by Shafer, Gina
“Turn around,” I say. He looks confused. “Go on, turn around.” I use my most flirtatious voice.
My fake hardware store vixen act convinces him. He turns slowly, and I wait until I see his back.
“Damn.” I say, copying him. “Oh hell yeah,” I say louder—almost too loud for the store. People the next few aisles over will definitely hear me. He whirls around quickly, eyes wide.
“Don’t get all shy on me now. Look at that fine ass. Mmmm.” I grunt aggressively, like I’m really interested.
“You’re a crazy bitch,” he accuses, and it makes me laugh. He rushes away. “Oh, come on. Don’t tease me with that view,” I call after him, chuckling.
As the guy reaches the end of the aisle, someone familiar steps in front of him. Nick. My stomach flips as the guy bumps into him. Nick steadies him with a rough grip on his shoulder and says something low into the guy’s ear. He stiffens, and Nick gives him a pat on the back before shoving him on his way.
My face flushes with embarrassment. What is it about being catcalled that extends a little dose of shame to the victim? I’m not the one who should be embarrassed here.
“Hi,” I say.
“You all right?” he asks.
I make a show of inspecting myself while still balancing the items in my arms. “Not a scratch on me.”
Nick’s jaw clenches.
“Seriously, I’m fine. That guy was a jerk. Not my first run in with one of his kind.”
Nick smiles but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m getting some things to help make the house a little safer for my mom.”
This time when Nick smiles, it’s with his whole face. He offers to help carry my stuff, but I decline. It’s like a carefully arranged game of Tetris; one wrong move and it’s over.
In the line to check out, Nick stands close behind me. It takes everything in me to not take the half step or so back and press my body against his. His heat radiates toward me, and it works like a magnet.
He clears his throat and says, “It’s your turn,” into my ear.
Oh.
I drop my stuff on the counter, and the cashier rings them up. She’s a young girl, probably just eighteen, and she can hardly contain her excitement that Nick is next in line. I’m basically chopped liver at this point, as she ignores me completely and focuses on him.
I realize he isn’t carrying anything. “What are you doing here?”
“I, uh, was actually here to pick up something I ordered a couple weeks ago… for you.”
“Forty-seven twenty,” the cashier says, interrupting us. I hand over my debit card. She swipes it and returns it with the receipt, tossing my bag at me like she can’t get me out of the way fast enough.
I step out of the way and wait for Nick.
“I called in an order yesterday. Nick Adler,” he says, and the girl grins like he told her his name just because he couldn’t resist.
“Nick Adler….” She types his name into the system. “Just the one decoy?” she asks suggestively.
I have to physically stop myself from laughing. I am standing right here. He and I clearly know each other. I could be his girlfriend or something. She’s got some nerve.
“Yep. That’s all. Thanks.” He offers her a tight smile.
She makes a show of looking through the orders on the counter behind her. Nick shifts uncomfortably from one foot to the other.
“There it is,” I point, seeing his name written on a tag right up front.
She sneers at me, grabbing the bag and ripping the name off. “Here it is!”
She rattles off the total, and he quickly hands over cash. He’s still stuffing the change in his front pocket as we walk out of the store.
I look at him and chuckle.
“Don’t say a word,” he threatens playfully.
I feign ignorance and bat my lashes. “Oh, Nick Alder. I just can’t seem to find your order. Why don’t you come into the back with me to help me look? I think it may have fallen somewhere inside my panties. You may have to just rip them off.” I copy the girl’s breathy voice and lay it on thick.
He lifts a hand to his chest and throws me a shocked look. “You’ve scandalized me.”
“Oh, please. You look like a panty-ripping type of guy.” I snap my jaw shut. You look like a panty-ripping type of guy? Really, Whitley?
“Actually, the opposite. I’m the type of guy who demands you leave the panties at home because they’re too pretty to ruin,” he says as we stop next to my car. He plants an elbow on the hood and scans me up and down. “You look like the type who would follow that order.”
