🖤🖤🖤
Sometime later, Heather and I go back to the waiting room while the medical staff do more tests on my mother. We sit on the sofa quietly side by side. She hasn't let go of me since. Her eyes are also red and she's sniffling. She's known my mother for years and has also grown to love her.
"Thanks for coming here with me, Hedy. I don't know what I'd do without you."
She gives me a small smile and then lays her head against mine. "Anything for you, boo."
My phone vibrates in my pocket and I take it out to check.
[ Bryce: Hi Mal, sorry I can't come. Something came up at home. ]
It's already three o'clock and he only texts me now? Whatever. I don't have the energy to call him out on it. I think about telling him about my mom, but I don't want to bother him about that. Not when something is also going on in his family. He doesn't have to know.
[ Me: I hope your family's ok. ]
[ Bryce: It's Johnny. But he's ayt. Call u later. Luv u. ]
Johnny is his eight-year-old brother. I do hope he's okay. I don't reply to his last phrase, though. I never do.
Putting my phone back in my pocket, I let out a sigh. "What am I going to do?"
"The doctors are going to take care of her. She'll be fine. Didn't they say her chances are high?"
"It's not the surgery, I mean it is. But it's…" I sigh and tell Heather about our debts from the previous surgery and now this. "We don't have money. I have my last hundred in my wallet. My bank account is literally zero as we speak."
"I'm sorry, Mal. I wish I could help." Heather's brows are drawn tight and I feel like shit for dumping this on her.
"No… Hedy, sorry, I don't mean…" I sigh again. It seems that's all I can do today. Heather's family isn't well-off either and she's not on good terms with her parents. But she's been such a good friend to me—the very best. I honestly don't know how I would've survived high school if I hadn't met her.
She waves a hand to brush it off, then purses her lips like she's thinking. "Hmm… Maybe… Maybe your father can help? He's rich, isn't he? Surely he won't say no to you."
My eyes go wide at the mention of the man. I look around the room even though it's only the two of us in here. "Hedy. Have you forgotten who he is? He might send money if I ask, but for sure it's not going to be free." I haven't seen him since my mother escaped his tyranny and abuse and brought me with her to flee. We stayed in different states for a while until we ended up here in Brooklyn where I finished high school. I rarely talk about my father and Heather knows why. She's the only one who knows where I came from and who my father is.
She bites her lip. "You're right. I'm sorry I brought that up. I don't know what else to do. If I was a millionaire, I would pay for everything. But waiting tables barely pays for my tuition. Ugh. This sucks."
When I don't respond, Heather takes my hand and squeezes it. "Don't worry, Mal. We'll find a way."
I smile at her even though I don't feel like it. I'm thankful that my best friend is here to support me. So I tell myself the same thing: there will be a way.
However, tonight, I go to bed with the same thoughts in my head. Only this time, I'm sure of what to do next. Come morning, I talk to the Dean and tell him I'll be withdrawing my registration for the next semester.
My dreams seem so far away now. But I have no choice. My mother comes first.
Her surgery is a success. However, when I see the bill, it feels like a freight train has landed on my head. The amount is so much more than what I anticipated. Even if I take on three jobs, I won't be able to pay that on top of the previous loan from the first surgery—not to mention her medicines and aftercare.
It's so much. I'm so desperate.
I have no choice now. Beggars can't be choosers.
I will sell my soul to the devil if I have to.
I reach for my phone and dial the number that's been stored in my phonebook for years, untouched. My thumb hovers over his name that's saved as MM and my hand shakes at what I'm about to do. I press the call button and wait for the ring. When I hear it, I'm ready to hang up and throw my phone to the wall.
But then he picks up.
"Who's this?" his clipped tone sends a shrill down my back. He always scares me. Even after all these years, he still does.
"It's me. Malia," I answer.
There's only silence on the other line, so I start, "D-Dad. I need your help."