by Piper Rayne
*
I half hoped when I got on the train this morning, that I’d run into Blanca. She left me a cryptic message last night about how she was staying in but didn’t mention anything about Sierra. I would have gone over there too if not for Dylan keeping me at Ink Envy for the night.
Now that I head to the bus to get to my mom’s, I realize how blinded I’ve become since she entered my life. Everything I do revolves around me thinking of her and it’s only been weeks. How did I think I’d be able to not be with her?
With a two hour commute between the train and bus, I have way too much time to think. She’s become an obsession. I really hope I see Blanca on the train tonight. Sierra might have poisoned me in her head.
I stop at the grocery store on the corner, picking up a few items to make for dinner. My cell phone rings while I’m weighing the grapes, but I take the call anyway in case it’s Blanca.
“Hey Mom,” I answer.
“You’ve left already?”
Her depressed tone puts me on alert.
“I’m already at Berwins.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. Your dad isn’t doing well today, so they said visitors might not be welcome.”
“I’m still here to see you.”
We refrain from communicating that she’s the only reason I come home every Sunday. To leave enough food in her fridge for the week. To go through the mail and water her plants.
“Do you want me to meet you?”
I glance at my mostly empty cart. “Nah, I’m almost done. Is Kori there yet?”
“No. She said she’ll be a little late.”
“Okay. Well I shouldn’t be more than a half hour.”
“I should come down. Pay for the groceries at least.”
“It’s fine Mom, relax. I’ll be there shortly.”
“Thanks.”
Her gratitude has much more of a deep meaning because the last thing she wants to do is come down to the grocery store and we both know she barely has enough money to survive. On her only day off from work, she shouldn’t have to spend it on her feet.
I grab enough groceries for her to last the week and the ingredients to make hamburgers and a pasta salad. I even stop at the bakery and buy the Polish cookies my mom loves with the dried cherry in the middle.
By the time I’m finished I’m thankful I didn’t run into anyone I know because with people from the neighborhood come questions. And I’m not up for answering any questions about where my dad is and how come I moved so far away from home. I don’t need that guilt today.
I use my key to get into my mom’s apartment building and walk up the three flights of stairs. As the door creaks open I find her on the couch with the television on and I already know what today will bring.
“Mom?”
She glances over her shoulder, sniffles and tries to hide the fact she’s crying. It shouldn’t piss me off that my dad has made her cry almost every day since I was twelve. It’s not entirely his fault.
“Let me help you.” She stands and tries to move all the papers off the small two-person kitchen table by the window that looks out onto the fire escape.
Helping me unpack the groceries, she smiles at the cookies like I made her year. It’s the reason I’m here every Sunday. For that look.
“How’s work?” I ask, putting away all the items that belong in the fridge.
“It’s okay. The hours were cut at the deli for a few part-timers. Thankfully, not me though.”
“Truth is, I wouldn’t mind if your hours were cut. You’re on your feet too much.” I shut the fridge door.
“Come and tell me about this girl at work.” She pats a spot on the couch beside her.
“I told you it’s new.”
She smiles over at me. “I know mi Tesoro and she’s someone special.”
Little does she know and I’m not about to bring my drama into her life. She already lives what feels like an episode of a sixty-minute drama on TV. Who else is stuck in their own personal hell every day?
“At least tell me her astrological sign? You know Sagittarius is your best bet.”
Her phone rings and the smile she had lights up even more as she hurries up to answer it. I’m just happy for the reprieve.
“Hello.” She pauses. Her smile dims slightly but then beams again. “Oh great. My son was disappointed. He comes all the way from Cliffton Heights every Sunday to see his dad. Thank you for calling.” She hangs up and stands, grabbing the cookies and tucking the container in the bag she fills for him every week. “Come on. Your dad can have visitors.”
“What about Kori?”
My mom pauses for a second. “Text her and tell her to meet us there.”
I desperately want to tell her that I’ll stay here to prepare dinner. That after everything with Blanca, I don’t have it in me to deal with my family issues at the moment. When I woke up this morning, I thought I’d call with a sick voice in the hopes Blanca would come over, but I couldn’t do that to my mom.
Like the good son, I stand, pull out my phone, and text my sister to meet us at Willows Court Assisted Living. Her thumbs up emoji says she’s about as excited as I am to travel down memory lane.
“Hurry. You know how badly he misses us.” My mom opens up her apartment door, shooing me out with her hand.
