Page 123 of Interference

“I hate having to keep my hair this short,” I heard one of my Army buddies bitching a lifetime ago. “Long hair is so fucking much easier to maintain.”

Most of our friends had thought that was counterintuitive, but I’d seen how often my mom was at the hairdresser and how much time she spent getting it perfect every morning. One look at her today, and my heart sank. She’d let it grow out so she could tie it back and be done with it. I could feel it.

As I hugged her hello, I realized she’d also lost weight. She’d gone up and down over the years, sometimes worrying about it and sometimes not really caring, but she felt small to me now. Like this wasn’t the result of dieting or exercising, but of just being worn down by the bitch of a hand life had dealt her.

How much is Dad’s cancer killing you too?

I kept that under the surface, though. She didn’t need to see me worrying or she’d worry herself sick. Letting her go, I gestured at Anthony. “This is Anthony. My boyfriend.”

I got a little rush as I said that, and another one when Mom smiled. It wasn’t quite the hundred-watt smile I’d grown up with, but it was a spark of life that gave me some much-needed hope.

“Oh, it’s so nice to meet you!” She shamelessly looked him up and down, then grinned at me. “You landed yourself quite the looker!”

“Mom! Oh my God.” I laughed, but even as my face burned, I reveled in realizing Mom still had her mischievous sense of humor.

Anthony was blushing bright, too. “Uh. Thanks.” He shrugged and met my gaze. “You’re pretty hot yourself.”

“Of course he is.” Mom patted my shoulder. “I’ve always said my boys clean up good.”

I tried to chuckle, but it took some work, and from the flicker of alarm in Anthony’s expression, he’d caught it, too. She had no idea how much I’d “cleaned up” recently, and God help me, I never wanted her to know how far down I’d been.

I ignored that, though, and quickly introduced Anthony to my dad.

“My boy tells me you play hockey?” Dad asked as he shook Anthony’s hand.

Anthony nodded. “Yes, sir. I play for the Seattle Bobcats.”

“Whoa, wait.” Jon straightened. “You said he was a hockey player. You didn’t say he was a hockey player.”

I laughed. “Do you need me to draw you a picture?”

He rolled his eyes and flipped me off.

Anthony’s career fascinated my parents and brother, and they peppered him with questions while we all sat in the living room by the Christmas tree. I appreciated letting him have the spotlight for a little while, too. What wasn’t to love about my family fawning all over my hot, successful boyfriend?

More than that, though, their distraction gave me a chance to really drink in everything around me.

I didn’t like what I saw. It was hard to see my parents this way, but nowhere was all Mom’s stress more evident than in the house itself. Mom had always been fastidious about keeping everything clean even with three boys. It was never so pristine or sterile that it could go on the cover of a magazine, but she managed the clutter and didn’t let dust accumulate.

My heart sank as I took in the state of the place now. It wasn’t messy by most people’s standards, but all around, there were signs of my mom’s exhaustion. Dust on surfaces, picture frames, and knickknacks. Mail and papers stacked on tables. The clock on the mantel had stopped, which meant it had either broken or Mom had stopped winding it every other day.

Outside the sliding glass door, even with the sun going down and the daylight fading fast, there was more evidence. The lawn was trimmed and the leaves from the old maple tree had been long cleared away. The rosebushes hadn’t been trimmed back yet, though. Hardy weeds had set up shop in amongst Mom’s rhododendrons and hedges, shooting up several inches before keeling over. Mom never used to let them do more than sprout, never mind live long enough to die in the cold.

Someone was keeping the bird feeders full, at least. Maybe Jon had taken care of those. Hopefully the birds still came around as often as they used to. They’d always made Mom happy, and she needed all the happiness she could get these days.

“Does she get along with your cats?” Mom’s voice jarred me back into the present. “How do Dobermans and cats get along?”

“Oh, they’re fine.” Anthony casually took my hand. “Lily is completely chill with cats, and my boys don’t mind dogs.” He glanced at me, a fond smile curling those beautiful lips and chasing away some of the dark clouds. “We really need to get a video of Bear and Lily getting the zoomies.”

I laughed. “We so do. A dog this big”—I nodded at Lily—“and a cat that big? I swear, it the whole house shakes.”

“You don’t mind her chasing them?” Dad asked.

Anthony guffawed. “Half the time, Bear’s chasing her! They don’t hurt each other. They just run around until they pass out on the living room floor.”

Mom laughed, which was so nice to see. “I guess she’s getting plenty of exercise, then.”

“She is. And social interaction.” I almost made a comment about how I’d felt terrible that she hadn’t had opportunities to just be a dog until recently. That would open up Pandora’s box, though. My parents didn’t need to know why Lily and I had spent too much time in survival mode to put much energy into downtime.

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