An Artificial Sun

by Shafer, Gina

  I’ve never been more in my element, and he can sense it. When we finish, I know immediately that we’ve knocked it out of the park. The plates get passed around the kitchen and come back empty. I even get a few hugs as Nick and I make our exit.

  I’m so impatient to ask Nick his thoughts that I can’t even wait until he’s in the car. “How was it?” I ask as he opens the passenger door for me.

  He chuckles. “I would eat four more servings of everything you guys made.”

  I flush at his compliment and get in. “Do you think it’ll work? I didn’t want to bombard the staff with too much, so I thought three new items would be a good place to start. Plus I really tried to keep it simple and work off what you already had on hand. I didn’t think….”

  Nick stares at me.

  “What?” Did I leave something on my face? I reach up to check.

  “You’re not what I expected you to be.”

  I frown, dropping my hand. “What do you mean?”

  “You’re sensitive, more so than I would have imagined if not for the armor you wear to protect yourself. It comes off as prickly, stubborn… kind of childish, but that’s not what it is at all, is it? You have a big heart behind all of that. I never expected you to be the kind of all-encompassing angel you are.”

  I’m bare before him. Vulnerable and bare and completely infatuated.

  He shuts the door and circles the car, getting into the driver’s seat. As soon as the key is in the ignition, I say, “I’m not an angel, Nick.”

  “Yes you are. You’re my angel. And I’m not letting you clip your own wings.” He puts the car in gear and drives us home.

  You’re my angel. And I’m not letting you clip your own wings.

  What if they’re broken, Nick? What if they’re tattered beyond repair? Isn’t it better to cut off one’s foot before the rot sets in? If I’m an angel, my wings are rotting. And I don’t know how much longer I can bear dragging them behind me.

  * * *

  This day is longer than all the other days. Exhaustion sets in. We order takeout for dinner. After we eat pizza, Rose presents Mama with the baby doll. She is hesitant at first, but now cradles it in her arms.

  After a while, she gets sleepy, and Rose has homework, so Nick walks her home. Dad steps out to pick up one of her prescriptions.

  I’m alone with Mama for the first time in a while. I help her bathe and dress and dry her hair. I talk to her even though she doesn’t understand much of what I say. She grows agitated when it’s time for bed and Dad isn’t here.

  I want to cry when she yells, “I don’t know you!” I don’t though. I pick my chin up and get her to bed, and after a few minutes she settles into sleep.

  I fold a load of laundry, waiting for the next one to be dry, and Nick plays with Coconut on the carpet in the living room. I have the monitor on my phone pulled up as I keep an eye on Mama.

  I like this moment. Doing chores and enjoying each other’s company is ordinary, normal. It’s a breath of fresh air in a world plagued with smog.

  “I’ve been thinking,” Nick says out of nowhere. I adjust my grip on the bath towel I’m folding, holding it between my chin and chest while I gather the edges. “Oh yeah?”

  “What do you think about opening up your own place? Somewhere you can get creative with your cooking?”

  I snicker. “I’ll let you know in twenty years, after I’ve finally saved up enough to invest.” Oh, he’s not joking. “I don’t even have a job right now. I’m living off my savings, and I’m damn lucky Dad agreed to help me out financially if need be.”

  He tosses Coconut’s felt mouse, and the cat runs to it. “What if I said I wanted to invest?” He stands and crosses the room to me.

  “I don’t know what to say, but ‘I can’t accept’ is a good place to start.”

  He grabs my hands. “Why can’t you?”

  “We haven’t been dating that long, for one thing, and I would feel like I’m taking advantage of you.”

  “We’ve been dating long enough. One day would be long enough for me. Look at me, Whitley. I’m not going anywhere, and you wouldn’t be taking advantage. I offered of my own free will.”

  “It’s not just that. It’s things with Mom and Dad. I couldn’t possibly take on something like that right now, even if I had the money.”