Walking past her it’s hard not to smile at her excitement but I wonder sometimes if it’s fake. Regardless, I’m not the one who’s gonna call mercy on our happy family.
Being poor just extends to your medical care as you get older. Willow Court Assisted Living doesn’t greet you with a majestic building and a beautiful water fountain in the middle of a courtyard. There isn’t a long drive up past iron gates and white pillars bookmarking the front door. White Court Assisted Living is a fifteen-story building in the middle of the Bronx with graffiti sprayed on the brick exterior.
It’s a mixture of regular people growing old and people who have no idea they’re growing old. Sadly, my dad is the latter of that group. But every Sunday, my mother drags us through the sliding glass doors, past the array of wheelchairs and the noxious smell of a lack of hope to the double-paned windows where we each get a sticker labeled visitor.
We head up to the thirteenth floor where the memory care department is. I guess the belief is it takes longer for an Alzheimer’s patient to make it down the remaining floors which makes it harder to lose track of a patient.
“Oh, he’s going to be so happy to see you.” My mom beams at me as the elevator rises. I bet Kori bails.
The elevator doors open and there sit five older men and one older woman in wheelchairs in front of the nurse’s station. The scent of antibacterial wipes and sterilization accosts my nostrils and I choke on the vomit rising up my throat.
“Beth!” My mom waves to my dad’s favorite nurse. A nurse that half the time he doesn’t even recognize.
“He’s all dressed and ready for you guys in the living quarters.”
My mom gives me the shocked expression she does every time he’s not in his room. You’d think he got his memory back from how excited she is.
We navigate the path to the living quarters which is a small space for family to spend time with their loved one. We find dad where he usually is—at the chessboard playing another patient. Amazing how he can’t remember to go to the bathroom or feed himself, but the man can still checkmate you in three moves.
“Xavier!” my mom practically screams, and I swear every other male in the room besides my dad looks up to her. “Xavier,” she says again, lower this time, weaving through the tables and chairs to my dad’s table.
He’s in jeans and a T-shirt that says, “I’m kind of a big dill” it’s green and the pickle has a top hat while thrusting. He wears it every day unless the nurse says it’s lost which just means they need to wash it. I’m not even sure he understands the meaning. At first my mom fought with him about wearing a different shirt but as with everything she grew tired and now compliments him on it.
He moves his queen an
d the opponent, who I’m not even sure knows he’s playing chess, accepts defeat easily.
“Xavier,” my mom says again like she just ran ten miles and is out of breath.
He stares at her for a moment with a blank look. She takes out the photo when they went to the prom and then their wedding. He stares at the picture she puts in front of him. They’re both labeled with marker. She points to herself, “Maya.” Then she points to the picture. “Xavier.” She points to him and then to herself again. “And Maya.” She holds out her hand with the ring and takes my father’s hand to lay along hers.
There was a point in my life when that hand scared the crap out of me.
My dad smiles but I’m not sure he understands she’s his wife. His vision shifts around the room, landing on me sitting in the chair across from him and he starts positioning the chess pieces on the table. I glance at my mom. There’s no way I’m playing chess with the man. My mom’s pleading eyes says different and I already know before I straighten in my chair that I’ll be playing chess.
“Call Kori,” I tell my mom.
She ignores me and puts a picture of me at age ten in front of my dad. “Ethan. Tu Bebe,” she says.
He looks at the picture and there’s the smile. The wide smile like he’s so proud to have a son. “Mio?” he asks and my mom’s eyes well up. I swear she gets off on this every time. Wait until Kori shows up.
My mom nods, wiping a tear. My dad reaches over and touches my hand with his. It’s cold and not calloused like it used to be. He moves his pawn and my mom stands to call Kori.
“Did I tell you that I’m in line for a big promotion,” my dad says after my mom walks away. “Maybe vice president. That’s where hard work will get you, Ethan. A vice presidency.”
I nod and don’t say anything.
“What about Little League this year? With your arm, you should play. I was telling Dick Heddle just yesterday how my hand stung when we were playing catch after dinner the other night.”
I move my pawn and say nothing because I’m no longer the eight-year-old boy he thinks I am and I’m not going to play along. The worst part about having a parent with Alzheimer’s isn’t the fact that he doesn’t remember you most of the time, the worst part is he doesn’t remember all the shitty things he did to his family. All he remembers is the king he thought he was before he got fired and forgot the hard work mentality he once preached to me.