I blanch, fumbling with my keys.
“Not sure how many times I have to remind you that you don’t know me well enough to make those assumptions,” I say over my shoulder as I place my bag in the backseat.
“Whether that’s true or not, the panties would stay at home, wouldn’t they? I’m waiting on you to call my bluff.” He shrugs.
This stumps me, and he knows it. Because I’m not going to lie. I would absolutely do that, especially with Nick. But if I admitted it, then I would also be admitting the connection between us.
I eye the bag in his hand. I try to snatch it, but he holds it above his head. I jump, trying to reach it, but I end up bumping into him and bouncing off him. My shirt slides up, caught between his body and mine. If you asked me, I would swear that it happened in slow motion and I could feel every single peak and valley on him. “What did you get me?”
He stares at my lips and licks his own. The second he lowers his arm, I make my move. I grab the bag and twist away from him, celebrating with an awkward little jig.
I take out the rectangular box inside, and my heart melts. Not because of what it is, but because of the thought that went into it. The gift is pretty terrifying honestly. I read text off the package aloud. “‘Owl decoy. Guaranteed to drive away pesky seagulls and keep the nuisance out of your yard.’” I look up. “You bought me a big fake scary owl to keep the birds away?”
“Anything to keep you from disturbing the peace,” he says.
I swat him playfully and then I gaze at the creepy owl with adoration. “Thank you.” I feel seen and heard and not invisible in my suffering. I mean it so sincerely. I know it’s not that serious, but it means the world to me right now. How profound is it to be heard even when you’re not even paying attention to what you’re saying.
“I can put it up if you want. I was going to bring it over when I got home. I have a couple other stops to make before then, though.”
I nod eagerly and hand it back to him. “I’ll be home.”
“I’ll see you there.”
* * *
I slump down on the couch, wiping the sweat from my brow with the back of my hand. I gulp down ice water and then set the glass on the coffee table. While Dad gave Mama a shower, I ran around plugging all the outlets with safety covers and then quickly drilled the light system into the baseboards. I’m happy with how it turned out. They’re subtle but they bring in more light so that Mama won’t accidentally trip on her way down the hall. I rushed to get it done so the noise of the drill wouldn’t bother her, and now it’s catching up with me.
A knock on the door interrupts the quiet of the house, and I wrench myself up to answer it. Nick greets me, pulling me in for a kiss. Alarm rings in his eyes just before our lips touch, and we freeze, panicked.
We almost just kissed out of habit. The problem? Our lips have never touched. The natural ease I feel with Nick is proving more and more troublesome, and I think he would agree. I pull away like I’ve been burned, and he does the same.
He looks like he’s about to apologize, but he shouldn’t. I was willing and most definitely eager. It’s just as much my fault. We have got to establish some kind of boundaries.
“Whitley!”
I hear Dad’s panicked shout down the hall, and I leave Nick at the wide open door. I fling the bathroom door and see Mama s
itting, slumped over in her vanity chair, resting against Dad. It looks like he was in the middle of drying her hair because the blow dryer is still running, though it was tossed aside.
I rush to her and realize she’s having a seizure. Her eyes are blank, and she keeps repeating the same movement of her mouth, almost like a locking and unlocking of her jaw. No shaking, no eyes rolling back, but disturbing all the same. The rest of her looks perfectly healthy. Dad told me she has them from time to time, but this is the first time I’ve seen it.
“Whitley, look at me,” Dad orders, and I listen. I pop my head up. “She’ll be okay. I just need you to help me get her on the bed. I’m afraid she’ll fall on the hard tile in here if she jerks around.” He looks behind me and I realize Nick is here too.
“Can you help me pick her up?” Dad asks him, and he nods. I move out of the way so Nick can cradle her legs as Dad hooks his arms under hers. “Whitley, watch her. Let me know if anything changes.”
“Okay.”
They move her to the bed. Once she’s settled, her jaw movement ceases.
