“Those weremycurtains, Mom.”
“You said you weren’t using them.”
I clenched my jaw and took deep breaths through my nose. My mom was out to make life difficult for me.
“You can’t use the money I give you for groceries to buy curtains you don’t need. And you can’t get rid of stuff that doesn’t belong to you.” I softened my voice, realizing my anger was getting in the way. “We talked about this, Mom.”
Mom looked emotional. “I just wanted something to spice up the place. I don’t get to do anything nice anymore.”
“I know, but things have changed. And I don’t have a lot of spare cash to pay for the extras, Mom. We have to help each other out here.”
Mom clenched her jaw, her face a mask of bitterness.
“Well, if your father—”
“Don’t,” I said. “I’m not here to fight about him.”
“Just about me?”
I groaned. “I’m not fighting, Mom. Can we just have a cup of coffee and spend time together?”
Mom walked to the kitchen without responding. She filled the kettle and put it on a burner to make instant coffee. Dad had won the Nespresso machine in the divorce. He’d won a lot of things. And he’d kept everything. Mom had walked away with nothing. But Mom had cheated on him. Multiple times.
I couldn’t blame him for what had happened. But I couldn’t be unsympathetic toward my mom either. Even if she’d made mistakes.
I would have done the same thing my dad had if it had been me. The problem was that it was never that simple. And I couldn’t leave my mom to fend for herself. Dad had a good reason not to be there for her anymore. But she was mymom. I would never stop loving her or caring about her. It wasn’t right just to walk away. So, I helped her.
Kids looked after their parents in the end, didn’t they? Mom had raised me, after all. She wasn’t so frail she needed me to look after her yet. But she needed my help financially.
I sat down on a stool by the breakfast nook and watched my mom as she moved around the kitchen. She took two cups from the cabinet, added instant coffee and sugar, and took a bottle of two-percent milk from the fridge. When she was done, waiting for the kettle to boil, she was out of breath.
I frowned. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” Mom said, waving her hand.
“Why are you out of breath?”
“Am I?” She said as she sat down next to me. “I didn’t realize.” She pressed her hand against her chest. “I’m out of breath, and I feel so weak these days.”
“What did you eat today?” I asked.
Mom thought about it. “A smoothie this morning. Kale and spinach. I got this new recipe from the internet.”
“Is that all? It’s almost time for dinner.”
She shrugged. “I wasn’t hungry.”
“And yesterday?” I asked.
Mom thought about it for a moment, before she shrugged again.
“You can’t do this to yourself,” I said. “No wonder you’re out of breath. You’re starving yourself.”
I got up and walked to the fridge. When I opened it, there was barely anything in it.
“You have no food in the house. Why didn’t you say something?”
“You were going to be angry,” Mom said.