Page 8 of Afternoon Delight
But I wasn’t quite ready to pull that pin. I went down to the kitchen.
“I’m letting it rest,” Mom said of the steaming lasagna on the stovetop. She set out the wine glasses, then went back to tossing the bag of salad into a bowl. She was quick to judge me for having a drink every evening but always willing to join me.
“How was the thrift store?” I asked as I twisted off the bottle’s cap.
“I found a cute top that would suit you. It’s in the wash.”
“Thanks.” Much as I bristled at Mom treating me like a teenager who needed a curfew, she had great taste, and second-hand didn’t bother me—especially from the thrift store she worked in. It was full of upscale cast-offs.
“Mom, I have something I have to tell you.” It was the same way I had opened my announcements that I was pregnant and that I was getting a divorce. I tore that bandage right off. “I’m quitting my job. I told Georgia I would run her store while she’s off for her surgery.”
Mom froze with her glass halfway to her mouth. Her hand tightened on the edge of the counter. She stood straighter and looked down her nose at me, even though I was actually an inch taller.
“You’re not serious, Margaret.”
Oof. I was pretty sure that was exactly what she’d said those other times, too.
“It’s a good job,” she pressed.
“I can freelance.” I sat down at the table. “It’s a thing women do these days.” So I’d heard. “They quit their corporate jobs and work on contract for twice the compensation and more favorable terms.”
“In this economy? Good luck.” Mom raked out her chair and sat down. “I don’t know how they let you work from home as much as you have. Is this because of that man who was promoted over you?”
“Yes, among other things. They don’t appreciate me.”
“Mm-hmmph.” Mom put on her buttoned-lip look and cast her gaze out the window, where dusk had thrown the backyard into heavy gloom.
“Tell me again that I didn’t appreciate Joel. That I expected too much from him,” I dared her. “Should I have stayed in Toronto the whole time Dad was sick, instead of being here with you?”
“You’re looking for a fight, aren’t you?”
Yes. I was feeling very defensive. Everything Mom was thinking behind that sour expression, I had already said to myself in her voice. I would be throwing away a secure, flexible, lucrative job on what amounted to a midlife crisis, but I was tired of making safe choices.
I had married Joel because I was scared to do anything else. And yes, sometimes I blamed my mother for pushing me into marrying Joel when I got pregnant—as if being a young, single mother would have been easier. As if I could imagine a life where the kids I loved with my whole heart hadn’t been born at all.
I was exactly where I had allowed myself to wind up, but that’s why I was determined to make new choices now. Divorce had sucked, but it was done. I was glad. Leaving my job and starting something new was also going to be hard, but I didn’t want to hate myself in ten years for staying with a company that also took me for granted.
“It’s only for a few weeks,” I said, trying to reassure both of us. “It depends on when Georgia can get her surgery and how quickly she recovers. But this is a time in my life when I can do something off-brand. It’s not like I have young kids and the Parent Advisory Committee watching my every move.”
“Only your mother and her friends,” she said under her breath. “Will Georgia pay you?”
“Minimum wage, but she needs help, Mom. She might lose all the money she put into that business. If I can bring it back to turning a profit, at least she’d have a shot at selling it, if she can’t actually go back to work.”
“Why wouldn’t she be able to work?” Her eyes widened in alarm.
I explained about the tumors on Georgia’s spine. Initially, she had thought the pain in her back was from an old injury—falling off a stage—coupled with the stress of setting up her new business. Eventually, she’d been in too much pain to move.
“Cancer?” Mom’s expression reflected the same combo of PTSD and mental leaps I had made when Georgia had told me. Cancer sucked. But watching Dad’s battle had taught us how to navigate that journey. It was a marathon. Pace yourself.
“They’re still doing tests, but they’re pretty sure it’s benign. They’re hoping she’ll be able to walk after the surgery, but it’s spinal surgery.”
Mom nodded, brow furrowed. “I’m very sorry to hear that. Does she have a date?”
I snorted. I would defend socialized health care with my dying breath, but the wait times these days were awful.
“She has a really good specialist. He’s optimistic, and so is she. We are, too,” I decided for both of us. “She’s in a lot of pain, though. She was filling online orders using stock from the store, but her sister can’t run in here every other day to pick things up. Gail has her kids and work, and now Georgia needs more help.”
“Georgia can’t hire someone else?”
