Page 3 of Ruthless Savior
I swallow hard, forcing myself to speak without letting my voice crack. "Good. Alicia's ordering Chinese. You want your usual?"
"That sounds perfect." She nods at the edge of the bed across from her armchair. "Sit with me for a minute?"
I perch on the edge of the mattress, resisting the urge to fall back onto it and let my exhaustion consume me. My whole body aches, but I’m not going to get to go to sleep anytime soon. I need to make some sense of the chaos I’ve created in the apartment with all of my stuff, and there’s still that number to call.
I can’t imagine it’s going to be incredibly straightforward, but maybe it will be. I’ll give whoever it is my banking information over the phone—something that I, as a finance major, know to never do—if they’ll give me the money I need to get my mom through this.
"I'm proud of you, you know," Mom says quietly. "For everything you're doing. I know this isn't how you pictured your life going right now."
I manage a smile. “I’d do anything for you. You know that. And plus, it’s not so bad. Moving in, I mean. We’ll get to spend more time together.”
She rolls her eyes. “Sure, Leila. At twenty-two I would have beenthrilledto live with my parents. Absolutely stoked.”
A laugh bubbles up from my throat at her sarcasm. “Really. It’s not like I have a hot love life or anything. And I can still go out and stuff… nothing will really change.”
She gives me a knowing look. “You’re so tired all the time already.”
We both know she doesn’t need to say more. Both of us know how this is going to go—how my endless workweeks are going to be bookended and mashed up with doctor’s appointments and phone calls and, soon enough, me needing to do everything around the house, cook and clean and manage her bills and mine, and take care of her on top of it.
“Maybe we can get a cleaner to come once a week—” Mom starts to say, but I shake my head.
“It’s fine. I’ve got it. Really.”
It’s an expense we can’t afford. Not when the college has let her go after she couldn’t commit to a full course load this upcoming semester, when her health insurance isn’t covering all the costs, when her savings are being blown through faster than either of us can imagine.
Luxuries are not going to be something we have for a while. And if I could afford any luxury, it would be for my mom, not to take something off of my plate.
“You’re giving up so much.” She bites her lip. “I really wonder if it’s worth it, sweetheart.”
The tears that I’ve been fighting so hard all day instantly well in my eyes. “Don’t say that,” I tell her firmly, leaning forward to grasp her hand. “Don’t even think it. Of course it’s worth it.”
I’m sure of that. She’s right—I am giving up a lot, even if I’d never admit it out loud—the dream apartment I was supposed to be living in, all of the exciting nights I was looking forward to as an early twenty-something living in downtown Boston. Nights out with friends, hangover brunches, bringing home hot guys and not caring if they called me back. Working long hours not to see all of the money instantly vanish, but to build my own future and give myself something secure, so that I’d never struggle like my mother did when she was alone and raising me.
I’d pictured saving for vacations I’d take Alicia on. We’ve talked so many times about going to Spain, or Greece, or Japan, and she always laments how long it’ll be until she can afford something like that with her bartending job that doesn’t pay all that well. I calculated savings and how soon I could surprise her with a birthday trip.
Now that money is going toward chemo and my mom’s mortgage. But I don’t regret it. I can’t.
I also can’t let myself think about it for too long, though, or it feels like too much.
"I'm not giving up anything that matters," I tell her, and I mean it. "You're what matters."
She squeezes my hand. "I love you, sweetheart."
A few of the tears spill over, clinging to my lashes. "I love you too, Mom."
An hour later, the three of us are sitting around my mom’s antique dining table with containers of Chinese food spread out in front of us. The smell of sweet, sticky sauce, lo mein, and grease is comforting. It feels like Friday nights back in high school, when Alicia would come over for a sleepover and mymom would order exactly this. For a moment, everything almost feels normal.
"So, Leila," Mom says, picking at her sesame chicken, "tell me about work. How are things going with the new project?"
I exchange a glance with Alicia. I haven't told Mom about how strained things have gotten at the office, how irritated my boss is that I have another demand on my time that isn’t what he needs or wants from me. I have no plans to, either—the last thing I want is her feeling like more of a burden. "It's good. Challenging, but good."
"She's being modest," Alicia jumps in. "She's basically running the whole client analysis for this huge merger. It’s a really big thing.”
I grab a crab rangoon, giving her a pointed look. My mom knows what kind of workload someone with my job has, but I don’t want to overemphasize it. I don’t want her spending any energy worrying about me.
"That's wonderful, honey." Mom's eyes light up with pride. "I knew you'd impress them."
I feel myself relax a little. “It takes a lot to impress the higher-ups there,” I admit. “So I don’t know if that’s what I’m doing, exactly, so much as earning my keep. But it is a big deal. And it’s going well, so far.”
