Page 89 of Passing Notes

“Oh. Airbnbs.”

“I can’t afford a last-minute flight and stay in New York. I’m a teacher in Green Valley,” I said softly.

“Those were your choices.”

“Mom,” I gasped. “I love being a teacher. You know what my students mean to me. That’s not fair.”

“Calm down,” she repeated, and my blood pressure spiked. “We support you, but can you think about it from our point of view? We have three children pulling us in all different directions. I have to go. Sorry it didn’t work out. When you have a family of your own, you’ll understand. Love you,” she said.

“Love you too.” The words sounded hollow.

She ended the call, and I blinked back the pain with slow and even breaths.

Don’t cry. Don’t get angry. Be rational.

I might have been shocked if it had been the first time, but this was the pattern. If anything, I was the fool for thinking this time would be different. Maybe it was selfish to expect everybody to fly out here when I was the only one single and without a “real” career or family.

I looked around the small apartment. Cold and empty. Four pies and a banana cake stared back at me, and a long, unscheduled weekend stretched ahead.