  “So we wait. We don’t have to start anything right now. But you have so much talent and so much passion, I can’t sit by and not let the world see how great you are.”

  I’m not sure how to reply. On one hand, I’m flattered Nick sees something in me that’s promising enough to invest his money in. On the other, I wonder if I could really accept something this big from him and not be eaten up with guilt. “I’m not ready to commit to that right now…” I excuse myself to finish the laundry.

  I sit on my bed with a full basket and let a few tears fall. Why did I have to meet such an amazing guy at the worst time in my life? He wants to invest in me… in my dream career. He wants a home with a wife and kids, and I fear I’ll be stuck in this perpetual darkness the rest of my life.

  Coconut runs in, startling me. I jump up, wiping my face and picking up the laundry basket. I walk into the bathroom and resume my chore. I’m just about to hang the last towel on the hook when I hear something down the hall.

  I panic, hoping Mom hasn’t woken up and is frightened. I drop the towel and step out into the hall. It’s definitely coming from Mama’s room.

  It isn’t until I hear speaking that my feet slow. That voice, the only voice that could give me pause, is singing a deep, soft melody I can’t place, but still has me closing my eyes and listening.

  When I reach her door, I see something that slams me so hard in the chest that I truly can’t tell if my heart has stopped beating. If I dropped dead here and now, there wouldn’t be a better way to go.

  Nick is lounging on one side of her bed, with one foot on the ground and the other resting on the mattress. He’s supporting Mama’s weight, and she’s leaning into him, not unlike the way a small child cuddles up to their parent at night. But that isn’t what stops me.

  What has me frozen in place is the look on their faces.

  It’s peace.

  I feel as if I’m meeting a stranger for the first time. So this is peace. This is what it looks like to know it, see it, feel it.

  His lips are moving ever so slightly, just enough to let out the deep rumble of a song, and mama is soaking it up. Her eyes are closed, her hands clasped with his and lying gently on his chest. I can’t remember another time where I saw her so happy.

  My heart aches in my chest. I have to touch it, rub at the spot that hurts so I know I’m not dreaming.

  When he sees me, he looks up, shifting so carefully she doesn’t even notice.

  He stops singing, and only then do I realize she’s fallen back to sleep. I start to move toward them, but he shakes his head, making me still. He slides off the bed and covers Mama with the blanket before walking past me into the hallway.

  I gaze at her a few beats longer and imagine her disease as a physical being, something I could journey into her mind and retrieve. Something I could squash or kill. Something I could destroy.

  I want my mother back.

  Nick isn’t in the hall. I wander around the house, looking for a pair of broad shoulders and a scruffy jaw. I find him in my room, holding one of the few photos I keep out.

  It’s one of Maggie and me on my twenty-first birthday. I’m holding up a martini, and her mouth is open; she was telling me to chug it. It’s not flattering to either of us, but I love the memory it evokes.

  He takes one look at my face and frowns. Crossing his arms, he leans against my desk. “I know you’ll say it’s too soon to say those three little words to you, but I want you to know I’m thinking them. I’ve been thinking them.”

  “It’s not too soon.” I say, sitting on the bed.

  “I don’t know if you mean that.”

  He’s right. I’ve bee
n hot and cold with him from the start. I’ve let him see the real me, let him in deeper than anyone else. But I can’t expect him to be a mind reader.

  “I love you,” I blurt.

  He pins me with that piercing stare of his, the one where I can’t tell if he’s happy or angry.

  “Can you tell me what love is?” he asks.

  My face heats, and instantly I feel like a child being reprimanded for speaking out of turn. I know what it is, what it feels like. It’s like the tide. It washes over me, taking me so deep I fear I’ll sink, and just when only my head is above water, the tide goes out, leaving me bereft.

  “Why do you push me away?” he asks.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Yes you do.”

  “No, I don’t. I really—”

  “If you’re going to say those words to me, I want to know what got you to that point. This right here—“he motions around him—“This moment if pivotal because this is the place where everything changes between us. You understand that, right?”

