by Mindy Hayes
I chuckle and shift to face him. “Aiden, it’s six o’clock. You’re probably going to want to get home and get ready for the day. Don’t you have to get into the office at a certain time?”
“Dean’s got it. He’ll understand,” he mumbles. “Shhhh…go back to sleep.”
I can’t stop laughing, but I try to keep it quiet. “I’m not tired. I’m going to get up.”
“Ugh. You’re a morning person, aren’t you?” The disgust in his voice is comical as he slowly pries one eye open.
“Guilty. Night people waste so much good daylight.”
“And morning people waste so much good nightlight.”
“You’re not making any sense.” Without thought, I reach up and comb my fingers through his tousled bedhead.
“I’m making perfect sense.” His eyes close again. “Mmmm…that feels good. Don’t stop.”
It scares me a little bit that this feels so natural, that Aiden and I aren’t sinking. We’re treading above water and I’m not tired. I’m refreshed. I bury the fear and try to focus on him and how much more at ease I feel with him here.
His breathing is slowing, sounding shallower.
“Are you sleeping?” I whisper.
He hums a response.
“You’re welcome to sleep, but I’m going to go take a shower.”
His brows perk up, but his eyes stay closed.
“You’re not allowed,” I snub his thoughts before they make their way out of his mouth.
“Fine,” he pouts with a slow grin.
I untangle myself from him, and he hugs a pillow instead. It’s amazing how child-like and innocent a grown man can look when he’s asleep.
My shower is long and hot, because, for once, I’m not worrying that Mama is getting into something or Brooks isn’t keeping a better eye on her. Steam fills the bathroom and my pores, and I actually feel clean for the first time in years.
As I’m walking to the living room, towel drying my hair, I smell something delicious and sweet. When I emerge, Aiden is in the kitchen making French toast.
“Are you making breakfast?”
Aiden looks over his shoulder. “You like French toast?”
“Who doesn’t?”
“Good. It’s my favorite.” He flips one of the pieces of bread on the griddle. “Take note.”
I chuckle. “Will do. It smells really good.”
“Well, hopefully it tastes as good as it smells.”
It does.
I could get used to this.
***
A little after eight, Aiden leaves. The strangest feeling is that I didn’t want him to go. I wanted him to spend the whole day here. But it’s Wednesday, and life keeps going even when we don’t want it to. So, I work on some plans another contractor has hired me to do, clean the house, and prep dinner for the crockpot.
My cloud is so high I hardly even hear the doorbell when it rings. Nor do I remember who’s most likely to be on the other side. I know that I should have been prepared, that I should have expected my dad when I open it. I knew he’d show up eventually, yet seeing him there feels so out of place I can’t help but feel it’s wrong. It’s all wrong. Is he a mirage? Is he really there?
“Hi, Alix,” he says.
He’s real.
I wish he wasn’t.
I don’t say anything. I shouldn’t let him in, but the sooner we get this over with, the sooner he’ll leave. Leaving the door open for him, I turn on my heel and head back for the kitchen. I need to do something with my hands, so I resume cutting the vegetables on the island that I prepared to put over the roast in the crock-pot. Aiden’s coming over for dinner. I shouldn’t be thinking about Aiden, I should be thinking about the man I haven’t seen in nearly ten years who’s standing on the other side of the counter, letting his eyes scan the living space he knew once upon a time. But, for the first time, it’s so much easier to think about Aiden. I shut my eyes for a second to see his blue eyes and breathe. When I open them Phil is staring at me.
“Where’s your mom?”
He doesn’t have a clue. I revel in his ignorance. Keeping him from her is my second priority to protecting Brooks.
I decide to avoid his hard question and raise him another. “Why are you here?”
He concedes to answer, “My letter was returned.”
“For good reason.”
“So, you returned it, I assume.”
I don’t respond; I continue to focus on the knife in my hand and the carrot in my other as I make one slice and then another. How easy it would be to replace the carrot with his—
“Is your mom not around?”
“You didn’t really answer my question,” I counter.
He sighs. “I haven’t heard from your mom in quite some time. I was getting worried. The most we’ve ever gone without communicating before was six or seven months.”
She’s been talking to him this whole time? I stop and look up. He looks so much older than I remember. His sideburns are graying and creases branch out at the corners of his eyes. “When was the last time you talked to her?”
He presses his palms against the countertop and leans forwards. “What’s going on, Alix. Why are you avoiding my question? You’re scaring me.”
“Answer my question,” I counter. How long did he wait to contact us without hearing from her?
He swallows. Pauses. Then says, “It’s probably been over a year or so. Maybe more.” His face shows shame, but I feel nothing. Nothing but disappointment, and yet I’m not even surprised.
I scoff. “And you never stopped to think, ‘Hey, it’s been over a year since I heard from the mother of my children. Something might be wrong.’” Bitterness coats my mouth and soaks into my words.
“Life gets busy, Alix. Time flies before you realize how much has passed. It’s not as though she’s very forthcoming with information when we do connect. I didn’t mean to miss so much. You know how busy my job keeps me. But I’m here now. I want to know how you guys are doing. That’s why I’m here. What’s wrong? Where is she?”
