Page 6 of BillionHeir
I am not a confrontation kind of girl. I don’t like to argue. In fact, I avoid it at all costs. My mother and I have been over this a million times, and it always ends with us both being sad. I would rather not revisit this conversation, but it seems as though I have no choice.
“I miss you, too, Chloe. Far more than you know.”
My mother isn’t the type to guilt trip or complain. These phone calls where she reminds me of her quiet desire for me to move back to the UK are the only evidence of her displeasure with me. Outwardly she is quite proud of her nurse daughter, but every few months I get a phone call where her sorrow is more prominent than usual.
“I am working really hard to save up for a visit, mum,” I lie. We both know that every spare penny I have goes to her to help with her bills since she is not well enough to work anymore.
I knew when I came here to Boston for my college experience that it was going to be expensive. Fortunately, my mum started a savings account when I was born, socking away money wherever she could so that I could go to the university of my choice and pursue my dreams to the fullest. I don’t think she expected me to want to go quite so far away, but shebegrudgingly accepted once she realized just how much I wanted it.
What neither one of us could account for was her cancer diagnosis just two years into my degree. Or the fact that even though the NHS paid for her treatment, it didn’t cover her mortgage, bills, or day-to-day expenses while she was bedridden and unable to provide for herself.
I immediately told her to take the rest of the money from the account and use it for herself. Naturally, she objected for as long as she could. But eventually, she couldn’t deny the writing on the wall. In order to survive, she needed that savings.
If only it had been enough.
The bills started to add up, and after a while, the money in the account had dried up. I got my nursing assistant certification and found a part-time job, applying to the few scholarships I qualified for to help cover my tuition and taking out some very high interest loans for the rest. As often as I could, I sent money home to mum, even when she told me not to. I just can’t bear her to be living off scraps.
After a few hard years of fighting, her luck took a turn for the better, and she has blessedly been in remission for three years. But the side effects from all the medications she was on have taken their toll. She is unable to work, and her pension from the government barely gives her enough to survive on. So, I send as much money as I can afford every month, and she lies and tellsme it is enough. It is a terrible position for her to be in, and I hate that I can’t do more for her when she has given me so much.
My mum is quiet on the other end of the line as my thoughts about my financial woes consume me.
“As much as I want you to come, you need to use that money for some fun, Chloe,” she says, bringing me back to the present.
“Seeing you would be fun, mum,” I say genuinely. What I wouldn’t give to wrap my arms around her. It has been far too long.
“Mmhmm,” she says, agreeing. “I won’t keep you. I just wanted to hear your voice.”
“It was good to hear from you. Let’s talk soon.”
“Love you, darling,” she says, seeming to be in better spirits than when she first called.
“Love you, Mum.”
I hang up the phone and collapse onto my old worn couch.
Here in Boston, one of the most expensive cities in America, I am struggling to stay afloat. It wasn’t so bad when my former flatmate, or roommate as they say here in the states, I split all the bills. I get paid quite well in my career as a nurse, thankfully. But since Jenna fell in love with her asshole boss who reverted back to his former sexy cowboy roots and moved away to Wyoming, I have barely been able to keep my head above water.
Since she moved out, I have had a handful of short-term flatmates but no one consistent. The last of them was a college ‘bro’ who thought he could use flattery to talk his way into my bed and out of paying rent. I shudder when I think about Patrick. It took me weeks to get him to finally leave. I am hesitant to let another man in my apartment ever again.
I have been so busy and stressed that I wasn’t as vigilant as I should have been when I met him. I wouldn’t normally be okay with a male flatmate, but I was behind on rent and he seemed so sweet and harmless. I have since learned that letting my guard down is a luxury I can’t afford. And apparently, I am not all that great a judge of character.
The bloke was volatile, his moods constantly shifting from one to another, never paid a dime of the rent he promised to pay, and refused to contribute toward the food he had no problem eating from my pantry. And, if I am honest, he was quite smelly. By the time he finally left, I was seriously thinking about hiring some kind of security company to get him out.
I used to pride myself on being the master of the slow fade, gently extracting myself from anything to do with someone until they are no longer an inconvenience. It is not always that they have done something wrong, really. It is usually something perfectly innocent that gives me the ‘ick’. Even if I don’t know exactly what it is at that moment, I know that I am feeling it. Unfortunately, it happens to me far too often. It is when theyproduce a toothpick from nowhere at an upscale restaurant and proceed to pick their teeth in front of God and everyone. It is when they clear their throat for the thousandth time on your first date. It is when they mansplain American football because they assume that I have no idea as a British girl.
To be fair, I don’t really know all that much about any sports, but I can assure you that I do not need to be educated by a man wearing crocodile skin boots. Who, by the way, spent more time looking at his hair in the mirror behind the tv than actually watching the game at a co-worker’s Superbowl Party. Talk about ick.
It is not that they do anything inherently wrong. It is more that they are not doing much right. It is just easier to extricate myself from the whole situation. I don’t like drama. I don’t like upsetting people. And I certainly don’t like being uncomfortable. I am not about to continue spending time with someone who isn’t compatible with me.
I just wish the ‘ick’ feeling worked the same way for cheaters and liars. Those sorts of men tend to do all the right things, making me think that they are perfect so I look past all of their red flags, lulling me into a false sense of reality. And then, one day, they pull a fast one on me, never calling again. Or worse, never leaving.
But lately, I have turned over a new leaf. I have decided to put all the bad boys and red flags in my past. I have taken a vowof celibacy and made the decision to remain single forever. Or until I meet a man who is different from all the rest. With today’s dating climate, forever will probably come first.
I don’t have time to focus on men anyway. I am so busy with work that I can’t be bothered with dating apps and messages from guys who just want a good time for a few hours. I have more important things to care about.
Like student loans and medical debt.
Right now I am busy focusing on paying the bills for mum and me. Month after month, I somehow manage to make it work by the skin of my teeth, but I can only do this for so long. Eventually, I am going to have to face the truth. I can’t keep doing this alone.
