My Sister Made Plans for Mom’s Birthday. I Was the One Expected to Pick Her Up.

My sister booked a birthday lunch for our mother, then told the family I would pick Mom up. The restaurant was twenty minutes from her house and an hour from mine.

Nobody had asked me. I found out in the group text, right after everyone started thanking my sister for arranging everything.

I was sitting in the parking lot outside Mom’s pharmacy. I’d just spent forty minutes sorting out a refill, and I needed to get back to work. So I probably wasn’t in the best mood to read, “Beth will handle transportation.”

I wrote, “I can’t do pickup this time. Can someone else get her?”

Then I watched the little typing dots come and go.

I’m 59. Mom is 84 and lives in a senior apartment. She gets around with a walker. She can dress herself, make a sandwich, tell you exactly what’s wrong with the evening news. But she doesn’t drive anymore, and getting ready to leave takes a while.

My sister, Diane, is 55. We both work. Her kids are still at home. Mine are grown, which seems to mean my schedule is considered more flexible, even when I’m at my actual job.

I live farther away, but I started doing Mom’s appointments when Dad was sick because I had a manager who let me shift my hours. Dad died three years ago. The appointments stayed mine.

Then groceries stayed mine. Then the pharmacy knew my number. If Mom’s phone stopped making noise, she called me from a neighbor’s phone to say her phone was broken. Usually she’d turned the volume down.

I love her. I also sometimes sit in my car outside her building for a few minutes before I go in. I don’t have a nice explanation for that. Sometimes I’m just tired and don’t want to be needed yet.

Diane does help. She handles Mom’s taxes and has spent hours untangling insurance mail I wouldn’t know what to do with. I don’t want to make it sound like she’s doing nothing.

But her jobs usually happen when she chooses. Mine involve leaving work at two because an appointment ran late.

And I helped set this up. I’d say, “It’s easier if I do it,” because Mom gets nervous with somebody new at the doctor’s office. Then I’d complain to my husband that nobody else ever did it.

He finally asked whether I wanted help or wanted people to do everything exactly the way I did it.

I told him that was a rotten thing to say. I’ve thought about it quite a bit since.

Anyway, the birthday lunch. Diane called after she saw my message.

“Can’t you just switch your morning around?” she asked.

I said no. I’d already switched things around twice that week. I wanted to go to lunch as Mom’s daughter, sit down, and eat a meal while it was hot.

“You know how she is with me,” Diane said.

Mom complains that Diane drives too fast. She complains that I fuss too much. She usually tells whichever daughter isn’t there.

I said Mom would survive a ride with her.

Diane said she had to get to the restaurant early and check the table. I asked if checking a table took the whole morning. That was when the conversation stopped being especially productive.

She said, “You don’t have to be nasty.”

I said I was tired of being volunteered.

Then she said, “You told Mom you didn’t mind. She thinks you like doing all this.”

I wanted to say that was ridiculous. Instead I remembered the last time Mom had thanked me for driving over.

She’d said she didn’t know what she’d do without me. I’d said, “Oh, it’s fine. Don’t worry about it.”

I said that almost every time.

I told Diane I didn’t want Mom to feel bad. Diane said she didn’t want her to feel bad either, and that was why she’d assumed I would do the ride. Somehow we were back to me doing it so nobody would feel bad.

“I mind,” I said. “I don’t mind every ride. I mind being the only one you ask after the plans are already made.”

She said she hadn’t realized it had gotten that bad.

I said, “I’ve told you I’m tired.”

She said she was tired too.

We didn’t resolve anything on that call. We got off the phone annoyed, and I cried on the way home, which made me even more annoyed. It was a birthday lunch. I wanted to be able to discuss a birthday lunch without crying.

That evening Mom called and asked if something was wrong between me and Diane. I asked what she’d heard.

“Nothing. She just asked me to be ready at ten-thirty.”

I nearly said, “Good luck with that.” Mom is never ready at ten-thirty. Instead I told her I was looking forward to seeing her on Saturday.

Then I asked if she knew I’d been missing work for some of her appointments.

She said she’d thought my boss didn’t mind. I said my boss had been very decent, but I still had work to finish.

Mom got quiet and said she didn’t want to be a burden.

There it was. The sentence that usually makes me take everything back.

I told her I wasn’t saying I didn’t want to see her. I wanted us to spread the driving around. She said she didn’t like asking Diane because Diane was so busy.

I said, “I’m busy too, Mom.” It came out sharper than I intended. She said she knew. I wasn’t sure she did.

At the lunch, they were ten minutes late. I was already at the table with my husband. Mom’s cardigan was buttoned wrong, and I reached over to fix it before she’d even sat down.

Diane said, “Can you give her a second?”

I sat back. Mom looked down, fixed the buttons herself, and asked where she’d put her purse.

The lunch was nice. Not perfect. Diane and I were polite in a way we’re usually not, and I could tell Mom noticed. But I ate my food while it was hot. I hadn’t realized how much I wanted that until I was doing it.

When everyone started leaving, I got up to help Mom with her coat. Diane said she had it. I said okay and then stood there anyway.

My husband touched my elbow. We went to get our car.

A few days later, Diane and I talked again. I had written down Mom’s appointments and errands from the previous month. I wasn’t going to send it because it looked like a bill. But it helped me explain what I meant by “all the time.”

Diane took the next eye appointment. She also said she couldn’t do weekday mornings every week. I said I wasn’t asking for every week. I was asking for some.

We called our brother, who lives out of state. He offered money at first, and I got irritated. Then he asked what would actually help. He now orders Mom’s groceries online with her on the phone. Mom called me after the first order because he picked the wrong bread. I told her to tell him which one she wanted next time.

Diane and I put appointments on a shared calendar. Mom still calls me first, and I still sometimes say yes before looking at it.

Last Thursday, Diane took her to the eye doctor. I texted twice to ask how it was going. The second time she wrote, “We’re fine. Go do your work.”

I put the phone in my desk drawer. For about ten minutes. Then I checked it again, but I didn’t send another message.

Mom called that night to tell me Diane had taken her for a sandwich afterward. She sounded happy. I felt relieved, then a little left out, which I hadn’t expected and didn’t particularly like admitting.

I told her I’d come by on Sunday. No appointment. I said I’d bring lunch, and she asked for the soup from the place near my house. I wrote it down before I forgot.

A fictional story inspired by everyday family situations.