Free Out of the Box by Michelle Mulder Page B

work.”
    That’s always his first answer. It takes several minutes of talking to get to the deeper issues. “Your mother’s never home,” he says finally, “and when she does get home, she expects me to drop everything and pay attention to her, no matter what I’m doing. It gets old after a while.”
    â€œShe says she’s concerned about you pulling back into yourself.”
    â€œYeah,” he admits, “I can see that, but it’s a two-way street, you know? She’s got to meet me halfway, and not only on her terms.”
    â€œMm.” This is exactly what I suspected. Mom never tries to see anything from anyone else’s point of view. It’s her way or the highway. “Do you know when she’ll be back tonight?”
    His choking laughter sounds totally unlike him. “Hard to say. She’s mostly been calling you from work these days.”
    â€œOh. Well, tell her I’ll be waiting for her call.”

    â€œEllie, it’s so good to hear your voice.”
    You’d think we hadn’t spoken in a year. “You too, Mom. Sorry I worried you.” I hold my breath until I can tell if she wants an apology, or if it’ll make her angry.
    â€œI’ve missed you,” she whispers, like she always does when she’s about to cry. “I just—”
    â€œIt’s okay, Mom,” I say. “I’m not mad. I never was.
    It’s just that—” Damn. How do I explain without making Jeanette look so bad that Mom comes to drag me back? I’m pissed off at my aunt, but not so much that I want to go home. “Jeanette was telling me you were having a hard time and thought you might need some time to think. Without having to worry about me, I mean. That’s why she kept taking the phone,” I lie.
    â€œAnd you went along with that?” she asks. “How do you think I’ve felt this week, sitting here, wondering what I’ve done to offend you?”
    â€œMom,” I say, “I didn’t mean to worry you. I know you’re really busy, and—”
    â€œYou think I’m too busy to care about you?” Her voice is shrill. “When have I ever not been there for you? And as for too busy to care, well, I could say the same thing about you, young lady.”
    I hate it when she does that. I take a deep breath and put on my calmest voice. “I’m not blaming you, Mom. I know things are very stressful for you at work and at home and everything. I don’t want to make things worse.”
    â€œSo you hide your feelings from me?” She’s shouting now. “You think that solves the problem? How would you feel if I treated you that way?”
    Now is not the time to point out that I wish she would keep her feelings from me a bit more. All at once, I realize Jeanette was right about one thing at least: I could have hung on to the phone all those times, but I didn’t.
    â€œWhat? You’re not even going to answer me now?”
    â€œYes,” I blurt, “I’m still here. I’m trying to figure out how to help.”
    â€œYou don’t always have to fix everything, you know,” she says. “Sometimes it would help if you just listened.”
    I don’t tell her that I’ve been trying to do that. What’s the point when it’s obviously not enough?

F IFTEEN
    F rank, dressed in an orange Hawaiian shirt and jeans, is sitting on his patio reading a book when I arrive. “Welcome, welcome!” he calls.
    I grin and wave. The first time I came here, I never would have imagined feeling so at home in this strange, crowded space, but right now this is the only place I feel relaxed and happy. Frank is always thrilled with my progress, and he talks to me like I’m an equal, the way Jeanette talks to me when she’s not trying to save me from my parents.
    I have to say, though, that Jeanette didn’t stay condescending for long.