Page 69 of Wicked Sinner

Five hours later, as the sun starts to go down, we have just about everything moved into the small second bedroom in my mom’s apartment.

I’m sweating despite the cold, and my back is screaming at me that I’ve overdone it.

All of my stuff is crammed wall-to-wall, boxes overflowing in the living room, and unpacking it all seems like an exhausting endeavor that I don’t know how I’m ever going to find the energy to tackle. But I’ll manage. I have to.

Alicia follows me in her car—she still lives with her parents out in the suburbs, and actually has a vehicle—while I return the U-Haul. She’s waiting for me when I come out, the car still running and mercifully warm when I slide into it.

“You look upset. More upset, I mean.” She presses her lips together. “Did something happen?”

“Just had less in my checking account than I thought. It’s fine. I can still get groceries for the week.” Barely—I’m going to probably be eating 99-cent ramen, since the priority is getting food that my mom can keep down, and that sounds good to her right now. But I’m not about to admit that.

There are a lot of things I don’t want to admit lately.

"You know—" Alicia drums her fingers on the steering wheel. "I could help you out. With money, I mean. I've got some savings, and—"

"No." The word comes out sharper than I intended, and I see her flinch. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to snap. But no, I can't take your money. You’ve been saving for your own place. To move out. I’m not going to do that.”

"Chip, come on. We're best friends. That's what friends do." Alicia looks at me pleadingly. “Just let me help. My parents and I get along great. It’s really not that bad.”

“You hate living at home. I know you do.” Alicia’s parents are great, for the most part, but they’re still parents, and they’re fairly old-fashioned.

They still have opinions about how late she should be out, her hobbies, and definitely about bringing dates home.

“You were just talking about all the stuff we should be getting to do at our age and living in the city. Your parents are wonderful, but I know you want to be out on your own, just like I do. Hell, we talked about moving in together once you could manage rent every month.”

“Yeah.” Alicia bites her lip. “But it’s not as important as what you’ve got going on. And I have a few thousand saved up already—”

I close my eyes briefly, trying not to let out the bitter laugh that I know will make Alicia feel bad, even though I wouldn’t be laughing at her.

Just at the situation. “Even if I said yes, it would run out so fast that it would be laughable. You don't understand how much this costs, Alicia. The treatments, the medications, the specialists. Even with insurance, we're talking thousands and thousands of dollars. It’s insane. Literally insane. I can’t ask for your money just to watch it vanish in a matter of weeks.”

Alicia gives me a pleading look. "You're not asking. I'm offering."

"And I'm saying no." I stare out the windshield, fighting back tears for what feels like the fiftieth time today. "I appreciate it, I really do. But this is my responsibility."

What I don't tell her is that I've already explored every option.

I've looked into payment plans, medical loans, even considered a second job, though I have no idea when I'd fit it in between my sixty-hour workweeks and taking care of my mom.

I've run the numbers a hundred times, and they never add up.

My salary, good as it is for someone fresh out of college, just isn't enough.

It was plenty before this—more than enough. But not now.

“What about a raise?” Alicia ventures. “I know you just started, but under the circumstances—”

“I tried.” I let out a harsh breath. “I had a meeting with my boss last week, and I asked about a raise. Explained everything—that was when I said I needed this Friday off to move. But he said no.”

“Fucking dick,” Alicia hisses, but I see her shoulders drop, and I know she’s going to let the conversation go.

I’m relieved. I don’t want to have to keep telling her why all of her solutions won’t work—that I’ve been through them all, and short of taking money from my best friend—which I’m not going to do—all I have left is getting by on what I make.

Well, that, and one more option that I don’t plan to tell her about, because I know what she’d say.

When my boss turned me down for the raise, he handed me a business card and told me that if I called the number, someone might be able to help me with a loan. No credit needed, just assurance I could pay.

I’m not stupid. I have some idea of what kind of person is going to answer that number when I call. I also have a feeling that whatever connection my boss has to them, it’s going to benefit him more for me to take out that loan than for me to get a raise.

But I’m also desperate. Being smart doesn’t help when all the doors that could help someone keep getting slammed right in front of them. I’ve got the card in my purse still, and once Alicia has left tonight and my mom is settled in, I plan to give that number a call.

