the ladies at the facility has a daughter-in-law who owns a recruitment agency in California. She’s looking for a personal assistant, and it pays four times the amount you earn here. I’ve recommended you for the position.”
She hands the paper to me. It has the name of the agency and a description of the job.
Personal Assistant to a well-known client. Must have extensive organizational skills with the ability to multitask and handle all matters in a confidential manner.
“I can’t move to California!” Arguing, I almost throw the paper back at her in disgust. This idea is ludicrous. “As if I could leave you here… and what about Flynn?”
“Your brother will go with you. Besides, you’ve come a long way from your teenage rebellion days. I think this will be good for you.”
Flynn’s chair scrapes along the wooden floor as his body reacts instantly. “Move to California? Us?”
“You always said you wanted to become a musician. This could be your chance.”
“Mama, he plays the drums, as I’m sure a million people in California do. No, we’re not moving. End of story.” My arms fold, demanding this conversation stop.
Mama remains quiet, lowering her brows and retaining a concerned expression. She’s deep in thought, staring at the two of us with her motherly stance. She knows we’re angry, she knows that all we know is this house and her. Change doesn’t exist in our world, and there is absolutely nothing wrong with that.
“If you’re hired for this job, I’ll reconsider selling the house. Perhaps we can rent it out to a family, and that can pay for the facility.” She clears the plates off the table and places them in the sink. Running the water slowly, she turns back around with a stern look on her aged face. “Otherwise, I’ll put it on the market.”
I want to scream at her. Tell her to stop being selfish and think about our needs. It isn’t just about the house, it’s about her. I need her. The thought of her Mama being alone terrifies me. Yet deep inside, underneath all the resentment and rage, I know that she wears the burden on her shoulders every day, and no matter what we do, nothing can erase the diagnosis we were given.
Mama has early-onset Alzheimer’s disease, and nothing in the world can stop it.
Not me.
Not Flynn.
And no amount of money in the world.
Chapter Two
I am taking the mature road and said yes to moving to California.
That lasted one day.
I spent hours researching places to rent before stumbling on crime statistics, which had me retracting my words faster than you can say ‘gunshot wounds.’
Apparently, it’s too late. Mama put a down payment on a small condo in the facility and bought us one-way tickets to Los Angeles. For weeks, I tried to find another job, but no matter how many interviews I have been to, the reality is that nothing pays as much as the jobs in California.
The change brought on a new wave of emotions. I mourn the life I once knew. The nights are hard, lying in bed and counting down the days until this room becomes a distant memory. I fall asleep dreaming about a different time when things weren’t complicated, and life was just simple.
Flynn barely says a word, keeping quiet and distancing himself from me like this is all my fault. Instead of spending these last moments with Mama, he chooses to hang out with his deadbeat friends down at the local billiard place. I don’t bother to scold him like I normally do. Leaving Mama behind is punishment enough.
My time is filled with tying loose ends at my current job and countless interviews for this new role. The recruiter, Jan, preps me as much as possible, giving me a head start when it comes to the interview process and what the role entails. I did pass the first round of interviews which were conducted over video conference. It lasted for two hours, question after question. By the end of it, I was beyond exhausted. Never have I experienced an interview so formal.
There is still a chance I won’t get the job, but as Mama points out, I have more opportunities in Los Angeles than I will in this town, and it isn’t just about me, Flynn has a talent which needs nurturing.
So, it comes to this—the final goodbyes.
Aside from when my grandparents passed away, I’ve only ever said goodbye to one person—my father. I was seven years old when he officially left for good but I barely knew the guy. He had worked on an oil rig somewhere in Asia and came home every couple of months. My grandparents didn’t approve of him. They thought Mama deserved better and someone not Korean. My grandpapa’s words to his only daughter still ring in my head, “You have Russian blood. How dare you dishonor us and marry a Korean!”
Despite his racial slurs and creating this great divide between himself and Mama, he loved Flynn and me like his own. His death was like the loss of a father, and at the age of fifteen, my coping mechanism was not of mature thinking.
I did things I shouldn’t have.
Boys, weed, and anything I could get my hands on that involved danger.
My dad made an appearance a year later, showed me photographs of his new family like I would be excited to know that I have a sister he actually spends time with. Flynn was different. He craved a father figure in his life and begged to move to Hawaii with him. Stupid moron said no. Mama was thankful, and for the next year, we dealt with Flynn and his anxiety. The doctor suggested he take medication, and for that, I hated my so-called father and welcomed the goodbye.
