Page 59 of King of Nothing

I steeple my fingers and press my lips to them before I move to take the envelope.

“Just know I take no delight in giving you this information.”

24

You Taught Me Well

Evangeline

“How did you get this number?”

“Your grandmother gave it to me,” my mother says, and I panic.

“Did something happen to her? Is she okay?” The director or one of the nurses at the facility would have called me if something had happened, but my nerves still feel frayed at the edges.

“No, no, she’s fine,” my mother explains, and my heart rate starts to return to normal.

I know the day will come when my grandmother is no longer here, but I’ll never be ready for it. Multiple Sclerosis is a terrible disease, taking little pieces of the grandmother I used to know and turning her into someone who can no longer laugh, walk, or do the one thing she loved: sew.

“Then what do you want?” I ask, impatiently.

“You’re my daughter, and I wanted to talk to you,” she says with a hint of annoyance.

I can hear her breathe lightly into the phone, and I can picture her with the same pale blue eyes and blonde hair, sitting at the kitchen table and looking out the back window – the one with chipped green paint – to the rusted swing set in the backyard.

It’s my grandparents' property, a place I used to love until my grandfather died and my grandmother was diagnosed with MS. Everything changed after that. I suppose now it’s mine, since I have power of attorney for my grandmother, but I haven’t lived there for years.

She says softly, “It’s good to hear your voice.”

I let out a shaky breath and feel the chill of the fall air as someone enters the café, bringing with them a small gust of wind.

I want to believe that my mother is only calling to hear my voice because she misses me, but I know better.

“Did you happen to read the papers?”

“What papers? What are you talking about?” she asks, innocently.

She was never good at lying, at least not to me. “Are you still with him?” I demand, holding the phone tightly.

“Evangeline,” she says with a sigh, “I wish you would just let things go.”

My step-father is the reason we don’t talk. “I have to go,” I say, ready to pull the phone from my ear and hit the end button when she stops me.

“Wait, wait…”

I pause for a moment.

“Don’t you think it’s better if I handle things for Mimi?”

“Mimi is being well taken care of.”

“By strangers,” she scoffs.

“By trained professionals who know how to take care of her,” I explain.

“They’re not family,” she argues. “She belongs with family. That place is bleeding her dry,” my mother says, exasperated.

This isn’t a new argument – it’s one we’ve had ever since I had to put Mimi in the care home where professionals that know how to deal with MS can help her. My mother doesn’t care so much that she’s in a home, but that I have control over Mimi’s money.

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