Gina and I get more and more tipsy as the night goes on, and finally we decide to get ready for bed. Most of the boxes are unpacked now, I just need the furniture to come so that I can really organize everything. I did bring my dresser and favorite set of reading chairs from the house, so there's that. While I get out the set of sheets I packed, Gina blows up the air mattress.
“Wayne is fine with you staying here tonight?” I ask her. Guilt slithers through me that she is crashing here instead of heading home to her husband and two kids.
“I knew we'd be drinking, I told him I'd be crashing. He's fine with the kids, and his parents went by to have dinner with them and help with bedtime. I told you I FaceTimed with them all while you took Brody out earlier. It's all good.” I swear my grumpy, cold ass doesn't deserve a best friend like her.
“Thank you for being here for me, babes. I'll order us bagels in the morning from our favorite place. Youneed much more payment than pizza.” I make up the air mattress, and after we quickly wash up and get into PJs, we flop onto it like we have on countless sleepovers. She boops my nose as she turns onto her side.
“If we need a bigger house down the road, you will definitely be making it up to me. Also, the kids want some time with Auntie Lyra soon. You're giving me and Wayne a date night.”
“Deal,” I say on a yawn before we both instantly pass out.
Chapter 2
Taran
“Ma?” I call as I let myself into her house with my key.
“In the kitchen, sweetheart,” she replies.
I go in and find her at the table, doing her crossword with a cup of tea. She gets up and I fold her into my usual bear hug as she playfully protests. When I pull away, she reaches up and ruffles my hair.
“It's getting long now, are you growing it out?” she asks fondly.
“Nah, just too busy to go. I will soon.”
She hums her acknowledgment as I head over to the cabinet to grab a glass and fill it with water from the fridge. She turns back to her crossword as I let my eyes roam over her face, and then do their cursory check of the house. She's 68 now. Her thick, shoulder length hair is still predominantly black with grey streaks, her face lined but not nearly as much as someone her age could have, her blue eyes still bright. Due to her recent stroke, she is starting to look more her age even though she's still beautiful. It destroys me to look at her sometimes. 3 monthsafter it happened, and the left side of her face is still slightly drooped. Her left hand and arm are also a little too weak to use them fully. It hit her right frontal lobe, which I quickly learned is the part that controls executive function. I was told by doctors to keep close watch, that she may forget to lock things, or turn off the oven, or she may go drive and get lost. So even though we have a visiting nurse named Valentina thanks to my much more well off big brother, I still stop by every day before work to check on her before the nurse comes to get her showered and everything else.
“Ma, you should have waited for me or Val to make you tea.” She scoffs. I know she is chafing at her dwindling independence.
“My dear boy, if I can't even put a kettle on the stove, you might as well just shove me in a nursing home.” I close my eyes, silently begging for patience.
“Neither of us wants that, mom, but you need to be safe and do what the doctor recommends. He wants you to rest and stay out of the kitchen for now.” I don't go further so she doesn’t get more upset. I’m not going to say a big part of it's because we don't know how her executive function is affected day to day right now as she recovers, and we're afraid she'll leave the stove on. “Please, Ma,” I plead, my voice breaking a little at the thought of anything happening to her, “please just do what the doctors say.” She rolls her eyes like she's mad at me for asking, but nods and pats my shoulder.
It's been just her and me for a while. I was the surprise, showing up 10 years after my big brother when my mom was 40. A welcome surprise, but still a surprise since she and my dad had tried for another baby fruitlessly for years after Seth was born. When I was only 8, Seth left forStanford and then Silicone Valley across the country. I see him once a year at most, he's busy with his own family.
My dad passed away 10 years ago from pancreatic cancer, and my mom hasn't been quite the same since. She had been a stay at home mom pretty much for 28 years when he passed, I had just graduated high school. She tried part time work at that point, but it was too hard on her. So instead of college, I went to work so that we weren't completely relying on Seth to send us money or burn through what my dad left. He made sure we were taken care of as best he could with his pension and life insurance, and it was enough that between them and me working, we’ve been pretty secure. I would take having him back and being poor any day of the week, though. Seriously, cancer can go fuck right off.
It's been a decade and it still hurts so much, especially when I'm here and so many memories flood in. The house has basically been frozen in time since he passed, my mom won't get rid of any of his things or move anything around. The kitchen I’m standing in is straight out of the 80’s. It's why she is hell bent on never going to a nursing home, she will never willingly leave the home they built together. It's also why I needed to get out of there because seeing it all became too painful. I have a small studio apartment nearby that is not at all luxurious, but it's budget friendly.
My mom never wanted to try again for love or companionship, and I hate that she is alone so much. At least now Val comes to take care of her every day, and they usually end up chatting and playing cards over hot drinks or meals. It is the absolute only positive thing to come out of her having her stroke. I've been thinking of moving back in too, just so she has someone around at night. She most likelywould resent it, though. Knowing her, she would feel like she's being a burden, and not able to function on her own.
As if summoned by my thoughts, the door opens and Val comes in with a friendly wave and smile. She was a nurse for over 30 years before she retired, but she got a little bored and signed up to be a visiting caretaker through a private company. She refused to give up her license and wanted to still stay sharp with her skills. My brother hired her to not only be there to tend to our mom medically, but also help make sure she is clean, well fed, and has some companionship. We just helped her celebrate her 58th birthday last month with her husband, kids, and her new granddaughter. The woman is an absolute godsend.
“Good Morning, Evelyn, Taran,” she says warmly in her soft Ukrainian accent.
“How are you today, Val?” I ask.
“Good thank you, how are you both?”
“My beloved son thinks I'm incapable of making a pot of tea,” my mom grouses. Val goes into brusque nurse mode at that. “Evelyn, are you trying to take my job? I love being here with you but you should still make sure Seth is getting his money's worth,” she chides gently but firmly. “You know what the doctor said about working the stove at this point in your recovery.”
My mom mumbles something under her breath, looking defiant, then sighs in defeat and nods stiffly at Val. I know it isn't easy for her to not be able to be as independent as she is used to, but I'm hoping against hope that if she rests up, does what the doctors tell her, and keeps up with her exercises, she'll recover enough to get some of her independence back. Val's voice pulls me from my thoughts as she continues her conversation with my mom.
“Let's get you cleaned up, my dear, and then we canhave you beat me at cards again until we have to go for your therapy appointment.” Val then asks me, “Do you have time to stay for breakfast after her shower?” I shake my head ruefully.
“No, I've got a granola bar in my pocket, breakfast of champions, but thanks, Val. I should get going to work so I'll say my goodbyes now.” I give Val a quick kiss on the cheek and thank her for the millionth time for everything. Then I pull my mom into another bear hug and kiss her head.
“Call me if you need anything, there is that leftover lasagna that you just need to microwave for dinner.”