“I want to visit you,” Mom says into the phone. I am sitting cross legged on the living room floor, drinking my morning coffee, surveying my teeny tiny apartment. I can barely live in here. I have had friends over twice for dinner, luckily they were agreeable to having carpet picnics, and where here for no more than four hours at a time. And when Mom comes it is generally for a week. While it would be great to see her – I am not sure how the two of will exist in such a small space for seven days. Then again Holly and Henry, both school teachers and my across the hall neighbors, seem totally in love and the two of them seem to happily co-exist in the same amount of space as me.
“My place is really small. Imagine the Washington Heights apartment without the bedroom and no living room furniture. There is no place to sit,” I say. "Where do you sit?" she asks. "The floor or my bed," I reply. “It is fine. I am coming to see you. Spend time with you. Not the apartment,” she says. “I don’t have a proper kitchen and m appliances are ¾ sized,” I say. I want to see her too – I just want her to know what to expect. While I may like this neighborhood better, I did have to give up space, a live-in super, and elevator, to live here. “It is fine,” she says.
I am a little worried about the stairs. I live on a four floor walk-up and several blocks from the subway. None of these are ideal for Mom and her heart related issues and especially now that her breathlessness is getting worse. And it is not like I have tons of money to take her out on the town. Of course, Mom does not have an interest in Broadway shows or sight-seeing. And Mom is not a foodie. So you know, it will be fine – we’ll have a nice time.
So I say, “When are you thinking about coming?” “End of March. For one week,” Mom replies. “Sounds perfect,” I reply. In one month, I will have a roommate for a week!