Page 44 of Sing it, Sam

“I’m your only daughter,” I remind her and scoff.

“Yeah, yeah. So, tell me, how’s the writing going?”

“I’m struggling. Next question?” I knew it would only be a matter of time before that came up. I don’t want to disappoint her if I fail at this.

“What’s good to talk about then?”

Do I tell her about Sam?“Um, well, there is someone I was going to talk to you about.”Eventually.

“Ooh, do tell!” The enthusiasm in her voice is off the charts.How many ciders has she had?

“Don’t get too excited, Mum. It’s not a thing, but I really like him. It’s complicated, though.”

“Ooh, where did you meet him?”

“At work.”

“Pardon?” Mum’s hearing has never been the best. I guess it is pretty loud where she is.

“At work,” I say, louder and clearer this time.

“Please don’t tell me you’ve found yourself a sugar daddy. Your father will drop dead on the spot, and like I said—full life, and he’s not leaving before me.”

“No! Please, God no,” I assure her. “He’s young. Very young. Like my age.”

“Well, thank the heavens above for that. So, is he a tradesman or something?”

“No, he lives—”

“Brian, can you get me another cider?” Mum calls out.

“He lives at the home,” I finish my sentence, waiting for a barrage of questions.

“Yes, with ice,” she says again, louder this time. “Do you think he likes you?”

My boss seems to think so. The look on his face after the kiss though has me wondering. “Maybe?”

“Then you should ask him out. No point beating around the bush.”

“It’s not that easy, Mum.”

“Nonsense, Jane. Young people always complicate things. If you like each other, and he’s a decent guy, then what’s holding you back?”

I let out a heavy sigh, thoughts of wheelchairs and nurses and so many unknown things swirling around my head.

“Our tea has just arrived, darling. You should see the size of this fish! Call you later?”

“Sure, Mum. Say hi to Dad for me.”

“I will. I expect an update on this boy, too.”

“Okay. Mwah.”

“Mwah,” she says and hangs up.

I toss my phone on the other side of the couch and wiggle in my seat as Butch nuzzles into my side. “What am I gonna do, Butch?”

He tilts his head on an angle, and makes a noise, which I’m totally taking as him saying, “About what?”

“What am I gonna do about Sam?”

Butch rolls onto his back and makes a growling noise, covering his eyes with one of his paws.

“You’re about as helpful as tits on a bull,” I tell him, scratching him on the stomach.

Still, the questions plague my mind. If Sam does like me, how is our relationship going to work? Will he ever be able to leave the home? Or am I condemning myself to a relationship that exists within four small walls?

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