mess here. I don't know if I'm coming or going. Why don't you go enjoy the rest of the afternoon, and I'll call you when I know something, okay?"
"Sure," I said. "Thanks a lot for your time."
I offered my hand for him to shake, but he didn't even seem to notice.
I ended up getting a good deal on a tube of Pringles on the way out, so the day wasn't a total loss.
***
When I got home, the house seemed strangely quiet. I took the stairs two at a time, calling out, "mom? Dad? Sara? Anybody home?"
Then, I pushed my bedroom door open, and saw my mom sitting in my desk chair.
Oh, crap.
"I got an interesting phone call today," she said. "Is there anything you wanted to tell me?"
"They weren't supposed to call here," I said. It was a stupid thing to say, but I couldn't think of anything else. "I only put it down as an emergency contact."
"Well they did. They called here. Asking about a job application." She was very obviously upset, and it was very obviously not just about my applying for jobs. But all the same, I felt horrible.
"I'm sorry," I said. "But how many times have we had this conversation now? And you always put me off, you always say you're going to try and find a way for me to take classes, and it never happens. I have to do this. I can't live here forever, and I'm not going to suddenly wake up tomorrow with a marketable job skill."
"Lying is never the answer," she said, her voice quivering. " Sneaking around is never the answer. I have to deal with enough of that from your sister, I don't need it from you."
"You have to let me grow up!" I shouted, much louder than I meant to. It hurt - I could see it in her face, and I immediately regretted it, even if it was true.
She was under so much pressure. Most of the time, she could keep it together. I couldn't even imagine the strength it took to smile through everything she had to endure. But I had to live my life. I had to be able to make a choice for myself, for once.
"I never wanted to stop you," she said, quietly. Her bottom lip was trembling. I so rarely saw her like this; even with things got bad with Sara, she usually handled it with businesslike efficiency. This was a side of her I hadn't encountered in years and years. I didn't know what I could possibly say to console her.
When she finally spoke, her voice was quiet, but almost frightening in its intensity. "I just wish," she said, "I just wish you showed even the tiniest bit of concern for your sister."
My heart plummeted into my stomach. "What are you talking about?"
"You're so blasé," she said. "I know you have to put on a show for your friends. But at least when you're at home, it would be nice if you showed her that you cared about her."
Her eyes were brimming with tears. I felt awful, and I knew that wasn't what she wanted, but the untold stress of the last few days, weeks, months, years - it was finally spilling over. I was desperate to say the right thing. Some magical phrase that would make everything all right. But there was nothing.
I was two years old when my mom went into the hospital, in labor with Sara. As much as I'd like to pretend to, I don't remember her back then. I have no idea how my mother acted before her daughter was born, and all our lives got turned upside-down.
"I'm sorry." My throat was getting thick, and I couldn't remember the last time I'd cried. "I don't know what you want. I stay home and take care of Molly every time you guys have to go into the hospital with her. I'd come with you if you didn't need someone to watch the house."
"I'm not talking about that," my mom insisted. "I'm talking about the everyday stuff. She needs to know that you love her. She needs your guidance."
"I don't know how to help her, mom." I was getting choked up, trying to hold it back. "If I did, I would."
"Things are hard for her." My mom let out a shaky breath. "You know that. She's trying, but she's struggling. Just you acknowledging her, letting her know you can see how much
"Sure," I said. "Thanks a lot for your time."
I offered my hand for him to shake, but he didn't even seem to notice.
I ended up getting a good deal on a tube of Pringles on the way out, so the day wasn't a total loss.
***
When I got home, the house seemed strangely quiet. I took the stairs two at a time, calling out, "mom? Dad? Sara? Anybody home?"
Then, I pushed my bedroom door open, and saw my mom sitting in my desk chair.
Oh, crap.
"I got an interesting phone call today," she said. "Is there anything you wanted to tell me?"
"They weren't supposed to call here," I said. It was a stupid thing to say, but I couldn't think of anything else. "I only put it down as an emergency contact."
"Well they did. They called here. Asking about a job application." She was very obviously upset, and it was very obviously not just about my applying for jobs. But all the same, I felt horrible.
"I'm sorry," I said. "But how many times have we had this conversation now? And you always put me off, you always say you're going to try and find a way for me to take classes, and it never happens. I have to do this. I can't live here forever, and I'm not going to suddenly wake up tomorrow with a marketable job skill."
"Lying is never the answer," she said, her voice quivering. " Sneaking around is never the answer. I have to deal with enough of that from your sister, I don't need it from you."
"You have to let me grow up!" I shouted, much louder than I meant to. It hurt - I could see it in her face, and I immediately regretted it, even if it was true.
She was under so much pressure. Most of the time, she could keep it together. I couldn't even imagine the strength it took to smile through everything she had to endure. But I had to live my life. I had to be able to make a choice for myself, for once.
"I never wanted to stop you," she said, quietly. Her bottom lip was trembling. I so rarely saw her like this; even with things got bad with Sara, she usually handled it with businesslike efficiency. This was a side of her I hadn't encountered in years and years. I didn't know what I could possibly say to console her.
When she finally spoke, her voice was quiet, but almost frightening in its intensity. "I just wish," she said, "I just wish you showed even the tiniest bit of concern for your sister."
My heart plummeted into my stomach. "What are you talking about?"
"You're so blasé," she said. "I know you have to put on a show for your friends. But at least when you're at home, it would be nice if you showed her that you cared about her."
Her eyes were brimming with tears. I felt awful, and I knew that wasn't what she wanted, but the untold stress of the last few days, weeks, months, years - it was finally spilling over. I was desperate to say the right thing. Some magical phrase that would make everything all right. But there was nothing.
I was two years old when my mom went into the hospital, in labor with Sara. As much as I'd like to pretend to, I don't remember her back then. I have no idea how my mother acted before her daughter was born, and all our lives got turned upside-down.
"I'm sorry." My throat was getting thick, and I couldn't remember the last time I'd cried. "I don't know what you want. I stay home and take care of Molly every time you guys have to go into the hospital with her. I'd come with you if you didn't need someone to watch the house."
"I'm not talking about that," my mom insisted. "I'm talking about the everyday stuff. She needs to know that you love her. She needs your guidance."
"I don't know how to help her, mom." I was getting choked up, trying to hold it back. "If I did, I would."
"Things are hard for her." My mom let out a shaky breath. "You know that. She's trying, but she's struggling. Just you acknowledging her, letting her know you can see how much
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