by JD Chambers
God, I didn’t realize how hollow I felt without them until now.
“Can we talk?” they ask.
I look back into the living room, filled with video games and friends and noise. “Guys, I gotta go take care of something. I’ll be back,” I call to them over the noise. I don’t wait for a response, just grab my coat and shut the door behind me. “Let’s go for a walk.”
We walk side by side, minutes stretching under our silence.
“You weren’t going to say goodbye?” Mal finally says as we cross the street, walking past more apartments. There’s really nothing to walk to around here, so we just wander.
“I didn’t think you’d want me to,” I say, stuffing my hands farther into my coat pockets. It’s colder than I thought, especially with the sun disappearing behind the foothills. “I get why I was wrong, letting them use you like that, and I’m sorry. I should have put you first. Out of everyone in this whole fucking mess, I should have put you first.”
I know I apologized via text, but I feel it needs to be said again in person. Mal stops in the middle of the sidewalk and closes their eyes.
“Thank you,” they say, blinking rapidly. “I wish you didn’t have to go.”
My feet start moving again, suddenly filled with restless energy after this latest development. If I stay still, I might not be able to keep my hands to myself.
“But I’m glad you’re going to be there for your mom,” they continue, following after me. “I know you’d regret it if you didn’t get as much time with her as you could. Shit, I might be leaving too. The job market is terrible, and there’s nothing keeping me here.”
They stumble on a sidewalk crack after saying it, and I reach out to steady them. It takes all the mental strength I possess to release them. I don’t want to let go.
Fuck, the yawning cavern inside me stretches impossibly wider. I can’t tell them that they were the only thing keeping me here too. That’s just bad decisions ready to be made all around. No, they’re right. I’ll regret it if I don’t spend time with my mom. My decision has been made, and I’m sticking to it.
“Maybe we can still keep in touch, though?” I ask, realizing that my voice is noticeably shaking.
“I’d like that. You can keep me updated on your Oklahoma adventures. And I do expect for there to be adventures. Don’t stop trying new things just because you’re back home, okay?”
I’m surprised to find us back in front of my apartment. I hadn’t even noticed that we circled the entire block. Mal’s truck looms over their shoulder, waiting to take them away from me.
Mal leans in for a quick hug, but before it can turn to more, they’re gone.
The pizza guy arrives while I stand dazed in the parking lot.
“What was that about?” Zach says when I return. Craig and Ben barely noticed I was missing, they’re so wrapped up in their video game until the smell of pizza hits them.
“Just needed to rearrange a few things in the car,” I say, lifting the boxes over my head to avoid the swarm. “Shit, I think I packed my pizza cutter.”
“Nerd,” Ben snickers.
“You’re going to miss my perfectly portioned pizza slices when I’m gone,” I say, pulling out a slice that is barely an inch wide.
Ben slings an arm around my neck and ruffles my hair. I try to bat him off, but to no avail.
“Yeah,” he sighs and says with a frown. Still messing with my hair, though. “I really am.”
20
Mal
“Come for a visit,” Mom says over the phone. “It will take your mind off work. Give you a fresh perspective.”
“I’ll think about it.”
Ever since Parker left I’ve done my best to avoid becoming a mopey mess. I wanted nothing more than to beg him to stay during our walk outside his apartment, but Jesus, that would be selfish. He needs to be with his mom, and I need to grow up.
We’ve texted. He sends me a few funny comments about things his mom has done or said. I think it’s one of those if-you-can’t-laugh-about-it-you’ll-cry kind of things on his end, and he’s trying his best to stick with laughing. I still hope he won’t give up on his goals completely. I want to be mad that he left his bike for me. Even if there aren’t many places for him to use it, he was such a different person on the bike trail. I don’t want him to lose that, even if the gesture of the gift meant the world to me. I can only imagine what he’d be like kayaking or climbing. Or if he ever makes it to Iceland.
Actually, that gives me an idea.
I put in the web address for the rock climbing group I used to go out with back home. Mom would never let me do the big climbs at that age, and I never got to try the one thing I really wanted – ice climbing. I might not be able to coax Parker into living his dreams, but damn it if I’m going to forget about mine.
I shoot off a quick message and realize I’ve tuned out my mom as she yells, “Mal, are you listening to me?”
“Sorry, no. I got distracted. What did you say?”
“I said that you could meet Bernie while you’re here.”
I really haven’t been paying attention. “Wait, when did your one date with Bernie turn into something more?”
“Since the holidays?” Mom makes the annoyed sound of disbelief that I think all moms must go to school for. That and the side-eye and the subversive guilt trip. “I told you that we did Christmas together.”
I continue scrolling through the pictures of climbers, the adrenaline already chasing away my depression. Yes, this! This is what I need to take my mind off things.
“I knew you went somewhere with a friend. I didn’t know it was a boyfriend.”
“This is why you need to come visit. And about that …”
“If I can make it down,” I interrupt. I don’t need another guilt trip about not coming to visit often enough. Besides, I’ll totally be there if this idea pans out.
