The Curb
The sound my mother makes isn't breathing anymore. It's a wet, desperate rattle that fills the whole house, that follows me from room to room even when I close doors between us. I've been listening to it for three days. I hear it in my sleep now, when I manage to sleep at all.
I'm standing in the kitchen, looking at the refrigerator. I came in here to grab yet another protein shake, even though she can’t gag down more than a sip or two. I dread going back in that room so I freeze there for a moment, my hand hovering over the handle. There's a magnet from their Alaska cruise holding up a photo of the two of them on the deck, my father's arm around my mother, both of them tan and smiling in matching windbreakers. They took that trip eight months ago, spent twelve thousand dollars on it. I know because my father mentioned it three times when I asked if they could watch Lily while Jennifer recovered from her C-section.
"We're not a free babysitting service, Alex. Your mother and I worked hard for this retirement. You'll understand when you're our age."