Shaking my head, I focus back on the carrots and potatoes on my cutting board. “You’re a real class act, Dad. After tens years, you just show up? And think it’s okay?”
“I’ve been trying, Alix. But she hasn’t responded to me in too long. Before, if nothing else, she would acknowledge my attempt with a no. I haven’t heard a thing from her.”
I can’t image why.
“Where is she, Alix?” He’s no longer asking, he’s ordering me to tell him like a father would, but he has no right.
“Not. Here,” I say slowly, clearly. “Do you need me to say it slower?”
“What do you mean she’s not here?”
“I mean she’s gone,” I say, clipped. “She doesn’t live here. You want me to spell it out for you?”
“Alix, what aren’t you telling me? Where is she?” He raises his voice.
“Why should I tell you?” I shout back. “What gives you the right to waltz in here after all this time and demand to know anything about our lives? You’re lucky I’m even allowing you in our house! You don’t belong here!”
His face falls, and he softens his tone, “I didn’t come here to fight. I just want to know how you’re doing. How she’s doing.”
“She’s great,” I lie, but I try to do it believably. “Really good.”
“You’re lying.” As if I’m invisible, he sees right through me. “You’ve always been a terrible liar.”
I don’t want to, but maybe if I do he’ll leave, maybe he’ll see how useless he is and crawl back to the hole in which he came. If he stays he’ll only cause more damage.
“You want to know the truth? She has Alzheimer’s, Phil. Early onset. She’s living in an assisted care facility because I’m not enough to take care of her and Brooks by myself.”
His first reaction is to shake his head, like he doesn’t understand the words coming out of my mouth. “What?”
“She’s gone,” I
repeat. The emotion almost cracks me.
He falls back and takes a seat on a barstool, nearly missing it. “Alzheimer’s?” he utters. His head looks like a bobble head, wobbling uncontrollably. “No,” he mouths. “You’re lying.”
Why didn’t she tell him? “You said so yourself. I’m a terrible liar.”
Phil searches for words that aren’t there. It’s satisfying to watch him struggle, floundering in an ocean of thrashing waves. “When… How…” He swallows. “When did this happen?”
“Nope. That’s all the answers you get from me today. I need to finish getting dinner ready. Brooks is going to be home from school soon, and I don’t want you here when that happens. What would be even better is if you left town. When is that going to happen, by the way?”
“Brooks?” His voice is hardly above a whisper. “Can I meet him? I would really like to meet him, Alix.”
I snort. “No. Not going to happen. Ever. If you want to try and bring lawyers into this, go ahead and try. I’ll fight you every step of the way.”
“I’d never do that,” he says faintly.
I believe him. He’s too much of a coward. He’d never care enough, never fight hard enough. If he didn’t fight before, why would he try now?
“Of course, you wouldn’t.”
“It has nothing to do with not caring,” he says. “It’s called respect. I know I screwed up. I won’t attempt to deny that. Let me just see him. He doesn’t have to know who I am.”
“My answer is no. Don’t bother asking again. Brooks is all I have left. If Mama was ‘keeping’ you away from us for all theses years, she had good reason. I’m not about to make an exception.”
“Alix,” he beseeches. “I want to see your mother. Please. Where is she?”
“If I’m not going to let you see Brooks, you honestly think I’m going to let you see her? She can no longer make decisions for herself. I don’t know that she’d ever want to see you again, and I won’t be the person to make that decision for her.” She’s too fragile for that.
“If she doesn’t know the difference, why would it matter?”
“Just because she isn’t all there, doesn’t mean her opinion doesn’t matter,” I retort, gritting my teeth. I picture his arrogance between my teeth and ground it to nothing.
“You’re twisting my words. I didn’t mean it like that.”
“It would be for you, not her. I’m not going to give you the peace of mind.”
His entire body frowns. His arms drop to his side. His eyes droop at the corners. His mouth falls. “What happened to you? You’re not the Alix I raised.”
That’s the last straw. I can’t. Just. No. “Get out of my house!”
Exhaling through his nose, he nods, conceding. He grabs the jacket he draped across the counter and lets himself out.
When I hear the door open I rush to the edge of the hallway and ask the back of his head, “Does she know you’re here?”
He stops, but doesn’t turn.
“Does she? Does your wife know you came to see the family you ruined?”
He swivels his head and meets my eyes. “Have a nice day, Alix,” And the door closes behind him.
Faltering, my back meets the wall, and my legs give way beneath me. He’s right. I’m not the same person. I’ll never be the same person. Life has changed me, has turned me into someone who pushes people away for fear of losing them. The fear will always torment me because that’s always a possibility. Intentional or not, people always leave.
Aiden flickers in my mind. What if I made a horrible mistake letting him in?
***
We haven’t really set the table since Mama was diagnosed. Most of the time I’d prepare dinner and we’d grab a plate, take what we wanted from the stove and countertop, and sit at the kitchen table. But for Aiden, I decide we should step it up just a notch. Nothing fancy. Placemats, plates, glasses, and silverware set with the dishes of food in the center of the table. No buffet style this time.