  I avert my eyes. “I push you away because I’m afraid,” I say. “Because I’m ashamed of who I am and how I’ve let down the people closest to me. And then I look at you and see your absolute acceptance of the mistakes I’ve made. You see through all the bullshit, and I have no way to hiding from you. Yet you care for me so graciously that it doesn’t feel fair.”

  My vision blurs, and he turns into a watery outline.

  “But you love me?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you think you don’t deserve me?”

  I flinch. Hearing my words through his lips stings. “No. I don’t know. You don’t deserve to be my punching bag.”

  “Life is fucking hard. Why does everyone assume it’s something you have to do alone? I’m here, babe. I don’t hate or resent you for leaning on me when things get tough. That’s what this is all about… two people depending on each other. You’re drowning, and I’m not going to let you. You’ll return the favor when I get in over my head.”

  “What if I pull you under?”

  “I’m a good swimmer, Whitley. And I’ll fight like hell to get us to the surface.” He smiles, crossing the room sitting beside me.

  “I don’t want to become that person, the one who’s afraid of what they have, what they want. I don’t want to hide from that. I love you, and I want nothing to come between us.”

  “Whitley, nothing can come between us.”

  “I thought—”

  He kisses me, then wipes away tears. “I love you. Because of you, there’s more love in my heart than I’ve felt in a lifetime. I’m fucking smiling again. I’m laughing. My sister and I actually get along. You have fit so perfectly into my life that even if I wanted to, I couldn’t deny you.”

  “It’s lighter with you,” I say simply.

  “What is?” He brushes his nose against mine.

  “Life.”

  He nods and pulls me to my feet and into his arms. I rest my head on his shoulder, closing my eyes and inhaling, letting the barely there woodsy and vanilla scent fill my lungs.

  And in this moment I don’t wish for night or perpetual rain. I wish for the sun. Maybe, just maybe, I don’t have room to hate it anymore.

  Okay, I was wrong. There are still quite a few things I hate. Including that damn sun.

  I hate the carpet under my feet. It’s rough and ugly. I hate the clock on the wall, ticking away, reminding me we all have an expiration date. I hate the kid across the aisle, picking his nose and flicking his boogers at me. And I hate his mom for not looking up from her phone and paying closer attention to him.

  But most of all, I hate that I don’t hate any of those things. Not really. Because I know what true hate feels like.

  I hate my mother’s disease, and I hate that there is nothing that can be done to save her.

  I hate that this doctor, the one who’s about to call us in from the waiting room, is going to tell us what we already know. We don’t have much more time.

  “Hadfield.” The nurse smiles, holds the door open, and ushers us into the back rooms. I want to punch her square in the nose. Why is she smiling when my father and I have to help Mom to her feet because she’s forgotten how to put one foot in the front of the other? Mama whimpers, and neither Dad nor I let go of her arms.

  As we shuffle through the halls, the sterile smell of the hospital makes my stomach clench. I look straight ahead, not daring to look into other patient rooms.

  After we get to our room, the young blonde nurse, the one about to bear the brunt of all my anger, pulls out a chair and goes through the intake procedures. I’m about to lose my mind. I want to throw all of this useless equipment against a wall, because I don’t see the point of it anymore.

  It’s already been a long day. Mom was lost inside the house again. She opened and closed the same two doors over and over again, forgetting she had already looked there only seconds before. I tried redirection, dad tried distraction. She just kept looking.

  After thirty minutes, we were finally able to get her to sit down and take some food. I think it was only because she physically exhausted herself to the point of being unable to stand any longer. To be honest, it happens often lately. She spends most of her time in bed, unthinking, unmoving. Dying slowly while we watch her fade.

  Dr. Manzano walks into the room and shakes our hands. “How are we doing today?” he asks. I like this doctor. He has a lot of knowledge and interesting ideas that have been a huge help to us in taking care of Mama.

