Page 2 of Nothing To Lose
"Sorry about that," I say into the phone once I switch it off from the Bluetooth speakers. "What's up?"
"Nothing's up, I'm just checking in," she says. "I haven't heard from you in a few days, and I need proof of life. I don't like you doing all that dangerous work on your own."
"It's not dangerous, Ma. It's just drywall."
"Uh-huh. Pretty sure that's supposed to be at least a two-man job."
Yeah, well, I can't afford an extra pair of hands.I don't say that out loud, though.
"I'm doing just fine, thank you."
I'm doing everything I can on my own before I have to hire someone for the stuff I can't do, like any major plumbing or electrical work. Luckily, I have enough experience having worked in construction for so many years to do most of the work myself. I've picked up enough skills that this renovation hasn't been as bad as I’d anticipated. It's been more expensive than I anticipated, though, thanks to inflation. Hiring someone to help me isn't an option if my savings are going to get us through to my next rotation on the rig.
Speaking of savings…
"Are you doing okay?"
"Yes, dear. I'm really just checking in on you."
"Are you sure? Do you need more money? Is Chels doing okay?" I'm mentally calculating how much I have in the bank, and whether there might be any fights I can pick up to make some extra cash so I can focus my days on finishing this renovation.
"She's fine. We both are. Seriously, Isaac. You don't need to worry over us so much."
She's deflecting, but I ignore it. "How's your pain?"
"I'm having a good day. I went for a long walk and reorganized the pantry."
"I'm glad to hear that," I say, forcing myself not to remind her to not overdo it. She's lived her whole life with chronic pain due to an autoimmune disease. She doesn't need to be reminded that overdoing it on a good day could make the next day worse. It's impossible for her to sit still when she has even a moment of relief, and she always feels guilty that she can't do much around the house or work a steady job. She hates having to rely on her children, but ever since our dad died when I was fourteen, I've had to be the main breadwinner. Mom gets a disability check from the state after a social worker helped us fill out the paperwork a couple of years ago, but it isn't enough to make ends meet. I've been working on the same oil rig my dad worked on and doing construction jobs between rotations ever since.
"Chelsey just left for work. She loves her new job at the retirement home, but working nights has been an adjustment."
My sister is almost six years younger than me and recently graduated from a LPN program after working as a certified nursing assistant for the past couple years. She's the one that convinced me to move an hour away to open my gym. She insisted she wants to live at home and has a decent paying job. She can pitch in with the bills and help keep mom comfortable while I pursue my dreams. I still send them money whenever I get paid from a big job on the rig, and I've been saving every penny for the last several years to be able to make this happen, but it wasn't until Chelsey found the listing for this building that I ever even considered it a reality.
"Can she switch to day shift?"
"She could. I told her she should, but the shift differential pay is a whole two dollars more."
I start searching around for my earbuds so I can use my hands while talking. If she's in a chatty mood, Mom can talk for hours. I never want to take away from a good day when I can make the time to chat.
"Tell her I can send more?"
"That's exactly why she pushes herself, hon."
"What do you mean?" I ask, finding one earbud on the ground in the mess of dust and debris that litters the entire floor.
"Your sister is bound and determined to push herself just as much as her big brother does. Neither of us wants you working yourself to death to take care of us. I've got my disability, and Chelsey has a good job. Stop worrying about what's happening here and focus on you. Hire some help with the money you keep sending us, so you can get that gym open and live your dream. Get a boyfriend and stop moping around."
"I do not mope."
"Fine, brood then."
"I don't brood, either."
"Oh, you do too. When's the last time you even went out and tried to meet someone? Doesn't even have to be a boyfriend, you know. I'm mostly joking about that. Though I would like grandbabies someday before I can't pick them up and hold them myself." I wince, almost telling her she's barking up the wrong tree, but I don't want her pressuring my sister instead just because she's the girl.
I mostly tune her out while looking for my other missing earbud. Crouching down, I reach beneath the worktable I made with some old sawhorses and a large plank of wood. It's currently laden with huge sheets of drywall that are a bitch to hang on my own since I got a bunch of type X from my localHabitat for Humanity Restore. Considering it's sound proof, fire-resistant and is less likely to take damage if it's hit or run into by an over-eager athlete, it seemed like the best option. Good choice or not, hanging it on my own is rough. But I've made do with just my own two hands and some clever ingenuity, and I'll continue to do so as long as possible. It's hard work, but I'm managing, and I'm finally starting to see my vision come together.
A loud bang from outside startles me enough that I flinch and hit my head on the bottom edge of the sawhorse table.