Watching him now as he takes a bite and smiles at Brooks as he tells Aiden about his day at school, my heart feels like it’s in a tornado. I can’t tell which way it’s going to go next. I’m upside down and flipping and spinning and before I know it I’m going to plummet to the earth. I equally want to embrace the moment and accept that this could be our life, while wanting to run away as fast as I can. It can’t be this easy. Something is going to blow up in my face.
Aiden shifts his gaze to me as he listens to Brooks and smiles as he chews. The butterflies in my stomach will never get used to that smile. They’re frantic. And so is my heart rate. What if this is too much too soon?
“Thank you for dinner, Squid. It was really good.” I'm placing dishes in the sink after dinner when Aiden’s arms circle my waist and he leans in to kiss me. “It sure beats Hamburger Helper.”
“You don’t.” I can’t keep the disgust from my voice.
“What? It’s good.”
“It’s depressing. No more Hamburger Helpers for you. It’s not allowed.”
“Oh yeah?” He smirks. “And how will you stop me?”
“If you have a moment of weakness where you’re desperate enough to open a box, call me.”
“Be careful what you offer. I might open a box every night.”
We’re in a kind of relationship now. Dinner together is normal, right? The man needs to eat, and so do we. We’d just eat it together. Every night. “Then so be it.”
Aiden kisses me, shooing me out of the kitchen as he insists on doing the dishes. Who am I to disagree? This part I could get used to. I cook. He cleans. Not a bad bargain.
It doesn’t diminish my doubt though.
AIDEN
GRAMPS AND I are bent over under the hood of the Bel Air when I hear someone pull into the driveway.
I look up and immediately feel my head heat up. A red 1970 Mustang is parked in the center of the drive. Wiping off my oil-covered hands, I slowly walk over to the emo punk kid getting out of the driver’s side.
“Jared,” I say by way of greeting, but I, in no way, make it cordial.
“It’s Jason, actually.” I know his name. I just don’t care. He drags his hand through his long, black hair with an arrogant grin on his face. I should smack it off just for correcting me. His hair hangs over his ears like he’s never heard of a comb or a decent haircut.
“Can I help you?”
“I’m here to pick up Savannah.” He acts like that’s even remotely an option. I laugh.
At precisely that moment Savannah comes traipsing down the drive in some jeans that are way too skinny to be called jeans. I open my mouth to go tell her to change.
“Hey Jason,” she says flirtatiously and hugs him.
“You ready to go?” he asks, eyeing her up and down. I already knew I didn’t like him, but now I really don’t like him. If he’s bold enough to check her out in front Gramps and me, I don’t want to know what he’ll do when they’re alone.
“You’re not going anywhere,” I say firmly.
“Grandma already said I could go. You don’t get a say.” It’s almost like she pities me.
“Don’t get a say, my butt,” I retort.
Gramps walks up next to me and clamps his hand over my shoulder. “You have fun, Vannah. Be sure to check in.”
“Gramps.” I glare at him, but he’s looking right back at me with a look that says I’m not winning this.
“Will do, Grandpa.” She runs up and kisses him sweetly on the cheek and smirks at me, gloating.
“Jonas,” I say as he’s opening the passenger side door for her. At least his mother taught him some manners.
“Jason,” Savannah corrects and rolls her eyes.
“I don’t care.” I make sure he’s looking at me before I continue, “You do anything to disrespect her…this Bel Air isn’t the only thing that will need to be restored.”
He laughs nervously and nods. Savannah waves as they drive away. I watch the car until it’s out of sight.
“Oh,” Grandpa chuckles. “The kid and I have already had words. Several times. She’ll be fine. He doesn’t look it, I know, but he’s harmless.”
“That is the same harmless kid I caught her making out with when she snuck out to the drive-in. You’re still going to sit here and tell me you’re fine with that?” I gesture in the direction in which they drove off.
He licks his chapped lips and nods. “He came and apologized. We decided to give him a second chance. He won’t make the same mistakes.” He says it like he’s so certain.
“I know guys like that, Gramps. I was that guy.”
“And look how you turned out. You went to college, run your own business, and all without ever knocking any girls up.”
I choke on a laugh. “Grandpa.” I can’t stop laughing.
“Well.” He begins walking back to the Bel Air. “That is what you kids say these days, isn’t it?”
“Some people. Some. But please, never say it again.”
He turns and shares in my amusement, waving me over. “Come and help me figure out what’s wrong with this transmission. I’d like to be able to take it for a cruise one day before I die.”
***
After Gramps and I finish with the Bel Air for the day, I head home to shower. Bridget is waiting on my front porch when I get there.
“What’s up, Bridge?” I ask as I walk up to the door. It’s not unusual for her to be here, but it’s weird that she didn’t call or text me first.
“I need to talk to you.” Her voice sounds really funny.
Any time a female uses those words, run. But this is Bridget, and while I know she’s a female, I’ve never really seen her like that. “Okay. Come on in. Do you mind if I shower first? Gramps and I were working on the Bel Air all day, and I’m really sweaty and gross.”
She fidgets with her hands. That should have been my second clue. Bridget doesn’t get nervous around me. “Sure thing.” Her voice is too high-pitched.