  “We’re good. Mostly the same as last month. She’s had more periods of confusion and it’s been harder to get her redirected. And she’s sleeping a lot more,” Dad says.

  She doesn’t register anything that’s happening, I can tell. I also know that Dad would love nothing more than to pull her into his arms the way a husband should be able to after being married to his wife for three decades. Sometimes too much contact can make her uncomfortable. She gets uneasy. It kills me to know that no matter how bad we’d love to throw ourselves at her feet and love her with everything in us, she can’t receive it.

  “Unfortunately, that’s probably not going to get better at this point. The most important thing you can do at this stage is make sure she’s comfortable.”

  Dad and I nod, not hearing anything we didn’t expect.

  Dr. Manzano addresses Mom. “How are you feeling, Carol?” He projects his voice nice and loud but at a level that won’t frighten her.

  “I’m good,” she says weakly.

  Dr. Manzano smiles. “Your husband says you’ve been sleeping a lot.”

  “Well yeah, uh… get uh….” She loses her thought.

  “That’s okay. You’re doing good. I see there’s physical therapy on today’s schedule. Do you guys still think she’s up for that?” he asks Dad and me.

  I look at Dad and nod. I always notice an improvement in her mobility afterward. That makes it easier to get her on and off the toilet and out of the shower.

  “Yep. If it’s too much, we can cut out early,” Dad says.

  There’s not much left to do medically. A nurse helps Dad get my mother into the physical therapy room.

  “If you don’t mind, I’d like to speak with you for a moment.”

  Dr. Manzano stops me with a hand on my shoulder, and I regain my seat. “I want to talk with you about your mother’s living situation.”

  If I had hackles, they would rise. “What about it?” I ask defensively. “I’ll stop you right there, Dr. Manzano. We’ve had this discussion before, and I think you know our stance on putting Mom in a home. I don’t look down on people who take that route, but it’s not right for us.”

  He considers for a moment. “With all due respect, Whitley, I don’t feel you or your father are fully prepared for how hard this situation will become.”

  I’m taken aback. How dare he accuse us of not being prepared? I would be the first to admit I played catch-up when I first moved in with my parents, but as things pr
ogress, I’ve made up for that and more. We have a routine… a damn good one.

  “I assure you my father and I have adequately equipped ourselves and our home with everything that makes it easier to care for her.”

  He shakes his head. “I know that. You’ve done a fantastic job thus far. But… do you mind if I speak frankly?”

  I motion for him to continue.

  “I want to make sure you understand that during this last stage of Alzheimer’s, you mother will need round-the-clock care. We both know where this leads. She is not going to survive this. You’re an intelligent woman, Whitley, but have you considered that you or your dad will likely be with her the moment she passes?”

  My world shakes. Because despite all the research I’ve done regarding this disease, every study I’ve poured over, every fragment of blood, sweat, and tears I’ve drained into preparing ourselves, I hadn’t considered that.

  “I can see I’ve given you something to think about. You should go home and speak with your father about this. You have time, so don’t feel rushed. Would it be all right if I had one of my office staff email you with information about a really great care home I’d like you to consider?”

  I swallow hard, picking up my sweater and purse. “Um, sure. Please do. She has my email address.” I don’t realize I’m moving until I see my parents in the physical therapy room. The therapist helps Mom stretch her legs and use some of the equipment.

  She’s already growing frustrated, and they’ve been in here ten minutes, tops. I motion for Dad to cut it short, and he nods.

  By the time we get home, I’m a mass of anxiety and worry, and hiding it as best I can.

  “I’m going to get started on dinner,” I say.

  Dad helps Mom to the couch, and she lies down, shutting her eyes. Physical therapy always wears her out.

  In the kitchen I pull out the ingredients I need to whip up a quick minestrone soup. After I chop the vegetables, the process is simple. Soften by sautéing everything in a pot. Add stock, dump in tomatoes, simmer, season. Save the pasta for ten minutes before serving.

  I don’t care about this soup.