Bianca hurriedly entered August 28th into her calendar. 5:40 PM. She quickly calculated how much time she had until then: ten days. That wasn’t too bad after all, plenty of time for many things. On her way home, she called the hairdresser to see if she could squeeze her in during the end-of-summer rush, before her vacation. She was incredibly lucky. On the morning of the 28th, she could quickly drop by before leaving for her two-week trip. The beautician didn’t have any open slots, but considering their long relationship, she promised Bianca could come in after her last client on the evening of the 25th for an eyelash tint and eyebrow shaping. Bianca dug out a coupon from the bottom of her purse, valid until the end of the year at her favorite (and affordable) clothing store. She had planned to use it for a light fall coat, but oh well, this was more important. This was now.
Her little boy, Tim, greeted her with a cough. This couldn’t be happening! Not now! The child couldn’t get sick when she finally had a bit of breathing room. She had barely managed to enroll him in the English camp, and now he was coughing. She couldn’t send him there like this. How could you get a cold in the summer? She touched his forehead. At least he didn’t have a fever, but the camp was definitely off the table. She went to the kitchen to make chamomile tea. In nearly thirty-degree weather. She wanted to cry. She didn’t want much, just a few days to do grown-up things. The older kids would be at sailing camp, staying overnight for the first time, for five nights. She had planned to take yoga classes in the mornings, with adults, not baby-mama yoga, where the conversation was about diaper contents or the week’s meal plans. She was fed up with the bread-baking contests, cleaning tips, and she didn’t care how to get stains out of clothes. Let the person who got the hand-me-downs from her worry about it. She didn’t mind the stain on her kid’s shirt or pants. Sometimes, at kindergarten or in the store, if she felt it necessary, she’d exclaim loudly, “Oh my! What happened to your dress? It wasn’t stained this morning!”
Most of the time, though, she didn’t care. After ten years at home and three kids, her tolerance threshold had risen significantly.
Bianca caught the sore throat too. She could barely swallow. Luckily, Tim liked to nap after lunch. During those times, Bianca would take a painkiller and lie down in the living room too. At least the older kids were having a good time at camp and had avoided the summer sickness.
For over a week, the illness tormented her. When the kids put on their sailing camp showcase, she was barely able to stand. Tim, of course, was full of energy, running along the lakeshore, expecting Bianca to keep up.
She arrived at the beautician’s feeling groggy and exhausted. She would have loved to complain about how she felt, but she knew the older woman saw her as nothing more than a stay-at-home mom who had been taking it easy for ten years.
She trusted Shane completely. She had been going to him for years, and he always brought out the best in her and her hair. On the rare occasions she managed to visit, she felt like a woman for days afterward.
As she leaned her head back for Shane to wash out the dye, her eyes closed. She sighed deeply, surrendering to the pampering. Every time Shane applied the conditioner, he massaged her scalp for a few minutes.
Suddenly, she jerked. She had forgotten to wash the new dress! She washed everything before wearing it for the first time, but she’d forgotten the dark blue summer dress she had bought for this occasion. It wouldn’t dry in time. She briefly considered wearing it slightly damp but dismissed the thought. However, most of his clothes have worn out over the years. She hadn’t gone to all the trouble of coordinating her hair and beauty appointments just to ruin the overall look with something faded and stretched out.
“It’s so good to see you, Bianca,” greeted the charming, bespectacled man cheerfully. “How have you been?”
“Thank you, doctor, everything’s perfectly fine.”
“Any complaints?” he asked, diligently typing on the computer.
“No, doctor, luckily not.”
“Anything happen over the last year that I should know about? Any entries in your seizure journal?”
“No, thank God, no seizures.”
“Are you taking your medication regularly?”
“Of course, doctor.”
The doctor hummed and continued typing. He printed out a patient report, a specialist recommendation, and a prescription. When he finished, he pushed his glasses up onto his forehead and looked deeply into his patient’s eyes.
“Great news, Bianca, I’m very glad you’re doing well! Take care of yourself, and I’ll see you in a year.”
Bianca left the office with a light step, still smiling even after she stepped through the building’s doors. She had enjoyed those seven and a half minutes in the company of a handsome man, with her freshly styled hair, a nice dress, looking well-groomed, and with subtle makeup. Next year, she’d wear red and finally buy herself some lipstick.