This isn’t a real goodbye, though. This is a see-you-soon type of goodbye. Maybe that’s why I don’t shed the tears or drink the entire bottle of wine like my best friend, P
hoebe. This trip to California will be short term—a year max. I will return once I’ve saved enough money to keep the house and maybe start my own business or something that will allow me to take care of Mama.
This isn’t a goodbye forever.
“I hate this…”
Phoebe throws a pile of clothes into the suitcase in her normally overdramatic way before pretending to faint on my bed. The bedposts creak from the sudden weight of her body while I choose to ignore her plea to make me stay home, carefully organizing my precious belongings into a separate carry-on bag.
“You only hate it because you’ve got no one to vent to on Friday night while drunk on cheap champagne you bought at Billy’s.”
Phoebe sits up, then lays back against my pillow with her ginger hair in a tangled mess. Whenever she gets frustrated or angry, she unknowingly bites her hair while silently trying to regroup her thoughts.
“That’s not true.” She shakes her head, spitting out a mouthful of hair. “You make a good vomit buddy. You pull my hair back so tight that it’s such a neat spew into the toilet bowl.”
I throw a pair of socks at her face before plopping down beside her. “I hate this, too.”
“Are you sure there’s nothing else you can do? Could you take another job or something?”
I wish it were that simple. I work two jobs now to support our family including a full-time role at Mason’s Law Firm as personal assistant to Mildred Mason, one of Alaska’s top female lawyers. I took the job straight out of college and pretty much got thrown into the deep end. To be honest, I won’t have it any other way. It distracts me from the real problems I face with Mama and gives me the direction I need.
“The pizza shop can’t afford to keep me on for weekends anymore. Why pay a twenty-six-year-old wages when you can pay a sixteen-year-old?” I complain. “And Mildred is retiring.”
“So, get another job. There’s plenty of personal assistant jobs here.”
I laugh at her suggestion. “Uh, hello? You do know we live in a small town? It takes me ninety minutes each day to travel to work. There are no other jobs.”
“Surely, there’s something.” Phoebe leans over to my nightstand and grabs the local newspaper. “Okay, look. There’s plenty.”
“Fine, go ahead, tell me what I can do.”
“How are you with gutting fish?”
“The same you are with gutting fish.”
She takes a giant swallow. “Gross. Okay, so fish guts ain’t your thing. Here you go…” Her eyes scan the paper, quietly reading before speaking. “Looking for a physically fit young woman to help with caring for ailing father.”
“Pass.”
“Why? The money looks good.”
“Because it’s caring for Old Man Wilson, and we all know his wandering hands are no accident. I think his daughter gets some sort of advertisement discount for the number of times that job has been posted.”
“Who would have thought an eighty-year-old man would be so frisky?” Phoebe questions with a cheeky grin. “He has an eye for your red miniskirt. By the way, can I have it?”
“Clearly, not any of the women who applied for the role.” I move to the closet, open a secret compartment, and remove the miniskirt, throwing it at Phoebe. “All yours. The last time I wore this was in high school, smoking weed under the bleachers with Bobby Houseman.”
“Those were the days.” Phoebe continues to troll the newspaper, turning the page with frustration and causing the paper to crumple between her fingers. Her frown turns into a smile, and I wait eagerly for her pathetic attempt to sell me a role that involves selling my soul to the devil.
“You like to dance, right?”
“Sure, with my clothes on. So, if you’re trying to get me to take them off and casually stand by a silver pole, keep turning that page.”
“You know me too well.”
“Like the back of my hand.”
“I don’t want you to go, Milly.” Her voice is raspy, pleading for something I can no longer control.
“I have no choice. I can’t support paying for Mama’s care and keep the house. Besides, it’ll be nice to start fresh somewhere.”
She turns to face me, throwing the newspaper onto the floor. The bed creaks again, annoying yet comforting because it’s my bed. The same bed I have slept in since I was a kid.
“You’re lying. You hate fresh starts. You’re a homebody and moving to a different state, especially California, terrifies you.”
I nod my head quietly. I do hate fresh starts and am a homebody. For the past five years, I have done nothing but study and work. I have zero social life besides hanging out with Phoebe and my boyfriend, Liam. My weekends consist of more work, taking care of the house, and making sure my brother stays out of trouble.
