My Best Friend Listed Me as Her Surgery Caregiver—Before She Ever Asked If I Could Help
PART 2
Sandra lived fifteen minutes from me in a two-bedroom condo with a balcony full of herbs she forgot to water.
When I arrived that evening, she had soup on the stove and a yellow legal pad on the kitchen table.
“I made a list,” she said.
“Of course you did.”
She smiled carefully.
On the refrigerator was a printed calendar.
My initials appeared in blue ink on Thursday, Friday, the following Tuesday, and the Monday after that.
MG — pickup 3:30.
MG — overnight.
MG — morning meds/breakfast.
MG — follow-up ride.
MG — PT evaluation.
I stood there with my purse still on my shoulder.
“You said one ride.”
“I said mostly one ride.”
“There is no mathematical definition of mostly that turns five assignments into one.”
Sandra reached for the calendar.
I put my hand over it first.
“Don’t erase it yet.”
“Why?”
“Because I want to understand what you thought I had agreed to.”
She sat down.
“The first night. Obviously.”
“Nothing about this is obvious.”
“The follow-up is during your work-from-home day.”
I stared at her.
“You scheduled around my work calendar?”
“You told me Tuesdays were usually remote.”
“Usually remote does not mean available.”
“I know that.”
“Do you?”
Sandra looked away.
I pointed to the Friday morning square.
“What does meds slash breakfast mean?”
“The instructions say someone should make sure I’m steady and help me keep track of the first day.”
“You told me this was just a ride.”
“I didn’t want to make it sound bigger than it is.”
The sentence landed badly.
Not because she was lying about the surgery.
Because she had decided the size of the favor should be measured by how little information she gave me before I said yes.
Except I had not said yes at all.
My phone buzzed.
A text from Andrew.
Thank you for taking care of Mom. I owe you.
I turned the screen toward Sandra.
She closed her eyes.
“What did you tell him?”
“That you had it covered.”
“I do not have it covered.”
“I know that now.”
“No. You know I know now.”
That was different.
I pulled out a chair.
“Start over. Who thinks I’m doing what?”
Sandra looked at the calendar.
For the first time since the center called me, she seemed less defensive than tired.
“I may have simplified a few things.”
I looked at my initials spread across two weeks.
“That is exactly what I’m afraid of.”
