Page 8 of Mine to Take

I return the wave, hoping Mom will settle down.

“Think she got here early and sanitized our entire section?”

“Probably.”

It would be amusing if it weren’t true.

My mother has always been nervous by nature. My diagnosis in high school only amplified those tendencies.

Once we make our way to the seats, Dad rises to his feet and pulls me in for a warm embrace. He’s way more chill than Mom. After a handful of seconds, she elbows him out of the way to do the same. Her grip borders on bone crushing. When the embrace stretches a few seconds too long, I pat her back. Only then does she draw away enough to study my face, as if looking for telltale signs of fatigue or illness.

“How are you feeling, sweetie? I hope you’ve been taking those new immunity boosters I bought. When I didn’t hear from you yesterday, I was concerned.”

I bite back the sigh that sits perched on the tip of my tongue, and paste a smile in place. “I feel great. I told you when you stopped by the other day that I’d be busy with classes and the tutoring center.”

Her brows pinch at the mention of my job on campus. “You’re just asking to pick up an illness working there. All those germs… I really hope you’re taking the necessary precautions. Washing your hands, using sanitizer, wearing a mask, and social distancing when possible. And when you return home from school, make sure you’re changing right away and throwing your dirty clothes into the laundry.”

“Mom…”

“I’m serious!” Her voice rises as fear flickers in her eyes.

“We talked to Dr. Edwards about it at my last appointment, remember? He agreed that it was fine. I’m not putting myself at risk.”

She presses her lips together before muttering, “I still don’t like it.”

“She’s fine, Becks. Willow hasn’t even caught so much as a cold this semester.”

Mom turns glaring eyes on my roommate, and her voice flattens. “Oh, I didn’t notice you there, Holland.”

My roommate grins. “It’s nice to see you too.”

After all these years, my mother has finally learned to tolerate Holland because I love her so fiercely and refuse to listen to one bad word she has to say about her or her family. What Mom can’t deny is that she’s been a steadfast friend through everything.

As far as Mom’s concerned, it’s Holland’s only saving grace.

“I’m being careful. Promise,” I say, cutting into their conversation before it can spiral out of control and ruin the evening.

It’s happened before.

We’re here to support River, not talk about me.

It won’t be long before she launches into a spiel about me going into elementary education and how many germs children carry. She’ll probably end up stroking out when I begin my student teaching placement next year.

Or she’ll show up every day armed with a can of disinfectant, sanitizing wipes, and masks.

I wouldn’t put it past the woman.

Just as I’m about to drop down onto the seat, she says, “Wait! Let me wipe down the chair again.”

“Mom,” I groan. “That’s not necessary.”

She meets my beseeching gaze with a determined look of her own. “It’ll only take a second.”

Embarrassment claws at my cheeks as she pulls out a travel-size pouch of wipes and scrubs the plastic and metal. A few people seated in the row above us stare as she grabs a small bottle of spray and then disinfects it.

The alcohol scent, masked by something that can only be described as artificially floral, stings my nostrils.

Once she tucks away her cleaning supplies, she waves toward the seat. “Now it’s ready.”

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