This is a variation of a short story of mine that was accepted for a Chicken Soup book that will be coming out soon. Hope you like it. Pam

“I don’t care where Miriam lives, a $3000 phone bill for one month is ridiculous!” shouted my husband William, a prominent lawyer in our fair town.
I hated to admit it, but he had a point. Here was the problem. Our nineteen-year old daughter, the only other female in a house of towering testosterone, and the baby of the family, had been accepted at an acting school in Manhattan, New York. And although it was the dream of a lifetime for her, it was a nightmare for me. My baby, a sweet, sheltered girl from a small Canadian town, who possessed no common sense whatsoever, was going to live all by herself in Manhattan. We knew nobody that she could call if she ran into trouble. She was about to fly solo without a safety net in the biggest city in North America.
When we brought her to the big city to set up her apartment, we quickly discovered that getting her a phone was an impossibility. Being Canadian, we did not possess the golden ticket needed for such a thing, an American social security card. Nor could we get her hooked up to the internet for the same reason.
What was a desperate and frantic mother to do? It was one thing for her to move away for a year, I may have been able to cope with that. But to not be able to phone her, or worse, for Miriam to be unable to call me if she had an emergency? No, no, no! It was too much to ask of me. So, I upgraded my daughter’s Canadian cell phone plan. My blood pressure dropped dramatically when she dutifully called me every night while she returned to her apartment after class. I was still nervous about her safety, well okay, anxious . . . okay, okay, slightly hysterical every night, but I could cope if I heard her voice.
Slight glitch – roaming charges. Hence the $3000 bill. Who knew? A middle-aged, seriously technically challenged mother from Canada sure didn’t.
“There is no excuse for this!” bellowed my husband. “We can’t afford it.”
“But she’s a baby!” I wailed. “Just the other day they said on the news that girls are less likely to be mugged while walking if they are on a cell phone.”
It was a sound argument and it made my husband pause in his diatribe about the virtues of being thrifty. Who could argue about a daughter’s safety?
“That I understand,” said William in a thoroughly patient, yet thoroughly furious voice. “It’s the other forty hours. Who can even talk that long? How did she get any school work done?”
That’s the problem with being married to a good lawyer. They do know how to get their points across and win the argument.
“Give me a month,” I muttered. “We’ll work on it.”
Next month rolled by and my daughter was invited to a Manhattan grand opening of a movie. Of course she called her mother for advice on what dress to buy. It was a daughter’s duty to call on such an auspicious occasion! And then she had a bad cold. And then she met a boy. And then she saw Kevin Bacon in a restaurant.
Next month’s bill? A mere $1100. Close. “If you two do this again, I’m taking the cell phone away when she comes home for Christmas,” announced William.
November came and went. There was the flu and instructions on how to make chicken soup with matzoh balls, a Hallowe’en parade in Greenwich. American Thanksgiving and instructions on how to make a turkey was at least an hour. Come on! It was her first time making American turkey! Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade was another hour. Oh dear! Four Christmas parties, two Broadway shows, oh, and break up with first boyfriend, and gosh, we had to hear about the new boyfriend.
December? $745.
“That’s it, the phone goes,” said William in his most lawyer-like authoritative voice.
“But it’s my lifeline!” I cried. “You can’t expect me to only hear from her once a week, do you? A Jewish mother needs to talk to her children every day. It’s what we live for!”
William sighed. “All right. One more month,” he said.
Well, I am happy to announce that January’s phone bill was only marginally over the base price, but William is still not happy. He really is trying hard to understand why I need to hear from my daughter at least two or three times a week. I’ve explained that the phone calls are vital for my sanity. Much to my relief, I hear other mothers whose daughters have left the family nest have had the same problem with their phone bills. I also hear that as time moves on, the incredible ache in my heart and the pangs of missing my daughter fade and become tolerable. At least her room is clean, now.
Miriam’s roommate has since installed the internet in the apartment. I think of it as a belated Hannukah present from the dear Lord above. I just knew He wouldn’t let me down in my hour of need.
Will my phone bill ever be normal while Miriam lives in Manhattan? Doubtful. Truly doubtful.
Wait a minute . . .She just called to say she’s on her way to Connecticut with her newest boyfriend for dinner. Connecticut? It’s snowing there! Aaaagh! Call me when you get there!