In This Moment. Karma Brown

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СКАЧАТЬ my dad’s advice when she was born. “Margaret, not everything should be a battle. Ask yourself, ‘Is this the hill I want to die on?’ I promise you not every hill is battle-worthy.” I decide the makeup hill is not the one I want to die on today.

      I miss having my dad nearby, but he and his arthritis escaped Massachusetts’s frigid winters a few years ago for a condo in sunshiny Florida that he shares with a Boston Terrier named Polly, and his second wife, a retired accountant named Carla.

      Audrey pushes off the doorframe and walks into the kitchen, the rubber soles of her moccasin shoes squeaking against the hardwood. “Did you say Rabbit Rabbit Rabbit this morning?” Her English class recently did a mythology and folklore segment, where she learned the superstition of repeating the word rabbit on the first day of each month, for good luck.

      “No, I did not.” I wish it were that easy to ensure luck, but I keep my pessimism to myself.

      “You look, like, really bad,” Audrey says, glancing at me from the fridge.

      “Thanks a lot.” Then I see the clock on the microwave and curse under my breath. “Did you eat breakfast?” I ask Audrey, as I gather my phone, wallet and a wad of tissues, stuffing them into my purse. I have exactly fifteen minutes to get ready before I have to take her to school, which means dry shampoo and a ponytail.

      “Like, an hour ago. I packed you a lunch, too, because you weren’t up yet.” She grabs my reusable lunch bag out of the fridge, and I see the sticky note on it reading, Mom.

      I’m so grateful she’s not the kind of kid I have to drag out of bed in the morning and nag constantly to clean her room, eat properly, do her homework. Audrey has a 4.2 GPA, is the assistant editor of Merritt High’s student newspaper, and volunteers with her friend Kendall at the assisted living center, helping run the senior center’s art program. Sometimes I think she’s better at being an adult than I am. While I rely on multiple calendars and far too many reminders that beep and trill and interrupt me on a daily basis to keep on top of our lives, Audrey seems able to do it with a natural ease.

      “Thank you,” I say, kissing her on top of her head and setting the bag beside my purse. “I’ll be right down. Just need ten minutes. Twelve, tops.” I start out of the kitchen, then turn back. “Chicken okay for you tonight, Aud?”

      “I don’t eat chicken, Mom,” she says, sitting down now that she knows we’re not leaving right away.

      I look from her to Ryan, who shrugs at this news. “Since when?” Audrey recently stopped eating red meat and pork, but so far we’ve managed to keep chicken, turkey and fish on the menu.

      She taps on her phone, somehow texting and talking with me simultaneously. “I can just make a sandwich.”

      “No, it’s fine. Your dad and I can have the chicken another night.” I rummage around the freezer a bit more. “What about turkey?” She shakes her head. I sigh. “Fish tacos?”

      “Sounds good,” she says. Clearly fish haven’t made it to her “animals not to eat” list yet. “As long as they don’t have to numb my mouth.”

      I stare at her, bag of fish tacos in hand, a memory niggling at my brain.

      “I have a dentist appointment after school? I sent you the calendar reminder last week,” Audrey says.

      “Right. Dentist.” I shoot her an apologetic look, and quickly scroll through my calendar. Shit. There it is. I mentally run through my day to figure out how I can be in two places at once—at my last showing and in the school pickup queue. “I didn’t forget. See?” I hold out my phone to show her, but she doesn’t look fooled. “It’s fine. We’ll make it work.” I sneeze again, but don’t get to the tissue box in time.

      “Gross, Mom,” she says, disdain on her face. “What’s wrong with you?”

      “Allergies,” I reply, blowing my nose.

      Audrey shrugs at my response, then leans into Ryan when he bends down to hug her. “Bye, Dad.”

      “Bye, pumpkin,” Ryan says. “Have a great day.”

      But her attention is already back to her phone, her fingers flying furiously over the keys.

      Ryan rubs a ruby-red apple against his thigh, holding the door to the garage slightly open with his other hand. “Meg, why don’t you at least reschedule the dentist? She’s fifteen. Her teeth are perfect.”

      “I’ve already rescheduled once, and I’m scared of Dr. Snowden’s receptionist. She’s not kind to serial reschedulers.” I sneeze again. “Guess there’s no chance you could pick her up and take her?”

      “Nope.” He shakes his head. “The conference goes until four-thirty, and then I have to do some paperwork.”

      “You said the conference was pointless,” I say. “What’s the big deal if you miss the last hour?”

      “I’m already missing the last hour,” he says, his tone shifting to one of impatience. “I have a meeting about the clinic, and it was a miracle we could all get our schedules lined up.”

      “Another one?” I say, trying to quell my irritation. “Can’t you guys do a conference call or something?” Ryan has been meeting with a few coworkers about starting their own clinic for the past eight months, though there’s been little action on it aside from these get-togethers that seem to take place at inconvenient times. Like when I’ve double booked our daughter’s dentist appointment and a house showing.

      “No, we can’t do a conference call. It’s important we’re face-to-face. There’s a lot at stake here, Meg.”

      “So you’ve said,” I reply.

      He lets his hand holding the apple drop, swallows the last bite, and as he does I see his face change. Harden, like it does when he’s had enough of discussing a particular topic.

      “Just reschedule the damn appointment if you can’t get her there. Why are you making me feel like the bad guy here?”

      “You’re not the only one with work shit going on,” I say, lowering my voice so Audrey doesn’t hear. “I’ve got a lot happening, too.”

      “Then maybe you shouldn’t have booked her dentist appointment for this week.”

      We stare at one another, both of us waiting for the other one to give in first, which I do. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll figure it out.” I always do, I want to add.

      I walk back through the door and let it slam without waiting for his response, and a moment later hear the garage door open and him pull his car out. This has been happening more often, Ryan and I starting, or ending, our days with an argument. I hate how unsettled I feel when we’re not jibing, and I know we need to talk about it. But lately it seems like we’re both running on hamster wheels—him with work and this new clinic start-up, and me with more clients and responsibilities outside the house—rarely jumping off to spend time together not focused on the logistics of our lives.

      “You only have five minutes left,” Audrey says, not looking up from her phone when I walk back into the kitchen.

      “I know.” I’m mentally picking out my outfit as I race up the stairs, still СКАЧАТЬ