2

My gaze lands on the amateurish paintings—row after row of deranged half-naked Sean Connerys.

“Since when did art class go Fifty Shades of Connery?” I smirk. Knowing Brenda’s anti-fun rules, I’m shocked she let this fly, especially since Mom hasn’t put any clothes on him.

“I told them no more daffodils, or I’ll riot! How many damn flowers can a woman paint?” She points an accusing finger at the flowers. “I gave Brenda an ultimatum: it’s bare Connery or Josh here gets to model au naturel. Her call.”

Poor Josh, the nurse, doesn’t know where to look.

One day I’ll come in to find Mom leading a “Seniors Demand Orgies Now!” protest, bellowing “What do we want?” with the golden agers chanting “More sex!” while aggressively shuffling their walkers. “When do we want it?” “Right now!”

Mom breaks into another brutal coughing fit. It never gets easier to watch.

She takes a cautious test breath as the coughs subside, waving off my outstretched hand.

“Tell me everything,” she rasps once it passes. “Grace, how’d your presentation go?”

Grace dives into her college presentation story. I try to stay tuned in, but it’s tough. Half my attention’s on Brenda, lurking like a vulture waiting to swoop. I sink into my chair, throat tightening. So not in the headspace for her today.

Meanwhile, Grace sneaks Mom a chocolate bar under the table that I elect to ignore. You’ve got to pick your battles.

But I can’t help throwing out a warning as Grace wraps up. “You better be eating real meals too. Not just snacks.”

She shrugs it off. “Managed the sloppy mac and cheese all right. We’ll take those small miracles.”

“It better be Michelin star slop for what we pay this place,” I mutter, more to myself.

Her smile falters, and I mentally slap myself. Great job.

“I’ve told you, there’s a much cheaper place in Utah,” she says. “I’d love to live in Utah.”

I summon patience as the familiar arguments circle. “That place looked terrible. We’re not moving you to Utah,” I say flatly.

“It’s not right, you spending all your money on this place.” Her frown shifts to a dazzling smile as Nurse Hottie Josh leans close to move art supplies. She nudges Tricia. “Our Alexa should be spending her money dating handsome men. Right, Josh?”

My face heats as Josh looks over, nearly dropping the bin.

“Mom!” I hiss through gritted teeth. He smiles uncertainly before moving away. I want to vanish into the floor. It’s like dealing with a teen mom.

The second he’s out of earshot I fix her with a glare. “Must you blatantly ogle the staff?”

Mom shrugs, unrepentant. “Oh, lighten up! A little harmless flirting never hurt anyone.”

“Could you at least restrict the salivating to guys in your own age bracket?”

She barks out a laugh that dissolves into a wheeze. “Have you seen the relics here? You don’t suddenly want saggy old men just because you’re older. At my age you learn all sorts of things about men you never wanted to know. Trust me, I know.”

I roll my eyes. “I’ll cross that bridge later. Spare me the details.”

She lets out this big, dramatic sigh. “I should at least slip Josh your number. He’s thirty, looks like he stepped out of a magazine, and he’s a nurse. What more do you want?”

“Absolutely not. No matchmaking, please.”

“Someone’s got to take charge since you won’t,” she shoots back. “I’m living vicariously these days.”

“I date,” I counter weakly.

Grace snorts. “Yeah, right.”

I huff out a breath. “Fine, not lately. But between work chaos and just . . . life . . . I don’t have time to get wined and dined.”

While my dating history might suggest otherwise, it’s not like I’ve sworn off sex. I just don’t have time unless it’s efficient.

Gracie and Mom act like my nonexistent love life is a personal failing. Seriously, what do they expect—I go out with random Tinder guys and my credit score magically fixes itself? Bills get paid by the Dating Fairy?

That annoying little voice in my head reminds me about my last boyfriend. Always moaning about me being too busy, working late, or hanging out with Mom. Said I didn’t pay him enough attention. We were heading for a crash anyway, but part of me wants to yell at that voice, “Maybe I’d have more room for love if I wasn’t buried in bills from the care home.”

Right now, my life’s about scraping together stability. Until the choking weeds of debt loosen their grip, I’m basically in a dysfunctional relationship with my own anxiety.

I don’t have the luxury of complaining or collapsing under the weight of it all. Because who the fuck else is going to solve it for me?

Mom’s face crumbles as she clutches my hand. “I just want you living your best life, sweetie! I mean, look at this place. I’m surrounded by the nearly dead here.”

I hold back sharp comments. Her dark humor’s just her way of dealing with her health issues. Same way she coped when Dad’s business tanked. And even more so after he passed away a few years later.

I spot Brenda making rounds. She crooks a finger at me, and my stomach drops.

“Back in a sec,” I tell Mom, trying to sound casual.

She lets go of my hand, trying to look tough.