Chapter 6
During the first week after I quit, I went to three job interviews.
Two companies didn't get back to me. The third was a small trading company looking for an administrative assistant.
The salary was 1600 dollars a month, with full benefits and weekends off.
It was way better than the supermarket position.
During the interview, the interviewer asked why I was only now looking for a job at my age.
I told them I used to be busy raising my kid.
"How old is your kid?" they asked.
"Fourteen," I replied.
"And now?"
"He doesn't need me to take care of him anymore."
They didn't ask any more questions, and the next day, they called to say I was hired.
*****
On my first day at work, I put on a brand new white shirt.
I checked myself out in the mirror and finally felt like a normal person again.
I wasn't the woman who used to get up at 4 a.m. to warm milk for her son.
I wasn't the woman who bent over, stacking shelves at the supermarket until her back gave out.
I was just an ordinary woman, heading off to work.
*****
On my third day at work, Michael called.
I thought he was just checking in on me.
"Mom, the results of the high school admission test are out," he said.
"What's your score?" I asked.
"630."
That was twenty points higher than I'd expected.
"That's a good score," I said.
"Yeah, Dad said that score is enough to get into Central High School."
"That's great."
There was a moment of silence on the other end.
"Mom, aren't you happy?"
"Of course I am."
"You don't really sound happy, though."
"I'm at work, so I can't talk much right now."
"You're working? Weren't you at the supermarket?"
"I changed my job."
"So where are you working now?"
"Just at a company."
He sounded like he wanted to ask more, but in the end, he just said, "Alright."
"If there's nothing else, I've got to get back to work."
"Mom," Michael called out.
"Yeah?"
"Thanks for giving me the identification documents I needed."
He said "thanks" once again.
I hung up and went back to sorting through the documents on my desk.
My coworker asked, "Was that your son?"
"Yeah," I replied.
"How old is he?"
"Fourteen."
"That's the age when you really start worrying about him."
I smiled and didn't say anything.
Indeed, that was the age when I really started worrying about him.
But I was no longer the one doing the worrying anymore.
*****
July came and went.
August came and went.
Michael never visited me, not even once.
I didn't reach out to him either.
According to our agreement, I was allowed to see him once a month.
During the first month, I texted Richard, saying I wanted to see Michael.
Richard replied: [Mike has tutoring this weekend.]
I said: [How about next week?]
He said: [I'm taking Mike on a trip next week.]
I didn't say anything else.
The next month, I texted again.
This time, Richard didn't even bother to reply.
I called Michael.
He picked up.
"Mom, I've got something going on this weekend," he said.
"What is it?" I asked.
"Aunt Linda's taking me and Charlie to the amusement park."
He was calling Linda's son "Charlie" now.
That kid's name was Charlie Reed, six years younger than Michael.
He was Linda's son.
"So when will you be free?" I asked.
"I'm not sure. Let's talk about it later," he said.
"Let's talk about it later." Those words were all too familiar to me.
Back when Richard was cheating on me, I asked him when he'd come home.
He said the same thing. "Let's talk about it later."
And then, little by little, he stopped coming home.
*****
In September, Michael started at Central High School.
It was the best high school in the city.
Linda posted on her Instagram, sharing nine photos.
In those photos, Michael was standing at the school gate, wearing his new uniform.
Richard had his arm around Michael's shoulders, smiling like the picture-perfect dad.
Linda was on the other side, holding Charlie's hand.
The four of them looked like the perfect family.
The caption read: [New semester, new beginnings. Let's cheer on our family together.]
She said "our family" once again.
I looked at that post three times.
Then I tapped on Linda's profile and muted her.
After that, I never saw any of her posts again.
That was fine.
Out of sight, out of mind.
*****
One night in October, my mom called again, "Jane, it's been a month since Michael started school. Has he called you at all?"
"Only once," I replied.
"Only once?"
"Yeah."
"He's such an ungrateful brat!"
"Mom, please don't say that about him."
"Who else am I supposed to blame? You raised him, and now he just up and leaves, doesn't even bother to call—"
"Mom, he's got his own life to live now."
