Page 12 of The Notecard
‘Well, yes, but it’s more complicated than that.’
‘Then explain it to me.’
Mum gets up and walks into the kitchen to finish the tea. I don’t know if it’s being a doctor, but I’m looking at the worst-case scenario. Early onset Alzheimer’s or dementia. I’m thinking about the therapists I know at the hospital and which one might be a good fit for her. She’s obviously going through something. Mum walks back in with two cups of tea and sits down again.
‘I lied about the retreat, Nick, because I’m worried about you.’
‘What?’ I say, even more confused. ‘Why are you worried about me?’
‘The retreat is part of the whole process of changing my life. It’s about doing something new, exploring me and what I want from the rest of my life. I need more than I have, Nick. I just don’t know if you’re ready to deal with it.’
I’m gobsmacked. I can’t believe it. What makes Mum think I’m not ready for her to move on and that I can’t cope? I know I’ve had a hard time dealing with Dad’s death, but then so has she. It’s a difficult thing to come to terms with. He was the rock that kept our family together. But the idea I can’t handle Mum trying to get her life back is absurd. It’s not my fault she felt like she had to lie about going to a yoga retreat and instead make up a distant relative in Norfolk.
‘You’re wrong, Mum. I can deal with you moving on.’
‘Then why when Dotty mentioned Michael, did you get all funny? It’s just like when you were young and we talked about moving to Bristol, you wouldn’t even consider it.’
‘I think it’s a bit different than Bristol.’
‘Or the time we wanted to take in that exchange student from Holland, and every time we mentioned Wouter you’d get moody and sulk in your bedroom.’
‘I was twelve!’ I say, failing to understand what Mum’s going on about. How is me being annoyed about Wouter coming to stay with us for eight weeks got anything to do with Mum lying about her yoga retreat? To be fair, Wouter was strange and annoying. For eight weeks he followed me everywhere and would only eat potatoes.
‘Nick,’ says Mum, looking at me. ‘I love you so much, but you’ve never been very good at change. You like things to stay the same. It’s why you’ve had such a hard time with your father because it was the biggest change of all, and you couldn’t cope. You keep things a certain way so you can control everything, but once you lose that control you don’t like it. It’s just the way you are. I was trying to protect you, but maybe it’s time I stopped.’
I don’t know what to say. Mum is treating me the same as she did when I was twelve. It’s why she still brings me shopping whenever she comes over because she thinks I can’t look after myself. She’s the one with the problem. Am I great with change? Clearly not. Do I like things to stay the same? Yes, but then I think that’s most people. I like routine, and as much as my current routine is hard and draining on every aspect of my life, I like the fact it gives my life structure. It’s easy to define myself as a doctor. It’s much more difficult to define myself when it comes to relationships, but that doesn’t mean she has to lie to me like I’m a child.
‘I need to go to work,’ I say, standing up.
‘Nick, we need to talk about this.’
‘I know, but right now I need to get ready for work.’
‘It’s Wouter all over again. You wouldn’t talk about him either. You made it very difficult for all of us. Especially poor Wouter. He clearly had an eating disorder.’
‘Jesus Mum, can you stop talking about Wouter? I’m thirty-two. I can handle change. I can handle you going to a yoga, meditation, vegan retreat near Oxford. I can handle you going on dates with men. I’m fine, okay? I’m fine.’
There’s a pause and Mum looks at me. She gets her coat from the sofa.
‘You don’t sound fine. You sound angry. You’ve never been very good at taking risks, trying something new. Sometimes you need to grab life and see where it takes you, Nick.’
Then she walks over and gives me a kiss on the cheek. She tells me she loves me, gives me a thin smile, and then she turns around and walks out. I’m left feeling sort of dazed and a bit confused. I don’t think I’m that stuck in my ways. I don’t have time to really think about it though because I have to get ready for work. I put it all at the back of my mind, store it away for later, and head off to my bedroom to get changed. Although as I’m getting ready two thoughts cross my mind. When did Mum start doing yoga and what the hell is group shouting?
Meg
Iclose the door and with that Mum and Laura are gone. It’s a relief. I realise I have a lot to unpack emotionally, but right now I just want to sit on the sofa, watch Grey’s Anatomy, and have that last glass of wine. And some of Keri’s non-vegan vegan chocolate cake. Having Mum and Laura over was too much. Sometimes I can’t deal with the baggage that comes with it. They’re my family, I love them to bits, but sometimes I just want to get away on my own. It’s why my travelling plans are taking shape. I’ve been watching all of Beth’s videos and Instagram stories, and I’m plotting to take the same trip as her. She’s away for six months and I’m thinking the same. It’s the break I need. I can leave my job for six months. They might even give me the time off so I can go back as if nothing has happened. I’ve been working solidly since university. I deserve the time off, but more importantly, I need it. My mental health needs it. I feel like if I just keep going the way I’m going, following the same path, then I’m going to collapse again. I feel like I need a moment to take a breath.
‘I don’t want to sound mean or anything, but I don’t think Laura is very nice,’ says Keri, who plops down on the sofa next to me. She’s eating a bag of crisps. ‘She’s just so harsh. Don’t you think she’s harsh?’
‘It’s just how she is. I don’t think she even realises.’
‘But you can’t not realise,’ says Keri, popping a cheese and onion crisp into her mouth. ‘Like my mum, she’s literally the same way, but she knows it. She can say the most hurtful things, but then she says sorry. She always says sorry, and I’m like, it’s fine, Mum, even though sometimes it isn’t fine. But what can you do? She’s my mum. So I say it’s fine and we move on.’
‘Laura doesn’t apologise. It’s not in her nature.’
‘I think next time you should say something.’
‘It’s not worth it.’
