Page 126 of At First Smile
Just Desserts
Pen
Stretching out on the couch, I run my bare feet along GB’s velvety fur. His happy moan hums in my ears. The entire afternoon, since the dog walker brought him back, has been just us two in a semi-vegetative state.
Not since I had the flu my freshman year of college, have I spent two straight days doing nothing. It’s only temporary is the new mantra on an endless loop in my head. I’ll see my primary care physician Saturday morning, and if it appears my knuckle is healing, they’ll remove the splint giving me back more use of my right hand. I still can’t really grip my cane, so I’ve been homebound since the attack.
Homebound but not alone. Rowan hurries back here as soon as practice is over. JoJo came by last night with sushi from our favorite spot for a bicoastal bestie virtual dinner date. An evening preempted by Wes and Gillian showing up with homemade bread pudding, a recipe from Rowan’s grandma.
Between eye rolls and muttered comments, JoJobegrudginglyate two helpings. The letter from Gillian is in her possession, but she tells me she hasn’t read it yet. I won’t push the issue, but Gillian is growing on me. Rowan has a big goofy grin on his face whenever they’re together.
As lovely as the little impromptu virtual dinner party was, I can’t wait until my hand is back to normal. It’s amazing how many things require the use of my right hand. Using a spoon. Washing my hair, which I’m not complaining too much about since Rowan washed it for me last night. The magnification program on my cell is impossible without a fully functioning hand, impacting my ability to stay up with Cane Austen and Me. JoJo helped me post an update to explain my mini-hiatus, which will be at least until next week.
I’m startled by the ringing of my cell phone. “Mom calling,” my phone announces.
“Ignore,” I say out loud, pretending my phone can fulfill that request.
Last night was supposed to be my scheduled weekly telephone date, which I’d missed due to dinner. Of course, it’s always easy to find excuses to cancel a call with Mom. A yoga class with JoJo. Dinner date with Rowan. Taking a shower. So many excuses.
“Mom calling,” my phone announces again.
Again?Brow furrowed, I sit up. As much as I don’t want to, I reach for the phone. Mom never calls twice in a row unless it’s something really important. “Hey,” I say, pushing the speaker option and placing the phone on the coffee table.
“Are you alright?” she asks, her tone is rushed and worried.
“Yeah.” I contemplate my bandaged hand. “Are you?”
“No, because my daughter gets attacked by a dog and I have to hear about it from Trina’s mom at the post office rather than from my own daughter,” she snipes.
Cringing, I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Sorry, Mom… I’m fine, though.”
“Are you?”
“Yes.” An eye roll accompanies the “Just for Mom” smile etched across my face.
“Is Rowan there? Has he been taking care of you?”
The question swirls inside me like a gust of wind sucking up all the emotional debris. Gratitude for my supportive and loving boyfriend. Shame at how much he’s had to do to help me over the last two days. Impatience for this temporary situation to be my history and not my present.
Everything else pales in the burgeoning anger that my mother’s first thought is about someone else taking care of me.
“He’s at practice.” I dig my fingernails into the palm of my uninjured hand in hopes it keeps the brewing storm at bay.
“But he’s been there taking care of you?”
Eyes closed, I sigh. “Yes.”
“Good. It makes me feel better to know you have him. It’s just scary to know that you’re out there alone,” she says, her worry-filled tone is soft.
Rubbing my temples, I count to three before replying, “I can take care of myself.”
“Everyone needs someone to take care of them. With Aunt Bea gone, I just worry about you.”
“You don’t need to worry.”
“I know, honey. You’ve got Rowan.”
“I havemeto take care of me,” I hiss.
