Page 22 of Unraveling with You

I wish Remington was here to see it. My heart flips. I’m not sure if he’s technically my boyfriend now or what mutually liking each other “a lot, a lot” means for our weekly workouts, but I want to know more about him too. Does he also have sides of himself that he’s too afraid to show anyone? Does it have anything to do with why he almost never smiles with both cheeks?

But before I can see him again on Thursday, I need to visit Mom to make sure she’s okay. Last month’s visit was annoying but not terrible. Maybe it’ll go smoother this time too, now that I’ve learned how to respect my limits even more.

From the second I shift the car into reverse in my apartment complex’s parking garage to two hours later, when I’m hobbling on shaky legs in front of my childhood home, my stomach burns like hot acid, steeping in my anxiety. The choppy sidewalk to the front door seems to stretch into the distance, so I turn back to my car. I lean against it to reground myself, pretending I’m fetching my keys in my tote bag in case anyone is watching from the window.

No one comes outside to greet me. Dad must be napping. I know not to knock and wake him once he’s finally getting a chance to rest, so I slip my key in as quietly as possible.

But when I open the front door, Dad shuffles down the hall towards me. I stiffen from head to toe, gaping up at him.

He quirks one eyebrow with his smile, opening his arms. “Good morning to you too.”

I huff out a relieved laugh. “S-sorry. Hi, Dad.”

He pulls me in for a glomping hug, but I keep my side to him, busying my focus on removing my shoes and dropping my tote.

“How have you been, Lily? Mom’s been hoping to see you.”

My heart stings so sharply that I have to swallow it. Is Dad saying that to guilt me, or was Mom genuinely upset that I missed our usual time for a monthly visit last week?

My voice shrinks even quieter than usual. “Sorry, Dad. I’ve been really stressed with work.”

“Come in, come in. Go grab yourself a drink and settle down on the couch.”

He guides me down the hall with an arm over my shoulders, and I’m tempted to step back. I give him a soft laugh, lifting my refillable metal water bottle. “Thanks, Dad. I’m okay; I have water already. Where’s Mom?”

Releasing me, Dad points down the hall. “Resting in her room.”

I rush down the hall before he can catch up to me - even though I expect his footsteps clodding after me from behind.

Approaching my old bedroom still feels weird. I’m just grateful Mom and I were able to convince Dad that Mom needed her own room to sleep in for her sleep apnea machine - since it’s hard enough for Dad to stay asleep between caregiving. They’ve seemed to settle into this new setup, Mom happily watching sitcom reruns on my old, rattly TV from the late 90s. Her bed tray stands on the mattress over her blanketed legs, holding her phone and an old plate over her lap.

“Lilibeth!” Mom beams when she sees me. It’s not until I see her bulging eyes in hollow sockets that I can tell she’s thinner than last month. She opens her arms. “Hello, baby!”

I smile, fighting against my desperate need to cry. Side-stepping Mom’s wheelchair, I lean over the bed for a hug. Wrapping my arms beneath her back, I’m relieved by how toasty her pillow feels. At least she’s staying warm.

“Hi, Mom,” I mutter.

She hugs me as tight as she can. I don’t know if it’s my fears kicking in, but her grip feels looser than usual. What if tomorrow, the muscles in her esophagus prevent her from swallowing correctly, and she chokes and dies? What if this is our final hug?

Squeezing my eyes shut hard, I take a deep breath. I can’t think about that now.

Dad plops into the armchair beside Mom’s bed, and the leather groans in complaint. “Lily says the restaurant has been stressing her out.”

Mom gasps, releasing me. “What? What’s been going on?”

Shaking my head, I give them a light laugh. “It’s nothing new. Just regular work stress.”

“Is it just as busy as always? Even with how expensive those meals are?” Mom asks.

“Busier. Sorry I couldn’t come last week.”

“Oh, no, it’s fine, sweetheart! Come, sit. Tell us what else is new.” Mom turns to Dad. “Honey, can you lower the volume so I can hear Lily better?”

Dad lays his head back on the armchair’s headrest. “You’ve got the remote right next to you, Lia.”

My jaw clenches tight. Mom reaches for the remote with a shaky hand, but I lean over her to grab it first. The TV snaps off with my hard press on the red button.

“Thanks, Lily,” Mom whispers.

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