Page 13 of Bottles & Blades

I spent the time in between the grocery store (and the minor incident of kidnapping) doing my homework—and I am beyond thankful that I can only afford to take three classes this semester—because after that, I picked up Roxie—the little girl I nanny for—from school and she and I spent the afternoon at the park before doingherhomework. Then I cooked dinner for her, leaving the leftovers for her parents to reheat after I was relieved from duty.

From there, I went straight tomyparents’ house. I cookedthemdinner then cleaned their shoebox of a house that’s become far too cluttered and dirty now that my dad is mostly bed bound and unable to do it. Something my mom, who has never been interested in cooking or cleaning is pissed about it (this being more pissed than normal—and my mom’s normal amount of pissed ispissed). And while she’s recently been diagnosed with dementia and that likely explains some of her recent behavior, she’s never been a joy to deal with.

Now with a constant circuit of caregivers and home healthcare nurses and my dad unable to wait on her hand and foot, she’s worse.

But there are only so many fires I can put out in one day.

Today was the cleaning.

Of course, best laid plans and all that.

Myintentionwas cleaning, cooking, checking in. But my list grew when my dad’s main nurse stopped me on her way out the door for a chat.

And that little convo resulted in hours of busy work.

Okay, well, it which resulted in a call—or a message, considering everything is digital nowadays (including depositing checks, which was the one convenient thing I did today, depositing Jean-Michel’s check via the mobile app on my cell)—to my dad’s doctor for new medication.

But the message had then resulted in a prescription, a prior authorization, and then anactualcall—and because insurance companies seem to want to make everything as difficult as possible—that was punctuated with long hold times, going around and around with which generic of what the doctor prescribed is actually covered on the approved medication formulary list, and then finally getting a supervisor to actually give me some helpful answers.

And thenthatresulted in another message to the doctor, asking the team to revise the prescription.

Something that won’t happen until tomorrow.

And who knows how long it’ll take the pharmacy to fill it?

And…it means that my dad will go without.

Again.

After they put he put his life and financial security on the line for me?—

“No,” I whisper, gaze going to the mirror, studying my dark brown eyes, my dripping hair.

My head starts to throb. My heart aches. My eyes burn.

I’ll get my dad the medication as soon as I can.

I’ll do the best I can for him.

Always.

The second knock at door makes me jump, and I realize I’ve been stuck in my head instead of doing something about whoever is on the other side of it.

And let’s hope it’s not Dave.

I’m too tired to deal with his shit tonight.

I rip my gaze from the mirror, grabbing my robe and slipping it on, tying it tightly. I bring the towel with me to the door, drying the ends of my hair as I walk.

The third comes at the same time I’m bending to look through the peephole.

Thefourthcomes when I’m staring through the tiny circle of glass, gaping at the person on the other side of the door.

Because…

He can’t be here.

It just doesn’t make any sense at all.

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