And I’m not going to tell anyone about it.

Alicia drives us back to my mom’s apartment, turning up the radio to try to brighten the mood.

Once we’re upstairs, she does the same, putting on music that we used to have dance parties to in high school on her phone and turning it up once I assure her my mom is awake and doesn’t mind.

And it does help. It’s hard not to laugh when my best friend starts belting out Avril Lavigne like she’s doing bad karaoke.

We get most of my books unpacked and stacked on various shelves, and the remaining boxes moved to my room to put on the bookshelves there.

I try to ignore how badly my back hurts as I carry the boxes in and set them at the foot of the mattress I’m using for now until my bed frame is delivered, and plop down on the edge of it for a second, breathing hard.

“I’m going to order Chinese,” Alicia announces from the living room. “Ask your mom what she wants?”

“You don’t have to do that,” I start to say, but she levels that best-friend glare at me that tells me she’s not going to take no for an answer. “Alright,” I relent. “Mongolian beef for me? With lo mein?”

“And extra crab rangoon. I know your order, bitch.” Alicia grins at me from the other side of a box. “Go ask your mom if hers is still sesame chicken or if she wants to try something new.”

Another smile makes its way to my face despite my exhaustion. No matter what—no matter how hard things are—my best friend can always make it a little better. “Okay. Be right back.”

I find my mom in her bedroom, where she said she was going to stay while we moved me in so that she wouldn’t ‘be in the way’—her words, not mine. She’s in an armchair next to the window that overlooks the park, and I blink back tears as I look at her, trying valiantly not to cry.

The cancer isn’t so advanced yet that it’s changed her appearance very much.

She’s thinner and a little paler. Right now it’s still the pretty dark auburn that it’s always been, paler streaks threaded through it from age, piled up on her head in a messy bun, but it will be gone soon.

The nurses warned us about that, the longer she’s in chemo.

The sight of it makes my throat tighten—I can’t imagine my mother losing her hair.

Reflexively, I touch my own ponytail. Mine is just like hers.

I have her hair, and her eyes, and her chin, and her nose.

Her figure, and her sense of humor. I’m almost entirely my mom, which has always made me happy—my father was never in my life, and so I’ve never wanted any part of him to show up in me.

There’s a book in her lap, but I can see that she’s not really reading. She’s looking out of the window at the snow that’s started to fall in light, small flakes, and she glances over after a moment at the sound of my footsteps, a tired smile on her face.

"How's the unpacking going, sweetheart?"

I swallow hard, forcing myself to speak without letting my voice crack. "Good. Alicia's ordering Chinese. You want your usual?"

"That sounds perfect." She nods at the edge of the bed across from her armchair. "Sit with me for a minute?"

I perch on the edge of the mattress, resisting the urge to fall back onto it and let my exhaustion consume me.

My whole body aches, but I’m not going to get to go to sleep anytime soon.

I need to make some sense of the chaos I’ve created in the apartment with all of my stuff, and there’s still that number to call.

I can’t imagine it’s going to be incredibly straightforward, but maybe it will be. I’ll give whoever it is my banking information over the phone—something that I, as a finance major, know to never do—if they’ll give me the money I need to get my mom through this.

"I'm proud of you, you know," Mom says quietly. "For everything you're doing. I know this isn't how you pictured your life going right now."

I manage a smile. “I’d do anything for you. You know that. And plus, it’s not so bad. Moving in, I mean. We’ll get to spend more time together.”

She rolls her eyes. “Sure, Leila. At twenty-two I would have been thrilled to live with my parents. Absolutely stoked.”

A laugh bubbles up from my throat at her sarcasm. “Really. It’s not like I have a hot love life or anything. And I can still go out and stuff… nothing will really change.”

She gives me a knowing look. “You’re so tired all the time already.”

We both know she doesn’t need to say more.

Both of us know how this is going to go—how my endless workweeks are going to be bookended and mashed up with doctor’s appointments and phone calls and, soon enough, me needing to do everything around the house, cook and clean and manage her bills and mine, and take care of her on top of it.

“Maybe we can get a cleaner to come once a week—” Mom starts to say, but I shake my head.