The ice pictures are amazing. These people dangling mid-air, connected only by a sickle-looking hook into the ice. It’s exciting and dangerous and everything I want right now.
“You tuned me out again, didn’t you?”
“Yeah, I just … hang on.”
A new message pops up.
GSC: Mal! How’ve you been? We’re doing an ice group this weekend if you can make it. We’d love to see you!
“Hey, Mom. How does this weekend sound?”
21
Parker
“Sweetheart,” Mom says when I walk into the kitchen. “I baked cookies. Would you like one?”
“Sure, thanks.”
“They’re your favorite triple Cs.”
Again, triple Cs were my favorite when I was ten, but I’m not going to complain. They’re still delicious, even though it means I have to add a few more miles to my run now. Triple C was my name for them since they are chocolate chip caramel cookies. Now that I think about it, they technically should be quadruple Cs.
Coming home has been interesting, to say the least. Since I don’t yet have a job here, I’ve been at the house almost twenty-four seven with Mom, and gotten to see up-close how the disease has affected her. I’m not sure how much longer I can do it. I don’t blame my dad for going out to the golf course or refusing to retire. It’s tough to be around. And then I feel bad because it isn’t her fault she forgets us and forgets things. And she shouldn’t be secluded because of it.
Regardless, I’ve sent out some resumes and have an interview in OKC next week. I’d rather not have to commute, especially since I want to spend time with my mom, so if they want me, they’re going to have to be willing to negotiate.
I take a bite of the cookie, then search around for a way to discreetly spit it back out.
“What’s going on with you?” Mom says. “You seem sad lately.”
I try to wave away her concern while wiping my face with a napkin. Hopefully she won’t notice that the wipe is extra long and thorough. “I’m fine. Really.”
She pulls a stool over for me and sits dow
n on the one near her. “Did something happen at school?”
I smile and try to put myself in the mindset of college-me. It’s that or bawl. “No, school’s good. It’s other stuff. Life stuff.”
“Girl stuff? Is it that girl Shelby?”
“No, Mom, it’s not Shelby.” Might as well try and sneak some truth in again. “I don’t think she and I are going to work out.”
“That’s a relief.”
“What?”
“Well, I’m sorry. I try to stay out of your personal life, but that girl is bossy. She never lets you be you.”
I’m stunned. I never knew that my mom saw things so clearly. She certainly never let on at the time. Maybe she felt it wasn’t her place, but I still feel regret that maybe the past eight years with Shelby could have been avoided.
“I thought there was someone else,” I tell her. Might as well. She won’t remember this conversation tomorrow. “But it didn’t work out.”
“What are they like?”
My brain catches her pronoun usage. It’s almost like she knows, or at least suspects. But if this is college-era Mom, there’s no way that could be the case.
“They’re amazing. They make me want to take risks and experience everything I possibly can. They make me view the world in ways I never would have before. They’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever met.”
Mom watches me in the way moms do when they think we aren’t looking. Like we’re the most wonderful thing ever created.
“Why didn’t it work out?”
“I messed up.” Mom of two years ago would have insisted such a thing wasn’t possible. College-era Mom has no such hesitations. She nods knowingly and encourages me to continue. “I got wrapped up in other things and treated them like they didn’t mean as much to me as they do.”
“Did you apologize? Tell them you were wrong?”
“I did, and I think they forgave me, but I’m back here now. It’s too late.”
“It’s never too late to try.”
“I’m scared to try.”
Mom takes my hand in hers and squeezes tight. Her skin is tight and dry and crinkly against mine. “That doesn’t sound like my boy. What are you scared of?”
She won’t remember, I remind myself. But I still turn around to make sure Dad didn’t magically appear out of nowhere. “I’m scared of what you and Dad will think. I’m scared that I’ll screw up again and hurt them. I’m scared that I’ve never felt this way before.”
“Parker. Pardon my French, but fuck what your father and I will think.”
This is definitely not college-era Mom. This Mom has never existed that I can recall. Maybe she’s reverted even further back to her own rebellious years? I have no idea, but I can’t decide whether to laugh or feel cheated at only getting the appearances-are-what-matters Mom.
“We aren’t going to be living the rest of your life. You are. So the only opinion that should matter is yours. And if this … person …” Yep, Mom definitely knows. “Makes you happy, then that’s all I’ve ever wanted for you. I hope you know that.”
I throw my arms around her neck and pull her close. If she feels a sudden wetness on her neck, she doesn’t let on.
“So are you going after what you want? Be the man I raised you to be?” she says against my collarbone. “Because if he doesn’t drop everything for you after hearing all that …” We both tense at her sudden pronoun change, but she rubs my back through it. “Then he doesn’t deserve you.”
Well, if she’s going there, I might as well too. Fuck.
“They. You probably don’t remember, but Mal’s nonbinary. They use ‘they’ pronouns.”
“That’s right, of course,” Mom says in the voice that I now recognize means she doesn’t remember at all but doesn’t want to offend anyone by having forgotten something.
