My mother walked into the house the other day and looked right at my hands.
I hadn’t thought anything about my wearing gloves in the house, but she did. She wanted to know why it was so cold in the house, and why I was wearing gloves. I tried to explain that the landlord refused to have my furnace repaired, and I couldn’t afford to have it done. She was livid and told me I had to go home with her before I caught my death from pneumonia. I couldn’t tell her that I had gone without heating for almost a week now. If she knew the furnace had broken six days ago, the lawyer in her would have gone ballistic. I was only home at night, so I figured I could handle the cold until my landlord relented and agreed to have the furnace repaired. My mother wasn’t as optimistic as I was about the landlord relenting, and before I could object, she was packing up my clothes and computer. While packing, she was also on the phone to my landlord. I couldn’t hear everything she was saying, but I could hear words like furnace, slum lord, and suing. I was sure my landlord was going to kick me out once my mother was done. She smiled when she came out of the bedroom and told me to be prepared to be at the house for at least a week. That would give my landlord enough time to contact the HVAC company and have the furnace replaced. I wondered if it would be too much to also ask for a new air conditioning unit and to have the ductwork cleaned?