“Listen, don’t be mad. Do you need me to bring groceries or anything?”

I take a breath and remind myself that Gary is not the enemy. He is a kind, if broken, man who is solely responsible, from what I can tell, for my mother having made it this far without ending up on the streets or dying of starvation. A therapist would probably call him an enabler, but without his generosity, my mother wouldn’t be able to keep a roof over her head. “No, I’ll figure it out. Can I ask you a question though?”

“Shoot,” he says.

“Do you know anything about a baby my mom had before me?”

Gary uhhhhhs on the other end. “You should really ask your mom about that,” he says.

I don’t want to admit I already did and that may be precisely why we are in this predicament. But this line of thinking has brought another idea to mind. “One more thing, Gary.”

“Sure, Cat. Anything.”

“Do you know if she has, like, a psychiatrist or anything? Like, does she see someone—a therapist or a counselor?” I haven’t witnessed her making appointments or going to see a doctor, but then again, I haven’t been home much, and somebody has to be prescribing her those meds I saw on my first night here. I’ve checked them since, and one of the bottles seemed like maybe it was less full, so I thought she was taking her meds. But I don’t really know, and I haven’t stayed on top of it like I’d intended to.

He thinks a moment. “She used to talk about a Dr. Angela,” he finally says. “But it’s been a long time since she’s mentioned her.”

“Okay.” I feel a little deflated, but it’s better than nothing. “Thanks.”

“Cat, I mean it, anything you need. I know I’m not your parent, but I love your mother and she loves you. I take that seriously.”

“I know,” I tell him and hang up.

I scroll through her contacts in her phone again until I see a name that might be the one Gary mentioned: an Angela Murray. My thumb hovers over the call button. Do I do this or not?

It’s late, after 8:00 p.m. It’s doubtful she’ll even answer. If I leave a message and she calls back but my mother answers, what then? If my mom’s her patient, can she even talk to me? I know I’m her daughter, but it’s not the same as being a parent.