Chapter 102
I glanced at Adam, sprawled on the couch in yesterday's shirt. He'd insisted on sleeping over again last night. I'd locked my bedroom door. He'd shrugged and crashed in Amy's room instead.
"Maya." Ryan's voice was tight. Cold. "What the hell is this about a caregiver?"
I set the coffee pot down carefully. "I hired someone to help with Mom. She's qualified. Experienced."
"You hired a stranger?" He sounded incredulous. "You're not even going to come to the hospital yourself?"
"I don't think that's a good idea." I kept my voice steady. "Mom doesn't want to see me. You know that. So I thought this was the best solution—"
"This is unbelievable." He cut me off. "Maya, that's our mother. You don't just hire some random person and walk away. You're supposed to be there. Taking care of her yourself."
I gripped the edge of the counter. "When the bills come, send them to me. I'll transfer my share."
"Your share?" He laughed. It wasn't a nice sound. "You think throwing money at this makes it okay? You think that's what family does?"
"You know what, Maya?" Ryan's voice dropped. "I used to feel bad for you. I really did. I thought Mom was too hard on you."
"But now I get it," he continued. "You're cold. You've always been cold. No wonder she doesn't like you."
The words landed like a punch to the stomach.
"Maybe you deserved it," Ryan said quietly. "Maybe that's why she treated you the way she did. Because you're incapable of caring about anyone but yourself."
Something inside me snapped.
"Ryan." My voice shook. I gripped the counter harder, knuckles white. "You enjoyed all of her love. Every single bit of it. And now you have the audacity to say this to me?"
"You know what my childhood was like." I was shaking now. "Did you ever say a word? Did you ever defend me?
"No," I said. "You didn't. You never have."
"And Adam was right," I added, my voice rising. "You're a hypocrite. You're full of shit. All you do is guilt-trip me into doing what you want."
I hung up.
Then I dropped the phone on the counter.
My hands were shaking. My vision blurred.
I felt arms wrap around me from behind.
Adam.
He didn't say anything. Just pulled me back against his chest, one hand gently stroking my hair.
"Breathe," he murmured. "I've got you."
I couldn't speak. My chest hurt. My eyes burned.
"That was good," Adam said softly. "What you said. He needed to hear it."
"Bet his face turned purple," Adam continued, his voice warm. "Bet he's sitting there right now, pissed as hell that you finally told him the truth."
"They don't get to treat you like that," he said. "Not anymore. People take advantage of weakness. The more you bend, the more they push."
I nodded against his chest.
"So next time, you tell them to fuck off." He paused. "And if you don't know how—you call me. I'll do it for you. I'm very good at telling people to fuck off."
I laughed.
"And I'm good at punching people too," he added helpfully. "Just in case talking doesn't work."
I turned in his arms. Looked up at him.
"You know, I've noticed you've been—"
"Handsome? Irresistible?"
"—annoying," I finished.
Then I shoved him away and headed to the kitchen.
---
By noon, I was starving.
I'd been expecting Adam to show up and drag me to lunch. But my phone buzzed with a text instead.
[Adam: Client dinner tonight. Can't do lunch. Sorry.]
I smiled.
Then I grabbed my coat and headed downstairs to the sandwich shop on the corner. Ate alone. Enjoyed the silence.
On the walk back, my phone rang.
Ryan again.
I sighed and answered.
"Maya." His voice was flat. "Mom's tests are done. The doctor scheduled surgery for Wednesday morning. Eight a.m. You need to be there."
I sat down on a bench outside the office building. "Why? I'm not a surgeon."
"Are you—" He stopped. Took a breath. "You have to talk like this?"
"I'm just stating facts." I leaned back. Crossed my legs. "First, I can't perform surgery. I can't help with the actual procedure. Second, Mom doesn't want to see me. So I'm doing her a favor. If she sees me and gets stressed, her condition might get worse. So I think it's better if I don't go."
"You're doing this on purpose." His voice was low. Angry. "You resent her. You don't want to take care of her. So you're just dumping everything on me. You're trying to avoid responsibility."
I sat down on the bench. Adjusted my coat. "I'm not avoiding anything. I hired a caregiver. I'm splitting the medical bills with you. What more do you want?"
"I remember what Mom said," I continued. My voice was calm now. Even. "She said she'd live with you when she got older. That she'd depend on you. Her favorite son."
Silence.
"She gave you everything," I said quietly. "All her love. Almost all the family money went to putting you through private school. She helped you with the down payment on your house. She paid for that huge wedding."
My throat tightened, but I kept going.
"You got so much, Ryan. So don't talk to me about fairness. Don't talk to me about responsibility. Don't talk to me about family obligation."
"You don't have the right."
I hung up.
My hands were still shaking a little.
But I felt… good.
Lighter.
Then I stood up and walked back to the office.
---
I expected Adam to show up at my apartment after work.
But when I got home, the hallway was empty.
I unlocked the door and went inside. The apartment was quiet. Too quiet.
I dropped my bag on the couch and pulled out my phone.
Amy answered on the second ring.
"Mommy!"
I smiled. "Hey, baby. Did you eat dinner?"
"Uh-huh." She sounded excited. "We had pizza!"
"Pizza?"
Amy giggled. "Daddy came over. He said he was gonna cook for us. But…" She paused. "He made the kitchen look like a war zone. And the food was so bad."
I couldn't help it. I laughed.
"Mrs. Johnson felt bad," Amy continued. "So she baked us pizza instead."
"Was it really that terrible?"
"Grandpa took one bite and spit it out," Amy said seriously. "I didn't even try it. I was scared I'd die."
I laughed harder.
"Daddy said you love fried chicken," she added. "So he asked Mrs. Johnson to teach him how to make Southern fried chicken. But when it came out, it was all black and gross."
I froze.
"Mommy?" Amy's voice pulled me back. "Are you there?"
"Yeah." I blinked a few times. "I'm here, sweetheart. Sorry."
"Can you tell Daddy to stop cooking?" She sounded genuinely concerned. "We don't wanna be guinea pigs."
"Sure," I said absently. "I'll… I'll talk to him."