"His own life? He's only fourteen!"
I didn't say anything.
My mom started crying again on the other end of the line.
"Jane, be honest with me. Do you regret it?" she asked.
The word "regret" lingered on my lips.
"I don't regret it, Mom," I said.
"You—"
"Mom, I'm tired. I still have to work tomorrow."
After hanging up, I lay down on my bed.
The moon was shining outside my window.
It was really bright.
When Michael was little, we'd press our faces against the windowsill and watch the moon together.
He used to say a rabbit was living up there.
I told him the rabbit was busy mixing up medicine.
He asked me what kind of medicine it was.
And I said it was a special medicine used while missing its mom.
He laughed so hard that he could barely sit up, saying he'd never need that kind of medicine.
Never.
But for a fourteen-year-old kid, "never" comes with an expiration date, usually about a year.
I rolled over and closed my eyes.
My phone screen lit up.
It was a message from Michael.
I grabbed my phone to see.
He texted: [Mom, do you have my health insurance card? I've got a cold and need to get some meds.]
I stared at the message for ten seconds.
He had a cold.
When he got sick, his first instinct wasn't to tell Richard or Linda.
He asked me for his health insurance card.
I texted back: [Yeah, I've got it. Just have your dad take you to the doctor and use his card.]
Five minutes later, Michael replied: [Got it.]
Just two words.
I set my phone down next to my pillow and closed my eyes.
That night, I had a dream.
I dreamed about when Michael was three and had a high fever. I carried him on my back, rushing to the hospital three times.
He was half-asleep, clinging to me and calling out "Mom".
He said, "Mom, I feel so bad.
"Mom, I want some water.
"Mom, don't go."
When I woke up, there was a wet spot on my pillow.
*****
After two months at my new job, I was settling in faster than I'd expected.
The trading company was small, but there was always plenty to do.
I needed to chase down orders, balance the books, and sort out contracts. Every day, I was swamped until six or seven in the evening.
It was exhausting, but I felt fulfilled.
At least I didn't have to get caught up in all that drama anymore.
At the beginning of November, Emily took me out for fondue.
Halfway through the meal, she put down her fork, looking like she wanted to say something but couldn't quite get the words out.
"Just say it," I said, tossing some tripe into the pot.
"I ran into Michael at the mall a couple of days ago," Emily said.
My hand froze for a second.
"He was with Linda and the little one," she added.
"Fine."
"Jane, I need to tell you something, but try not to freak out," Emily said.
"Go ahead," I replied.
"Linda had Michael pushing a stroller."
"Charlie's already eight. Why is he still in a stroller?"
"It wasn't Charlie. It was another kid."
I looked up.
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"It was a tiny baby, maybe just a few months old," Emily said.
I was stunned.
"Linda had a baby?"
"I'm not sure if the baby is hers, but Michael was the one pushing the stroller. Linda and Charlie were up ahead shopping, and he was just following behind."
Emily paused.
Then she said, "He looked like he was their little servant."
I put down my fork, suddenly losing my appetite.
"There's something else," Emily added.
"Go ahead."
"Michael's lost a lot of weight. His cheeks are all sunken, and his school uniform just hangs on him now."
I didn't say anything.
"I called out to him, and he looked at me, totally stunned. I asked how he was doing, and he just said he was fine. Then Linda glanced back, and he rushed to catch up, pushing the stroller."
Emily looked at me.
"Jane, there was something really strange in his eyes," she said.
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"It's hard to explain. He looked like he was scared of something."
I picked up my glass and took a sip.
My hand was steady.
But my stomach was churning.
"Don't overthink it. Maybe I was just imagining things," Emily said.
"Fine."
*****
After I got home, I sat on the couch, zoning out for ages.
Then I picked up my phone and opened my chat with Michael.
The last message was still him asking about his health insurance card.
After that, he never reached out to me again.
I typed out a message: [How have you been lately?]
I just stared at it for a full minute, then deleted it.
It's his life. He made the decision by himself.
It's out of my hands.
I shouldn't meddle anyway.