Page 148 of Behind the Net

We hang up, and I look over at Pippa. I feel lost and confused, and suddenly, I’m ten years old again, coming home from school to my mom sleeping at three in the afternoon, blinds drawn closed. There’s a sinking feeling of disappointment and dread in my gut.

“I thought she was better,” I tell Pippa. “I thought she had a handle on it.”

“I know.” She nods, still wearing that worried look. “I did, too. Getting better won’t be a linear process, though.”

I’m silent, because I don’t want to point out that maybe she was never getting better to begin with.

Over the next hour and a half, we drive in silence as I turn over everything I thought to be true.

I thought my mom was better and that she didn’t need me micromanaging her life.

I thought I could handle everything.

For once, I thought I could have something for myself.

* * *

“I’m sending you home,” I tell Pippa as we approach the hospital. I’m vibrating with stress, worry, and frustration. “I need to deal with this alone. I’ll order you an Uber.”

From the passenger seat, she stares at me in disbelief. “No.”

“Yes.” Tension knots in my gut. My instincts to take over and fix things are at an all-time high. Even I can see, though, that what I’ve been doing until now isn’t working.

I’m so fucking lost. I don’t know what to do.

“I’m not going home,” Pippa says, folding her arms. Her tone is stubborn, and I blow a long breath out.

If my mom can’t make progress, or eventry, I don’t see how Pippa and I will work, and that’s breaking my fucking heart. Maybe it won’t hurt our relationship right now, but eventually, it will. I can’t do that to Pippa. I can’t continue to choose my mom over her. I can’t put every ounce of my energy toward worrying about my mom.

Pain twists in my chest. Everything we told each other yesterday was for nothing.

“Fine.” We’re pulling into the hospital parking lot. “Stay in the car, then.”

Hurt flashes in her eyes. “No.”

I don’t have the energy to argue with her. “Fine.”

Inside the ER, the front desk nurse gives us directions to my mom’s room, and we hurry down the hall.

We reach the door, and Pippa touches my arm. “I’m going to wait outside,” she says. “I’m here if you need anything.”

I steel myself for whatever shitstorm is waiting inside this room. “Thank you.”

In her room, my mom is chatting happily with the nurses, laughing and smiling. It’s a fucking party in here. She sees me and sighs, rolling her eyes.

“Oh my goodness.” She looks to the nurses. “Candace, I told you not to call him!” She winces at my black eye. “Ugh, look at that thing. How was your trip?”

I stare at her in disbelief, and something angry and frustrated drips into my blood.

“Can we have a moment alone?” I ask the nurses, and they filter out.

When we’re alone, my mom shifts under my gaze. “Honey, I’m fine—”

“Don’t say you’re fine.” I feel sick. “Don’t say you’re okay, that it was nothing, that you don’t need help.”

She laughs in surprise, but there’s no humor in it. “Idon’tneed help.”

“You hit a police car.”

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