“Can you call the doctor, Whitley?” Dad asks, his focus on Mama as he sits next to her. I pat my pockets for my phone but it isn’t there, and I can’t remember where I left it. Fuck. I’m about to bolt when Nick holds his cell out for me. I grab it thankfully, and Dad tells me the number he knows by heart.
I explain the situation to her doctor, and after discussing it, we call an ambulance to take her to the hospital. I end that call and dial 911 for the first time in my life. The whole process seems to takes mere moments before they’re walking through our open front door, strapping her to a gurney, and escorting her from the house and into the little tin box on wheels with flashing lights.
Dad gives me a hug as he passes me, following the paramedics.
“I’ll be right behind you,” I tell him.
They’re gone in a flash. Nick stands beside me, his hand on the small of my back. The gesture gives me more strength than I care to admit, and I stay a little longer than I probably should because I don’t want to know what it feels like to not have his hand there anymore.
“Want me to drive you?” he asks, and I twist in his arm. Yes. I want him to drive me. I want him to stay with me all night, silently infusing me with more strength. But then I remember our almost kiss and the look on Dad’s face as he watched her helplessly. A tight feeling works its way up my throat, and I shake my head. I need to be alone right now. “I can do it.”
“Okay,” he mutters disappointedly. “If I give you my phone number, will you call and let me know how things are?”
I nod and tell him my number, and he sends me a text from his phone so I’ll have his.
“I don’t want to leave you here alone.” He slides his phone back in his pocket. I lift up on my toes and place a kiss on his cheek. Then I go back inside and gather up the few things I need for a night in the hospital.
Three days in the hospital can really drive a person to do some crazy things, like stealing two Hostess cakes and a bag of Doritos from the vending machine.
The attendant had left it open while he stepped away. It’s really not my fault if I tripped and this stuff just happened to land in my bag. Seeing Mama enjoy her chocolate cupcake with gusto on the ride home is worth the possibility of getting into a little trouble with the law.
Mom was finally released late this morning with a clean bill of health besides the murderous disease that’s taken residence in her brain.
It was nice to finally be home for a while and then I started feeling a little stir crazy. I took a walk and noticed the owl decoy perched fiercely on the roof above my window. I had to laugh. I even took a picture and sent it to Maggie, who had no idea what the hell I was talking about.
And now I’ve come to the understanding that sitting around for three days with nothing to do but wait on doctors to tell you there isn’t anything they can do for your mother but watch as the disease eats away her brain like fucking Pacman is maddening.
Don’t get me wrong. I appreciate Mama’s doctors more than they’ll ever know, but that doesn’t change the fact that I wish I never had to see them again. I think they would understand, honestly.
While Mom and Dad took a slow, easy walk on the beach, I continued with my list. I’ve been able to get the house better equipped with safety measures, installing handles in the shower and by the toilet, among other things. Now, it’s time to work on de-cluttering.
I start with Dad’s office/spare bedroom closet, sitting on the floor and pulling things out, separating them into piles. After a while, the light bulb flickers and goes out. It’s the creepy kind of dark where you feel there’s someone standing right behind you and then you call yourself stupid because duh, there’s no one standing right behind you, you’re at home. Don’t be lame.
“What are you doing in here?” Dad asks, making me jump. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you,” he says, but I can tell by the ghost of a smile on his face that he got a least a little bit of enjoyment out of it.
“I’m cleaning out some of the house. Making a pile of donations and things, but the closet light burned out. I’m deciding whether or not I’m too lazy to get up and replace it.”
He chuckles. “You don’t have to do this. I can manage.” He unscrews the lightbulb.
“I wanted something to occupy my free time, and this is really interesting. I’m learning a lot about Mom, going through all this. Did you know she has a pair of heels this tall?” I smile, holding up a pair of stilettos I could never imagine my mother wearing.
He clears his throat. “I did.”
