by Kelly Risser
***
“Meara, are you awake?”
I opened my eyes. Mom stood in front of me. My neck hurt, and my foot fell asleep. The last thing I remembered was putting down a magazine after I read every article in it and closing my eyes for a minute to rest. I guess I rested a bit too much. A quick mental calculation told me that I napped in the waiting room for about an hour and a half.
I stretched and yawned before asking, “Are you done?”
“For today,” she said. “Are you ready to get pampered?”
Her grin was infectious, so I smiled back. The circles under her eyes looked darker, but otherwise, she seemed okay.
“Yeah,” I said. “Let’s go.” The clinic waiting room depressed me.
Lydia had recommended the salon, à La Mode. It was small—it only contained four styling stations—but what it lacked in space it made up for in style. Crystal chandeliers hung from the ornately tiled ceiling. The walls were painted in black, white, and hot pink. The effect could have been gaudy. They pulled it off. I’d never been to Paris, yet this is what I imagined it looked like.
Mom’s stylist gave her a pixie cut, which diminished the effects of her treatments. The cut flattered her delicate features. She chose a soft, neutral pink for her fingernails and toenails.
“Mom, you look great!” I said, and I meant it. The pampering was good for her; she looked more relaxed and happy than she had in weeks.
“I love your hairstyle,” Mom said. “It’s so bouncy.”
I didn’t get much length cut off, but I agreed when the hairdresser suggested layers. My hair hung past my shoulders, but the layers provided movement and framed my face. For my fingernails, I chose a color called Vampire Vixen, a glossy, burgundy shade. I picked bright silver for my toes. Mom raised her eyebrows, but didn’t comment. She liked neutral colors, and matching worked for her. I thought it was boring.
“Mom, are you sure you got this?” I asked when we got to the counter. It was more expensive than I thought it would be.
“I’ve got it, Meara. Don’t worry.”
When we left the salon, Mom wanted to shop. We were in a shopping district. Stores lined both sides of the street for blocks.
“Are you sure?” I asked. “You’re not too tired?”
She brushed off my concern. “I’m fine.”
Mom bought a new dress, two sweaters, and a pair of dress pants. The dress was for Thanksgiving, a coppery wrap dress that floated around her calves. It came with a braided belt of copper, silver, and gold. The clasp was a cluster of metal leaves. It was beautiful, and I told her so when she twirled to model it for me.
She insisted that I find a dress for Thanksgiving, too. We were going to go to the Mitchell’s house. They hosted a big dinner every year. The dress I found was much simpler, a deep green sweater dress. It was fitted and fell a little past mid-thigh.
“That’s too short,” Mom protested, but when I agreed to wear tights and boots with it, she bought it for me.
Originally, we planned to go out to dinner but, after shopping, Mom was pale and tired. I drove us to the hotel, checked us in, and carried the bags to our room. Mom followed me up the stairs, took off her coat, and laid down to rest. While she napped, I turned on the TV to channel surf. I ended up watching the last half hour of a spy movie, and the entire romantic comedy that followed. Mom barely stirred on the bed next to me.
When the movie ended, I ordered a pizza. I brought money with me, so I paid for it. Mom stirred and sat up.
“Smells good,” she said. “What did you order?”
“Cheese, sausage, and mushroom. Is that okay?”
“Perfect.” Mom came over and sat next to me. “What do I owe you?”
“I got it.”
“You don’t have to, but thank you.”
The guy who delivered the pizza forgot plates and napkins. So, we just opened the box and dug in. I was on my third piece before I noticed that Mom barely touched hers. She was picking at the mushrooms on top.
“Not hungry?” I asked.
Mom sighed. “I guess not. My stomach’s a little queasy.”
“The medicine?”
“Yes.”
“Do you want me to get you something else? I could see if they have crackers or bread downstairs.”
Mom shook her head. “That’s okay. I’m not that hungry.” She stood up. “I’ll go downstairs and get some tea. Do you want anything?”
“I can come with you.”
“It’s okay, Meara. I’ll be fine. Do you want a Diet Coke?”
“Yes, please, if they have one.”
When Mom left the room, I put the rest of the pizza on the dresser next to the TV. I didn’t have much of an appetite anymore. I was worried about her. She was so thin, and she barely ate.
I put on my pajamas, which were yoga pants and a T-shirt. We weren’t going out tonight, so I might as well get comfy. As I lay in bed worrying about my mom and waiting for her to return, I wondered, when did our roles reverse?
