after the wedding. So I’m here at my parents’ house while he clears his crap out of my apartment.”
“Shit, the wedding, Sky,” I gasped. “Can you get refunds on the reception hall and the caterer?” Mac and Skylar had been planning for a spring wedding next year. Skylar had booked the botanical gardens and a renowned caterer in Pittsburgh that she had to put down a hefty deposit to secure.
“I don’t want to talk about the wedding, Meg,” Skylar said quietly, and I knew how hard it was for her to hold it together. “I’m at the house with my parents, and they’re already driving me insane. Mom has made me three different herbal teas that all taste like cat piss. I need caffeine. The real kind. So meet me at that new coffee place on Lane Avenue in ten minutes.” She paused. “Please.”
I swung my legs over the side of the bed. “Of course. I’ll see you then.”
I hung up and went to the closet. I lingered for a moment on the painting I had done the night before. I thought about pulling it out. Why was I hiding it?
Because I wasn’t ready to deal with what it meant.
I grabbed a T-shirt and an old pair of jean shorts before closing the door with a decisive click. I got dressed and pulled my hair up into a bun. I didn’t bother with makeup, I never really did. I was about as low maintenance as you could get when it came to getting ready. If it took more than five minutes, it was too much effort.
I headed down the stairs, looking for my mom. I found her in the kitchen, sat at the table, hunched over papers strewn across the surface. She was holding her head in her hands, her eyes closed.
“Mom?” I called out with concern. The lines on her face appeared deeper than before. She had dark circles beneath her eyes, a sign she wasn’t getting enough sleep. She had lost weight too. I was worried about her.
Mom opened her eyes, giving me a startled look. “What in the world are you doing up? I wasn’t expecting you to start moving before mid-day,” she teased, but I could hear the strain in her voice.
I walked over to her, leaning over her shoulder, wrapping my arms around her and resting my chin on the top of her head. “Skylar’s in town. She wants to meet for coffee.” I noticed that Mom started piling up the papers in front of her, flipping them over, clearly trying to hide them from me.
I picked up the one on top. It was an itemized bill from Southport General Hospital with the bright red words, Final Notice, written across the top. When I read the amount owed, I almost choked.
“What’s this?” I asked.
Mom snatched the paper from me. “None of your concern. Now tell me why Skylar’s in town? Doesn’t she live in the city now?”Mom wasn’t subtle. I knew she was trying to change the subject.
“Mom, what’s that bill for?”
Mom blew out a long breath. “It’s the bill from your father’s stay at the hospital.”
“But you guys have insurance. Why is it so much?”
Mom started straightening the papers before stuffing them back into a grey folder. “Because the insurance your dad had through work was awful. Three years ago, the town changed providers. Aside from the deductibles being astronomical, they refused to pay for most of your dad’s treatments, including the surgery because it was out of network.” She let out a slightly hysterical laugh. “Can you believe that? Your father has a heart attack, needs emergency services, and the insurance company quibbles over the fact that the hospital and doctor weren’t in-network.”
“Can’t you appeal? This is awful!” I was at a loss. I knew Mom was having financial difficulties after Dad died, but I had no idea it was to the tune of $250,000.
“I have! It was the first thing I did. Didn’t matter. The insurance won’t pay. Now the hospital is coming after me threatening to send it to collections. I asked to be put on a payment plan, but the only one they’d consider, given the amount owed, was way more than I can afford. This is why I need to sell the house.”
I could never remember seeing my mom so stressed.
“How much are you hoping to sell the house for?” I was terrified for my mother. What was she supposed to do? She was sixty-two years old. She only