I have worked hard on bettering myself and providing for Mama in her time of need. So what if I’m not hitting the clubs and partying like everyone else my age. I’ve been there, done that. Illegally, yet still, it’s not like I haven’t tasted what it’s like to walk on the wild side.
I walked.
I fell.
And now I’m back up.
“I have to do this.” I bury my head into Phoebe’s side, knowing I will miss her like crazy. “You can come visit, and I’m sure I’ll come back home for the holidays.”
“It’s not the same. I’m selfish and need my best friend.”
I smile into her shirt, inhaling the smell of cinnamon. A scent she purchased online after reading some article on how to attract men. As silly as it may seem, it’s so Phoebe. Naïve and waiting to land her prince charming.
“I promise nothing will change between us,” I reassure her.
“Pinkie swear it.” She holds up her pinkie finger, and I raise mine to link with hers.
“I pinkie swear.”
The radio sounds in the background, the local station playing the usual Friday afternoon ’90s mix. I grab the hairbrush from the top of the suitcase and sing to the tunes of Backstreet Boys. Phoebe can’t help herself, jumping off the bed and dancing in the room while we both belt out the chorus—off-key—laughing until my brother bangs against the wall.
The song ends, the same time that we both stare at each other with clouded eyes. I’m the first to turn away, avoiding the sadness that I’m forcing to bury deep down inside because if I allow myself to feel the extent of it, I will never leave.
I try to distract myself by folding a sweater until Phoebe’s arms wrap around my waist, her face buried into my hair. The sweater slips out of my hands as I pull her into me while we both begin to cry.
Phoebe pulls away first, wiping my old, ragged t-shirt of the stains she left behind. When we both wipe our faces with the backs of our sleeves, we smile, staring into the mirror and laughing at our panda eyes.
Phoebe’s more than a best friend—she’s my family.
I look at the time on the wall—it’s just after four in the afternoon.
“Phoebe, I have one more thing I need to do before I leave.”
You can see the sympathy in her eyes. It isn’t only saying goodbye to Phoebe but to my boyfriend, Liam. I’ve been dreading this since the moment leaving became a reality.
“You think you guys will last?”
Here’s the thing about hope—we cling to it and wish to the stars above that it’ll all work out. Liam isn’t the type of man to force me to do anything. Quite the opposite. He supports my decisions even if it means leaving him behind.
“I sure hope so.”
Chapter Three
I left Phoebe back at the house with my bags packed and ready to go.
The walk into town is short, but a much-needed one as I attempt to clear my thoughts and think about what I need to say to the man who has been my boyfriend for the past four years.
There’s the usual clinking and clanking coming from the garage, and without even calling his name, Liam slides out from beneath the car knowing I’m here. Instead of saying goodbye inside, I motion for him to follo
w me as I walk around the worn-out building and sit on our bench. The same bench where he asked me to marry him last year. Of course, I said no. I’m not ready for marriage. Twenty-five seems too young to settle down even though it has become common over the past few years. It seems like there are weddings after weddings, and all those marriages are high school and college friends the same age as me.
Taking a seat on the wobbly bench, I steady the rocky movement before he sits beside me. Neither of us says any words—quietly watching the mountains afar. I will miss the scenery—something about the fresh Alaskan air has a way of making me feel calm.
“I didn’t think this time would come.” He nervously twists the dirty rag between his grubby fingers. “I can help out, too, you know. I mean, I don’t have much, but you can have it, Milly.”
Liam Davies isn’t a selfish man. I knew he would help me out financially, but this decision is more than leeching off my boyfriend. I would forever be in his debt, and that doesn’t sit well with me. He worked hard as an apprentice and is now a qualified mechanic. Unlike me, he didn’t go to college and this is all he has to support himself. He has already saved me—four years ago—from a college boyfriend who became my college stalker and found himself in college jail. Okay, perhaps I exaggerate that last part. He ended up in some detention center where he then proceeded to stalk the female nurse.
“I can’t take anything from you. I don’t have a choice in this matter.”
“You’re choosing to leave me.”
“No, I’m choosing to give Mama the best care she can get.”
Our words fall silent—only the noise of the boys in the garage tinkering away at the broken cars can be heard.
I turn my body to face him, bridging the gap between us. Liam is an extremely good-looking guy. Dirty-blond hair tied up into a messy bun to keep away from his light green eyes. They never change color depending on his mood, and maybe that’s why he has this way of making me feel safe—the calming effect he has over me when I stare long enough and allow him to climb into my soul.