I sit back down and fiddle with the remainder of my uneaten, nasty-ass cookie. “If I go after what I want, then I won’t be staying here.”
“Sweetheart,” Mom says and leans back to grab a cookie for herself. “It would be weird if you stayed here forever with us. As much as I love you, I don’t want you to live with us forever. I want to see you spread your wings and soar through your life. That’s what would make me a satisfied mother.”
She takes a bite of cookie and grimaces.
“Oh my god, that’s nasty. What the fuck did I do?”
I burst into full-belly laughter that also helps hide the tears. I’m not sure how much longer I’ll be here, but I’m going to enjoy this version of Mom for as long as I can.
22
Parker
First thing Friday morning, my butt is in the squeaky green leather seats of Dr. Mirza’s waiting room. I’ve done as much research as I can on Alzheimer’s online. I need to talk to the doctor with all my questions and concerns. My dad now has medical power of attorney over my mom, and apparently he included me in the document after I decided to move back home. I called and scheduled an appointment right after the incident yesterday morning, because I need a better idea of what I’m dealing with.
Since I’ve been back, my morning ritual has been to go for a run while my dad gets ready for work. That ensures I’ve returned before he has to leave, and my mom doesn’t have to be by herself. Yesterday morning, while I was out and my dad was in the shower, Mom got up and turned the alarm back on. I’m still not sure what was going through her head at the time, but as a result, I set the damn thing off when I returned from my run.
Mom ran from the bedroom and didn’t recognize me. She screamed, gripping the phone with white-knuckled hands. I got the alarm turned off, but when the security company called, she told them there was an intruder. Dad ran dripping from the shower to see what the hysterics were about. In an attempt to calm her down, I waited on the porch for the police to arrive. They talked to my dad first, then my mom, who at some point recognized me and was embarrassed and crying.
“I’m so sorry, sweetheart,” she repeated over and over. “It was dark.”
Dr. Mirza introduces himself with a handshake, and I note that his hands are extraordinarily soft. How does someone who must wash his hands as often as he does have hands that soft? He leads me to his office and sits in the seat next to me instead of behind his desk. I expect his office to smell like the disinfectant of a patient room, but there’s a soft jasmine note in the air. He must use a ton of hand lotion.
“It was good of you to set up this appointment,” Dr. Mirza says. “It’s so much better when the whole family is involved and knows what to expect. How long are you visiting your family?”
“Actually, my dad asked that I move here to help take care of my mom. So I guess the plan is for me to be here for as long as she needs me.”
Dr. Mirza hesitates, the space between his brows twitching with concern before it’s wiped clean of any emotion.
“It is not my place to judge or critique you or your father’s actions. However, I do hope to provide you with information so that you can help him make informed decisions, no matter how hard those decisions might be.”
“Yes, that’s what I want,” I tell him, and proceed to share about what I’ve noticed in the past two weeks. Dr. Mirza nods at appropriate times, but otherwise allows me to get it all out. Being able to discuss all the difficulties we’ve had, just in the span of a few days, is therapeutic in and of itself.
“Parker, except for her dementia, your mother is in excellent health,” Dr. Mirza says slowly, as if there’s hidden meaning behind those words.
“That’s great.” One less thing to worry about.
“People diagnosed can often live half a dozen or more years, and that’s with patients who were diagnosed after age sixty-five. Your mother is in her fifties. She could conceivably live for another twenty years with this disease.”
Oh. Shit. Now I get what he was trying to tell me.
“You have her on that patch, though,” I say, looking for any possible straws to grasp. “That’s supposed to help, right?”<
br />
“It can’t stop or reverse the damage. All we can hope is that it slows down its progress. I’ve mentioned this to your father, but there are caregivers who specialize in Alzheimer’s patients. As wonderful as it is that you want to help, and I’m not saying you can’t, at this stage she needs someone with her at all times for her safety. Are you honestly considering quitting your work to tend to your mother full-time for the foreseeable future?”
“You sound like you’re trying to talk me out of it.” I try to laugh like it’s a joke, but the reality of what he’s saying is pelting me like softball-sized hail during an Oklahoma hail storm. Plus, Dad only mentioned having me around. He knows that I’m trying to find a full-time job, but said nothing about her needing around-the-clock care.
“I’m about to say something, not as a doctor, but as your mother’s friend, and someone who has spoken with her at length over the years about her love for her family. I hope I’m not out of line, and I apologize if I offend you.”
“Please, go ahead.”
“It would kill your mother to know you were planning on putting your own life on hold indefinitely to care for her. When you got your engineering degree, she was so proud, she told everyone in the office how smart you were and how you were going to change the world one day. All that mattered to her was that you were happy and doing what you loved.”
My sinuses burn as I fight back tears. He’s basically telling me everything Mom said on Wednesday over her salted-not-sugared cookies, but hearing it confirmed takes a piece of my heart and stomps all over it. All this time she’s been happy that I’m happy, when really I’ve been sleepwalking through my life. Wasting the last eight years and not having anything, even joy, to show for it.
“But I don’t want her to be alone. And I don’t want her to forget about me.”