Page 51 of Under My Skin
She waves me off before wrapping me in a hug. As soon as she lets go, she shakes her head. “They wanted to charge me a hundred and fifty bucks a month. Can you believe it? Your father would never let someone take advantage of him like that.”
My hand drags down my face. “Mom, that’s a decent price. And it’s not like you don’t have the money. Just pay for it.”
“But your father used to pay?—”
“I know. I know.” I walk around her and head toward the kitchen, already knowing the answer to my next question. “Where’s the number? I’ll call and get it sorted.” What she doesn’t acknowledge is that my dad did some of the work himself. Once he passed, we increased services with the company so she wouldn’t have to worry about a single thing outside unless she wanted to water her flowers.
I try not to let my eyes linger on the family photos decorating the walls, but it’s hard to avoid my dad’s smiling face. Part of me is comforted by his familiar toothy grin and gradually graying hair, but then there’s another part of me—a more fragile part, I guess—that can only think about how his hair will never gray more than the last picture we took.
Shaking the thought, I stop in front of the fridge and scan the countless magnets this woman insists on keeping. Cursing under my breath, I start from the top and work my way down. I glance at my mom as soon as she walks through the arched kitchen entryway. “Is this really necessary?”
“Is what?”
I gesture toward the collection of magnetic business cards with regular business cards held up by magnets sprinkled throughout. “Oh, I don’t know. Holding onto every business card you’ve ever been given?” I pluck one off the fridge and hold it up for her to see. “I’m getting a little old for bounce houses at my birthday parties. Think we can ditch this one?”
“I guess . . .” she answers hesitantly as she wrings her fingers.
My shoulders soften. I know she doesn’t like change. She never has, but she’s even more against it now. Putting the faded card back for a company that’s probably out of business by now, I shrug, “We’ll clean out another day. No point throwing away just one.”
She smiles, her body relaxing. I should know better than to come in here and start changing shit. She clings to this house and the things in it like it’s the only thing holding her together. Maybe it is. Maybe without these magnets, she’d completely fall apart. Who am I to judge her for that?
Taking a step closer to me, she scans the front of the fridge. Once she finds what she’s been searching for, she reaches for a business card and frees it from a metal clip. “Here,” she says, handing it to me. “This is the lawn company.”
“Thanks.” I tuck the card in my back pocket. “I’ll call them tomorrow. They’re supposed to take care of everything year-round.”
Turning, she puts both hands on either side of my face, and I freeze. “How did I get so lucky to have such a kind young man in my life?”
She’s always saying stuff like this, but I brush it off. She usually doesn’t have me locked in her grip when she compliments me, and the way she’s demanding my attention has my eyebrows pulling together.
“You’re a good person, Everett. Your dad would be proud of you.”
There suddenly isn’t enough air in the house. I’m not good. I haven’t been over here insix months.Sure, I’ve seen her. I’ve taken her to lunch or helped her run bigger errands, but I don’t see her day-to-day life in this house. I might know she has money for groceries, but I don’t check to make sure she bought food with it. I set up lawn care, but I didn’t think I had to come here and make sure she didn’t fire them. I’m not taking care of her theway my dad would want me to, and it’s because I’m selfish. I don’t like the way being here makes me feel. I don’t like being faced with memories when I’m not prepared to face them.
“You don’t have to do that,” I mutter as I try to pull away.
She holds firm. “Yes, I do. Because I want you to know it. And he’d want you to know it, too.”
My chest tightens so much I think it might crack, so I don’t think about what she’s saying. I don’t think about the words coming out of her mouth, threatening to unravel me. I just look at her. Her eyes have a few more faint lines at the corners, and her hair is starting to gray at her temples. Her hands feel soft on my face, and I wonder what she does with most of her time these days.
“Thanks,” I eventually say when she shows no signs of backing down.
Mom smiles adoringly, pats me on the cheek, and finally releases her grip. When she steps back, I blink a few times and wipe away a fragmented tear threatening to fall. Clearing my throat, I’m desperate to regain my bearings. “Is there gas in the mower?”
She frowns slightly like she’s disappointed by my question. “I’m not sure.”
I nod. “I’ll check. If not, I’ll run up to the gas station.”
Her eyes widen. “You’re going to mow? Now?”
I huff a laugh. “Yes, now. It’s already October, and it needs to get done before the first frost.”
“But that’s not even why I asked you to come over.” She starts to push me back toward the living room and entryway where the bottom of the staircase sits. “The bathroom sink isn’t draining upstairs, and the radiator keeps making this awful gurgling noise.”
I pause before going upstairs. “Did you bleed it?”
“Well, no. I can’t find where your father keeps the key.”
Keeps.
