Page 29 of Fractured Frets

“Because it is.” She placed her glass down hard. It chinked against the marble countertop. “Don’t be naïve and think that man is going to be faithful and honorable.”

I didn’t need this shit. Not from my mom. I was certain this stemmed from Dad leaving. But she’d hit my biggest fear right in the center like an arrow hitting a bull’s-eye. Slip being around Harper ate away at my resolve like rust on my armor. But I had to have faith. “I have to trust him, Mom. Innocent until proven guilty.”

She straightened on the stool and smoothed her hands over her pants “Anddoes he understand I need your help to take care of me? I don’t want to be a burden on anyone, but I’ve got no one else, Madison. Your brother wants nothing to do with me. I never asked to get sick. I didn’t plan on getting lupus or all this joint pain and agony crippling my body.”

“I know you didn’t.” I rubbed her back. “You’re my mom. I’ll always look after you.” After all she’d done for me, taking care of her was the least I could do.

“You’re an angel. I wouldn’t know what I’d do without you.” She swiveled on her stool and grabbed a page from underneath the fruit bowl on the end of the counter and handed it to me. “Before I forget, this is a printout of my appointments for the next two months. I’ve added them to your email calendar.”

Shit. There were more than twenty-five appointments on this list. She’d barely be able to keep her part-time job as a receptionist at Universal Studios. I scanned the days I was scheduled to be here in LA. They were overloaded with doctor visits and physical therapy appointments. My gaze snagged on the visits to her lupus specialist. “Why have you got so many bookings with Dr. Raithna?”

Mom shrugged like it was no big deal. “She wants me to try some new medication that will hopefully improve my lungs and clear up my rashes.” Her hand trembled as she touched the red marks on her cheekbones, barely concealed by her foundation.

“You wouldn’t need different meds if you looked after yourself.” I shook the page of appointments at her, then slapped it down on the counter. She wouldn’t have blemished skin if she stayed out of the sun. For someone so vain about her appearance, she didn’t do simple things to protect it. I shouldn’t have to be the responsible one, advising her on how to take care of herself.

“I do.” She threw me a meek smile. “Most of the time. I’ve just been out to a few lunches lately. Friends’ birthdays. Work functions. As a result, my flare-ups have worsened.”

I clenched my jaw, my teeth, and my hands. “Mom?”

“I’m fine.” She coughed, wheezed, and flapped her hand through the air.

She wasn’t. I loved hanging out with Mom. But things had changed since I’d met Slip. When I was home in LA, I used to spend most of the time with Mom, visiting doctors and therapists, or attending work functions. I occasionally caught up with friends, especially Sutton. Slip had fitted into the small gaps in my crammed schedule. He understood the crazy hours the entertainment industry inflicted on our lives and had given me a taste of what I’d been missing out on...fun, laughter, and happiness. The problem was...I wanted more of those things. More time with him. Was I a fool to think it was possible?

As I read Mom’s list of appointments again, my stomach slithered onto the floor.

Yes, I’m delusional.

No matter how much I loved Slip, this was one of the reasons why we shouldn’t have gotten married.

I shouldn’t have dragged him into my life that revolved around caring for Mom. She relied on me, financially, emotionally, and some days physically. Slip had no idea what it was like, managing and taking care of someone who needed ongoing care. Mom was getting worse, and I dreaded the day when someone—the hospital, Bridget, or a doctor—would call, and the news wouldn’t be good. Once Slip learned what was truly involved, he’d walk away for sure. I didn’t want him to. But like with Mom, I had to be prepared for the worst.

Mom grabbed her pills out of the fruit bowl. She popped two into her mouth and washed them down with a gulp of wine.

So. Not. Good. My chest ached. I’d given up on the ‘drink less’ argument. It was too exhausting. Too upsetting. A battle I couldn’t win. She’d never admit to being a functioning alcoholic. “I worry about you, Mom.”

“I know you do.” Nodding, she placed her glass on the counter. “And I worry about you. We have to stick together.”

“Yeah. We do.” I massaged the knot in my brow, but it didn’t relieve the tension.

“Are you coming home tonight?” She snapped the lid closed on her meds and placed them in the bowl.

“No. I’m staying at Slip’s.” If he turns up.

“Why not here?”

I glanced at the clock. Shit. We’re late. “Mom, we need time together. He’s only in town for a few days. I’ll be here on Saturday morning to take you shopping and to your appointments.”

“Oh. Is that the only time I’m going to see you this weekend?” Disappointment welled in her eyes. But I couldn’t be here with Mom and with Slip. There was only so much of me to go around.

“Yes. But if I have time, we can have an early dinner on Monday before I fly out.”

“That’d be nice.”

The doorbell rang.

My heart skipped two beats.

It’d be Slip. Finally.

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