Page 24 of Call You Mine
Ever since I moved, my youngest brother has had to take on some of the responsibilities that I took care of when I lived closer to my mom. Since Auggie lives with her right now, it’s his job to help around the house and get her to and from her doctor appointments.
And make sure her prescriptions are ready when she runs out of pain meds.
“I don’t have the number,” he replies, and I wipe my palm across my face. “She told me she needs the prescription filled this week.”
My knee-jerk reaction is to hang up and call the doctor. It’s a Sunday evening, so the office is closed, but I can leave a message for them to call me back first thing tomorrow. I’m off until Tuesday morning, so I could make the two-hour drive north to pick up the prescription and drop it off at my mom’s.
No.
I need to hold firm on this boundary. Spending my day off doing something that my brother could easily do will just put me right back where I started.
I tell myself, Auggie is twenty-one and perfectly capable of being a fully-functioning adult—despite the college drop-out, totaled car, and his ex-girlfriend kicking him out of the apartment they shared because he wouldn’t pay his half of rent.
“I’ll send it to you.” It’s a good compromise—I’m still helping but within my capacity. My therapist would be proud. I make a mental note to share the moment with her when we meet for our weekly session on Thursday.
Securing the boundary is like a weight I didn’t even know was there lifting from my shoulders.
Since moving to Milwaukee, I've realized how important it is to get some distance from my family. Being so close to them, I was the person that my mom called when she needed to know her password toheremail. I was the one Alex called when he didn’t know where to take his car to get an oil change, or when Archie needed ideas for his partner’s birthday present, or when Auggie needed saving from whatever problem he made for himself—again.
Because somewhere along the way—between after-school pick-ups, organizing the graduation parties, and dropping everything I was doing to be there for them—being needed turned into being exhausted.
“Then what am I supposed to do with it? Should I have Alex call?” he asks, and my jaw tics.
My twin brothers, Alex and Archie, both live with their respective partners, and they’re both less than twenty minutes from our mom’s house—their closeness made me feel more comfortable moving further away, but apparently that means nothing.I’mstill the person who is supposed to do everything.
I blow out a breath, watching it dissipate in the air before answering, “No.”
“Archie?”
“What? No.” I can’t stand still. My feet take me from oneend of the sidewalk to the other, my annoyance and anger building from this conversation hot enough in my veins to keep me warm. “Auggie, you’re an adult. You can call that damn doctor’s office.”
He groans. “Why should I have to?” he argues in the same voice he used when he was seventeen, and I said no to buying him alcohol onmytwenty-first birthday.
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Consideringyouare the one living at mom’s right now—rent-free with a fridge full of groceriesshebuys andhercar she lets you drive, I might add—the least you can do is fill her fucking prescription when she asks you to.”
“But I don’t know how,” he complains, and I can’t help but feel responsible for having a part in raising such an incapable human being.
“You dial the number and say, ‘Hi. I’m calling for a refill on my mother’s prescription. Her name is Amelia Montgomery.’ It’s not fucking rocket science.”
He groans again, even louder this time. I’m one second away from throwing my hands up and just dealing with the phone call myself, but then he says, “Fine,” stretching out the word like he did when he was going through puberty and madeeverythingan argument. “Do I call tonight?”
I sigh, instantly regretting my frustration at him. “You can,” I answer. “Just leave a message, and they’ll probably call you back tomorrow.”
“What if they tell me no?” he asks. “Like, since I’m not her or you or Alex or Archie? I thought only you guys could talk to her doctors.”
I’m caught off-guard by his questions. He sounds like he’s trying too hard to be nonchalant. I can’t put my finger on it—it just soundsoff.But before I can ask what’s up, someone is leaving the apartment complex, bringing me back to the moment.
“She signed the form to let you communicate with herproviders before I moved,” I tell Auggie as I jog back to the front doors, giving a nod to the person holding it open. “Look, Aug, I've got to go. I’ll text you the number. If they give you any issues, you can have them call me—no, I mean Mom. Okay? Love you.”
“Love you, too,” I faintly hear as I pull my phone from my ear and catch the second set of doors closing, bypassing the need to buzz up to Ava’s apartment.
I never once regretted stepping up when my dad died—I did it to help my mom. She had just lost her husband and was left with an eight-year-old, two six-year-olds, and a four-year-old, having never had to work a day in her life and relying on my dad.
But after seventeen years, the weight of my family’s problems settled onto my shoulders to the point that I didn’t even have the energy to take care of my own. I love my mom and my brothers, but carrying the role of protector, problem-solver, confidant, and everything in between has left me feeling lost and resentful—two things I never wanted to feel about my family.
I put off my own life to make sure Alex, Archie, and Auggie were settled in theirs, making sure my mom didn’t have to worry about any of us.
And that wasn’t fair to me.
