Page 49 of Fighting Chance

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Incoming call from Momma Bear

As a twenty-five-year-old woman, I’m not ashamed to admit that when I see my mom’s name flash across my phone with an incoming call, I sigh in relief. Emmy is still playing with the dollhouse Kieran bought her, so I swipe my finger across the screen and answer. My mom doesn’t even give me enough time to say hello before her worried voice rushes down the line.

“Is everything okay? Do you want me to come over and help you?”

Before I can contain it, I snort.

“Everything’s all right, no need to come over. If you meet Emmy, I want Kieran to be here and be okay with it.”

“Of course, of course!” she gushes, the telltale sound of a keyboard clacking coming through in the background. “Kieran said I can come over the next time he has a day off.”

I look down at my phone, my brows furrowing before I bring it back up. “Wait, what?”

“We’ve been texting,” she says as way of explanation. “He’s such a sweetheart. The questions he asks are adorable.”

“I didn’t realize he took me up on my offer.”

“He messaged me yesterday evening.” The clacking continues, her fingers flying across her keyboard.

I’m about to ask why she didn’t tell me my boss texted her, but I’m sidetracked when I realize it’s a Saturday. “Why are you working on the weekend?”

My mom took a job as a virtual assistant when I first fell ill. Every decision from that day onward was made to accommodate my healing process, and I don’t think I’ll ever be able to repay her for that.

She huffs down the line. “I shouldn’t be, but Teddy called me four times saying it was urgent and, well, you know me.”

“Yes, being a people pleaser seems to be a Carson trait.”

“I wish it wasn’t,” she sighs before her voice changes. “Is everything okay with you though? You’re not feeling unwell, are you?”

The last of her words taper off, her worry evident.

I’m not the only one who fears a flare-up.

Putting my mom on speaker, I set the phone on the couch and begin to arrange the furniture in the living room. Kieran said to wait until he was back but I’m not going to sit around while he’s gone. He has enough on his plate. Besides, Emmy seems content in moments like this to play on her own. Kieran’s worried about her and rightfully so, but I’m surprised at how much she’s already settled in. It’s like she’s relieved to be here, her body finally having a chance to relax.

“I’m just a little nervous is all,” I admit softly, trying not to let Emmy eavesdrop.

“Oh, sweetie, how come?”

Pushing the couch pieces in front of the fireplace, I stand, still shocked I can do this without having a dizzy spell. I take my phone off speaker and plop down on the now put-together couch. “Maybe nervous isn’t the right word. Perhaps…apprehensive? It’s just, this is the first time I’m meeting someone new without being known as the sick girl. I’m sure Bella told Cindy about Berlin, but it’s so strange to be here setting up and not having to…”

“Go through torture?”

“Exactly,” I say, playing with the threads of my sweater. “It feels weird to be…normal? I mean, is this even normal? Or am I going to be bedridden again, back to you helping me put on makeup because my bones ache too much or having to recover for a week after trying to socialize like a human being?” The torrent of words pour from me before I bite my lower lip. “Okay, maybe I am a little anxious.”

“Anxious to be feeling good?” my mom asks softly, carefully.

“Yes,” I admit.

I keep my eyes pinned on Emmy, watching as she plays with a little girl doll and a dog. Probably imagining them as her and Bambi. When they’re in the same room, they’re stuck to each other like glue.

“Sweetie, I think you need to give yourself some grace on these feelings and just let yourself have them. You’ve missed out on so much in life, of course your brain is going to go a little haywire when you start to do the activities that took a toll on your body. It’s going to take some time adjusting and that’s okay.”

My mom’s words wrap around my heart like a soothing balm.

“You’re right.” I stand, placing my phone in the crook of my neck and moving onto the coffee table that is strangely sitting by the front door. “I think it will take me a while to get used to it. I mean, I’m carrying a frickin coffee table right now, Mom. A coffee table! And it’s heavy!”