“Will you type up my paper for me?” Marta yelled from her room. I went to stand in the doorway to find her laying on the bed, her computer closed at the other side of the room. “I don’t want to get out of this position. I’m so comfortable.”
“We agreed that I wasn’t doing your homework anymore in third grade. Being pregnant does not change that.” I reminded her calmly.
“No, you wouldn’t do it for me. I’d just dictate to you and you’d type so that I don’t have to move. I’ve already got the whole paper written in my head. It just needs to be on paper.”
“Does at any point in this paper you’ve got written in your head include, ‘Just say something that says X Y Z, you know how to phrase it.’”
There was a silence too long to be good for her. “Maybe,” she admitted weakly.
“Get up, do your homework, keep growing a baby in your stomach. That is your to-do list for the night.”
I replied, going back to the Living room where all my own assignments were spread across the floor.
“I will do at least one-third of my to-do list,” Marta yelled after me, “I think I’ll call that good enough for the night and go back to bed.”
I resisted the urge to ask her when the paper was due. If it was due tomorrow, I just didn’t want to know. Making sure that Marta’s grades stayed up was not on my list of responsibilities. At least, not since her other responsibilities ended up on my plate.