My phone buzzed four times before nine in the morning last Tuesday, my cousin's marriage falling apart,
my uncle's blood pressure spiking again, an aunt needing help filling a pension form online, a building
society notice my father wanted read out loud and explained, and a neighbour asking if I could
translate a hospital discharge summary for her because nobody else in the building could make sense of
the doctor's handwriting. None of these people called each other first. They called me, then waited to
see what I would tell them to do next, and somewhere over the last year that stopped
being occasional help and turned into a standing job nobody ever offered me and I never agreed
to take. I am reasonably calm under pressure, I explain things clearly in a way that apparently
sounds authoritative over the phone, I do care, and all three of those decent qualities have apparently
been read as an open invitation to skip the thinking part entirely. My own parents lean on
me too, medical appointments for my grandmother that I book between meetings, coordinating who brings what to
every function down to whose car has space for the extra chairs, financial decisions that should really
be shared among four siblings and somehow only ever land on one phone, mine, usually while I
am still at my desk, back when I still had time to finish a whole cup of
tea before the first call of the day came in. I tried mentioning a work deadline once,
when my cousin called about something that could have waited a day. The silence on the other
end said everything. It read as not caring, not as a boundary. Not sure how you put
this back down without it looking like you stopped loving anyone. For now I just keep answering, anyway.