Roof Over Our Heads

I talked with my mother last week. Of course, it started with a text message.

Mom: Call me on your lunch! I need to hear your voice

Like the dutiful child I am, I called her. We chatted between bites of a fabulous dish of leftover paneer tikka masala that I’d brought in for lunch. The call followed the same basic script that all our calls follow these days.

1. The Greeting: we exchange pleasantries and comments about the weather
2. Fishing Expedition: asking a few smaller, more innocent questions, probably in an effort to figure out what line of discussion to take
3. But Why Though: my least favorite act in this play, where I’m asked the same question from a couple of different angles like one of those pre-employment psychological questionnaires
4. The End: if I’ve timed things right, I’m done with the call in no more than 15 minutes because I need to go back to work

This call’s fishing expedition was centered on my job. There’s been some upheaval going on, and I’d be foolish not to be worried. While there’s been some concern, my job is safe for the foreseeable future. Yay, right? Nope. Not good enough.

Now that we’ve established what sort of fish we’re fishing for, we move on and enter phase 3.  Since we now have a focus, it’s time to begin the inquisition.  First, there’s questions about job searching.  Mainly, I should be doing some.  A month or two ago, when things at work were a little more uncertain, I mentioned that I had looked at similar positions.  However, things in our area have settled down a bit, I’m not worried about my employment, and told her such. That doesn’t stop us from entering Phase 3.

Have I gotten licensed in my home state in addition to the state that I work in yet? (Nope) Why not? (Because reasons) How much does it cost? (I dunno, something like $75 or so, I didn’t look) How long does it take? (I don’t know, I didn’t look) But doesn’t your national license count? (No)

I know what she’s doing. I’m pretty sure that she’s hoping that if I get a new job, there’s the possibility of making more money. More money is never a bad thing; however, I think she’s under the belief that money is the only reason that he’s here and we’re still sharing the house.

When he was first arrested, my biggest concern – and by extension my family’s biggest concern – was housing.  In order to keep the house, there needs to be two incomes coming in.  There’s simply no other way. My family suggested that I just stop paying the mortgage and put the house up for sale.  “It’ll be months before they can start to foreclose and evict you,” I was advised, “and by then all this will be done.”

I’ll admit, I looked at apartments to rent. I looked before his release, in an effort to stay in this area. Apartments aren’t any cheaper than the house is, when it came down to it.  Rent would be about the same cost.  What financial benefit I’d get from no longer paying for the sewer and water bills would be lost after factoring in the cost of utilities.  I have a terrible track record with the local utility companies, and as a result the bills are all under his name because I’m persona non grata to them.  We’re also on a plan that estimates our yearly cost and splits it into even monthly bills, moving would force us to pay off the balance.   A lot of people also suggested taking on a roommate.  Roommates were out of the question.  I’m far to introverted, none of my rooms have doors, and I generally hate people.

Once he was home, the topic of moving into separate places wasn’t even up for debate.  It never even came up. We looked into apartments, together, after he was home, because we weren’t entirely certain when he would return to work, and downsizing was a very real possibility.  Neither of us would be able to afford places of our own on a single income. Additionally, regardless of what’s happened, I don’t hate him. A lot of people told me that I shouldn’t care what happened to him, he wasn’t my problem, etc.

That’s not me. After everything, I can’t hate him.

But, back to my mom. She’s a mom, and she worries. She’d be a terrible mother if she wasn’t worried. I can’t know for certain what she’s thinking. Probably the same things everyone else is thinking, that sticking through this is the most idiotic, pants-on-head ridiculous thing that I’ve ever done. And, maybe it is. Maybe I should know better, maybe I’ll never learn. But maybe I’ll turn out stronger on the other side, regardless.