My jaw drops and he looks away, embarrassed. Oh shit, are these her sexy shoes? I drop them immediately.
“Gross, Dad!” I laugh, shoving them back in the corner where I found them.
“You asked.” He shrugs, and we laugh. That’s followed by sadness. However hard Mom’s disease is on me, it’s got to be harder on him.
“Listen, Whitley. You’ve been at this for a while. Why don’t you go out this evening, take some time away from the house?”
I frown. “I don’t mind.”
“I know, but it might be nice. I know how heavy things can get around here. It’s music night at the bar in town. Your mother and I used to go there every now and then. Maybe you’d like to check it out.”
I glance at the piles I’ve made, considering. It would be kind of nice to decompress for an hour. “I’ll think about it, okay?”
“Cool. Well I’ll let you get back to your sorting. If you find any money, it’s definitely mine.” He smiles, giving me a fake salute.
“Ha, you wish. Finders keepers!” I call after his retreating figure.
The doctor did say it was a good idea to live our lives, not become prisoners of my mother’s disease or be afraid of leaving her. She’ll be with Dad, and I know he can manage. But I moved here to take care of Mama.
Go, stay… what is going on with me? Why can’t I make up my mind?
Suddenly the closet seems too small. I feel claustrophobic. I arrange my piles neatly in a corner and walk out.
Dad is stuffing his wallet into a back pocket and grabbing his keys. “Whit, do you mind keeping an eye on her for a moment? I forgot to run to the pharmacy to pick up that medication for her.”
“I can go,” I offer.
“That’s okay, hon. I’ll be right back. This new medication is a bit complicated, and I want to talk to the pharmacist about it.”
This will most likely be the first time he’s gotten to do this by himself since Mama got sick. “Of course.”
He gives me a smile and a nod. “Call me if you need anything. Ok? Anything.”
After he leaves, I go to her room. She is standing near the side of the bed.
“What are you doing?” I ask, keeping my voice light.
“Huh?”
“What are you doing?” I say again. She’s been doing better since the first night in the hospital. Well, maybe better isn’t th
e right word. She’s never going to get better, no matter how hard I wish.
“I was looking for mrean. Mean. Milbean. Is that right?” She stumbles over her words like a child learning to talk.
“A mint, Mama?” I point to a jar of peppermints on the nightstand. She loves them and eats a handful a day.
“Yeah,” she says, relieved. But as she reaches for one, it’s like she’s forgotten what she wanted and drops her hand.
I step forward and grab one for her, unwrapping the candy and holding it out to her. She smiles and carefully grasps it, slowly bringing it to her mouth and slipping it between her lips. She looks so happy, elated even, that she got what she wanted even though she had forgotten she wanted it.
“Let’s sit down and watch some TV,” I say , guiding her from the room, down the hall, and into the living room.
I seat her in the chair near the window, careful not to look at the setting sun . That damn ball of flame insists on beauty and cheerfulness when my world is crumbling.
“How about Johnny Carson?” I ask, and she nods. I flip through the recordings until I find a good one. I don’t think I’m getting through to her much, but I sit on the couch and chat and laugh with her through the whole show.
It’s not long until I notice something isn’t quite right with her. She’s very quiet, and she keeps moving around like she’s uncomfortable.
I ask the first thing that comes to mind. “Are you cold, Mama?” I don’t get an answer so I get up and walk around to stand in front of her. That’s when I see her lap is soaking wet to the point where the growing stain is traveling up her shirt and down her legs. I realize it’s been far too long since I took her to the bathroom.
The sight brings me to my knees, and I hide my face, swallowing tears like it’s life and death. When I regain my composure, I force my head up and smile at her.
“I think it may be time for a shower. What do you think?” My voice quivers. She reaches out for me to help her stand. The smell of urine hits me like a gut punch. I ignore it and help her up.
As I’m leading her to the bathroom, Dad walks in, and I instantly feel like a teenager caught with a joint, or a beer, or a condom.