On an innocuous Thursday I was on my way to an appointment, realizing my summer job offer to work in Alaska would be the following day. With dreams of glaciers and bears floating through my mind, I smiled at the thought of not having to spend another loathsome summer in a hot, humid, tourist beach resort, summers that I can no longer endure physically or emotionally.

I sipped coffee and checked my emails before my impending consultation meeting, when my phone rang. I looked down. My youngest son. I answered.

“Mom, where the mozzarella? I’m trying to make pizza.”

“In the bin.”

“No, it’s not. It’s only swiss in there.”

“Oh, well why don’t you try it, you might like it.”

“Ew, no I won’t.”

(Really loud noises through the phone)

“What is that screaming?”

“It’s Dustin. He’s happy because I can’t make my pizza.”

(Hear singing in background: “No mozz for Tommy, tough shit for Tommy, hahahahaha….!!!”

“Put him on.”

“Hold on.”

“Hi Mom.”

“Why are you making fun of your brother?”

“Because it’s funny that he’s so mad right now that there’s no mozzarella cheese in the house.”

“Leave him alone.”

“Fine. Mom, where can I go for breakfast? Like what’s open?”

“How should I know? I’m an hour away, make some calls.”

“Calls? Why would I do that? Calls to where?”

“Wherever you’re thinking of going.”

“I don’t know where I’m going, so how can I call? That’s why I called you.”

“Oh my God, leave me alone.”

“Ok hold on, here’s Tommy again.”

“Mom, can you pick up mozzarella on your way home?”

“I have a meeting, I’m not going to be home for another three hours.”

“That’s o.k.”

“Has it occurred to you to drive five blocks to the supermarket and buy it yourself?”

“My truck is still snowed in.”

“So shovel it out.”

“Why would I do that?”

“Jesus, let me go, bye.”

Hear his voice trailing off…

“…bring home cheese!”

Finish meeting, on way home. Phone rings. Third son, Facetiming me  from his kitchen in Philly.

“Mom.”

“Hi.”

“I have a question about potatoes.”

“What about them?”

“What are these?”

Quick glance down.

“Sprouts.”

“Sprouts?”

“Eyes.”

“Eyes?”

“Why are you repeating everything I say? They’re fine, just pull them off.”

“You’re sure they’re fine?”

“Positive. If you’re so worried, why don’t you go buy new ones?”

“Buy new ones? Why would I do that?”

“Alright, fine. Good luck.”

“Bye Mom.”

I went home that night and removed myself from the candidate pool. I knew if I heard the offer over the phone, I would take it.

I said no. And not because there is still cheese to buy, breakfast to make, and sprouts to pluck. It’s more complicated than that, and I don’t fully understand it myself. I’m not used to saying “no” to myself. So it was a tough call.

But one thing I do know. Alaska is not going anywhere. I’ll get there.