“I said, I’m fine,” I tried again, and she glanced down at her watch.
“It’s just a little after nine, sweetheart, but you still didn’t answer my question,” she said with a smile. “How are you doing this morning?”
Someone help me. I generally had more patience with my mom, but considering the time of morning and the fact that I’d yet to have a drop of coffee, I pretty much just gave up on having a successful conversation with her and focused on entertaining myself. “I’m a mime,” I said, and she nodded but stared at me skeptically for a few moments.
“Are you sure you’re fine?” she eventually asked. “You’ve had a rough few weeks.”
Interesting, I noted in my case study. Saying something ridiculous to her is actually more successful than honest discussion. Maybe I had just uncovered the secret to productive conversation with Janet Marco. “Yep. I’m a mime.”
“Okay, Mel.” She nodded and offered an apologetic smile. “I guess it’s a little too early for me to start meddling, huh?”
I held up my forefinger and thumb and gestured just a little bit in her direction.
Her smile grew wider, and she nodded again.
Hmm…maybe the whole mime bit isn’t a stretch after all…
“Okay…just one more question, and then I’ll leave you alone—”
“Mom,” I groaned.
She held up one determined hand. “Look, I’m your mother, Mel. It’s my job to worry about you,” she said through panting breaths. “You basically just uprooted your life in a matter of weeks. I mean, a little over a month ago, you were living in Portland with the man I thought you were going to end up marrying, and now, you’re back home and single. You’ve ended a relationship, quit your travel nursing job, and left the city you had been living in for the past five years. It’s just very abrupt is all,” she added and glanced in my direction. “I just want to make sure you’re doing okay.”
The air mattress squeaked and creaked as I tossed the comforter off my body and got to my feet. I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes and walked the four steps to stand directly in front of my mother, who was still running like a lunatic on the treadmill.
“I’m okay, Mom,” I reassured her with exaggerated pronunciation.
She quirked a questioning brow, and I nodded.
“Seriously. I’m okay,” I said, and it wasn’t a lie. Although my life had changed dramatically over the past few weeks, it had all occurred by my choice.
I wanted to move back home.
I wanted to leave my relationship with Eli.
I wanted a new start.
And yeah, I’d much rather not be sleeping on an air mattress in my parents’ place, but I couldn’t deny that I felt overwhelming relief by my initial steps toward change. My relationship with Eli was all about give-and-take; I gave and he took.
I had stayed in Portland because of Eli. I had stayed at a hospital nursing job I wasn’t all that fond of because of Eli. I had done a lot of things because of that relationship, and it was time I found my own way and lived the life I wanted to live. I loved Eli, but I didn’t love him enough to lose myself to a relationship I wasn’t even certain he was fully committed to.
“Will you do me a favor, Mel?”
I tilted my head to the side skeptically. “What kind of favor?”
“Do you remember Savannah Cummings?”
“Your weirdo sex therapist friend?”
She nodded. “Yep. Her.”
My eyes bugged out of my head. “You want me to go to sex therapy?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” My mother laughed and shook her head. “Her son Will is an OB/GYN, and his practice is currently interviewing for an office nurse. His office is only about ten blocks from here, and since you’ve been doing labor and delivery for the past five years, I think you’d be a perfect match for the job.”
“I don’t know, Mom,” I sighed. “I mean, working in an office setting? I think I’d rather just apply for an actual labor and delivery position at one of the hospitals here.”
“You’ll also get to assist Will in deliveries at St. Luke’s. You’ll get the best of both worlds with this position.”
“You seem to know a lot about this job…”
She shrugged it off. “I had lunch with Savannah last Thursday, and she happened to mention it.”
I scrutinized her facial expression and found a couple of cracks—mostly in the skin between her eyebrows, a Janet Marco tell. “What aren’t you telling me right now?”