Mikey and the Chickadee

Chapter 14 - Part 1

"You know, I've never really thought about it," my mom was saying.

"Come on. That can't be true."

We sat on metal folding chairs, crammed side-by-side under the keyboard tray of her small desk.

"Well..." she said, staring blankly at the cluttered bulletin board above the monitor, "I suppose it's not. Anyway, I've never given a lot of thought to it. Just a little every once in a while."

"So, what do you think?"

"I think you're very talented. Your dad won't believe we got through all of it so quickly. He'll want to check it over, of course—"

"I'm talking about the career thing, Mom."

"I know, sweetie. It means a lot to me that you've thought so much about it. But I'm really just not ready for a change like that. Plus, it's a big sacrifice in income just to be doing something different. What makes you think I'm good enough to find stable work? And even if it were stable, the money wouldn't be very good."

"It's not a question of whether you're good enough," I insisted. "I'm telling you right now that you are. These days people want hand-made everything. Everyone's scrambling to be the world's most ethical consumer. If you can prove your fabric comes from anywhere besides a sweatshop, you're practically golden."

She leaned away from me in offense. "I wouldn't dream of buying supplies made in a sweatshop."

"That's exactly what I'm talking about, Mom. Jesus, make that your slogan."

She scowled. "You have the strangest ideas." She laid her fingers briefly across the keys, then returned them to her lap, softening. "I'm listening. I understand what you're saying. If anything, it sounds like wonderful retirement income."

"I guess," I said. I laid my head on her shoulder. "Do you really think Dad needs to check my work? We can submit these any time."

"We'd better let him. He likes to have his hand in this stuff."

I nodded, rocking her slightly. The house was silent except for the distant rattling of change in the dryer.

"I should get it in writing that we're allowed to visit you as often as we want."

"Don't say that. It really won't bother me." I sat up, scooted my chair away from hers and faced her, slouched over with my elbows resting on my knees. "I think it's going to be a little lonely up there."

"You have a friend from work who's also moving, right?"

"Yeah, she's great. We're actually going to split a place. But we're not that close."

She opened another tab and scrolled through one of her sewing blogs. "I'm happy to hear you'll have a roommate. That should help somewhat with the loneliness, I would think."

"Maybe you're right."

"I forget how long you said they'll keep you up there."

"Now it's looking like it will be at least two years," I said.

She turned away from her desk, staring somewhere just over my left shoulder. "That's a long time."

"I know."

"But I really think it's going to be fine."

"I know. I think so, too."

She pushed the issue of dinner rather aggressively but I refused, reasoning that I would get sick doing crunches at the gym and throw it all up.

"That's disgusting, Wyatt. Make sure you eat plenty after you're done."

"Alright," I said. "If Dad has any questions, he can text me."