“Kori can’t come. She said she’ll meet us at home.”
“That’s nonsense, Maya, tell your mom to bring her here.”
My mom stares at me for a moment. “You’re right, Xavier, I’ll call her now.”
I roll my eyes and continue playing chess without recognizing I could’ve already checkmated him. Because no matter how much I resent him, I’m not going to rob him of being the chess champion.
What could be worse than this?
My cell phone vibrates in my pocket, but I silence it, trying to be the dutiful son. When the voicemail notification sounds, I pick it up to listen.
“Hey, Ethan, it’s Blanca. I’d hoped to talk to you. I told Sierra and I’m sorry, but I just can’t see you anymore. I’m with her now and thought I could call you while she talks with her dad. I’ll talk to you tomorrow at work. We can still be co-worker BFFs though. I’m sorry.”
She’s got to be kidding me. She ended us with a voicemail?
I pocket my phone and move my knight. Rage is quick to overtake me. I want to stand from this table and call her and demand for her to see me. Tell her I’ll deal with Sierra myself.
“Chess is a lot like life, Ethan. It’s all about strategy,” my dad says.
I huff. Who would’ve guessed my dad could still give me great advice just when I need it. Winning Blanca Mancini over will be just a like a game of chess. Good thing I’ve been playing since I was six.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Blanca
*
Walking into Mars And Venus on Monday morning sucks. No one knows about my short-lived affair with Ethan, because the guy has no idea how much his co-workers don’t care for him. His cold shoulder toward everyone who shares the same company name on their paychecks pays off for me today because as I smile at Mandy and head down the hall to my cubicle, I don’t have to worry about knowing looks.
I reach my cubicle and he’s there. Not at his desk, at mine, in my chair, tossing a stress ball in the shape of a money bag from hand to hand.
“Ethan,” I say, and he spins around.
I do a quick scan of what he’s wearing and wonder if he upped his outfit today just to tempt me. He’s in a pair of jeans and a button-down with the sleeves rolled up, his hair perfect, his smile on point. The disappointment that I only got to sleep with him a handful of times weighs heavy in my ovaries.
“Did you not go home to your parents’ last night?” he asks.
I open up my drawer and drop my purse inside then set my bagel and coffee on the desk. “I went to Sierra’s dad’s place instead. We took a different train home.”
“To dodge me?”
I blow out a breath. “Of course to dodge you.” I look around and duck my head, lowering my voice. “I told you in the message. We can’t be together.”
“Did she just flat out say no?”
I grab his arm to pull him out of my chair. He only ends up taking residence on my filing cabinet. “She said I could date you, but it just doesn’t feel right. She didn’t mean it.”
A hollow laugh falls from his mouth. “Let me guess. She told you I was an asshole but that you should do what you want.”
I sigh. “I saw how hurt she was, okay?”
“She’s so passive-aggressive it’s ridiculous. So that’s it then? We’re just over before we really even began?”
“What do you want? If I recall correctly, you never wanted this to start in the first place. So here you go, you’re off the hook.”
“That’s not true.” His voice raises and I stand up, covering his mouth with my hand.
“There are people here.”
He nods and I release his mouth. He purposely slides his tongue out and licks his bottom lip. All I remember for a moment is the way his teeth would bite down on my lower lip. “I had my reservations, but that all ended the minute I brought you to my apartment. I told you I was all in.”
“Listen.”
Just as we’re about to get to the point, Mr. Copeland comes by, standing idle in the cubicle opening for a moment observing us. My heart beats like a bass drum in my chest. If he senses we’re in a relationship, it could be the end of our jobs. Finally he smiles. “I need to know what you guys are writing about this week. You two were supposed to turn something in already.”
“Sorry, do you mind if we take the conference room this morning to talk it out?” Ethan asks.
I narrow my eyes a little at him. The two of us in a conference room with closed doors and no windows is not a good idea.
Mr. Copeland’s smile grows. “Sure. And I have you two booked for a photo shoot Wednesday in the downtown area. They want to do an outside vibe by the river.”
“Perfect.” Ethan smiles.
My lips turn down at the corners. Since when is he so agreeable?
Mr. Copeland fixates on Ethan for a moment before knocking on the cubicle wall and heading down the hall.
Ethan jumps down from the filing cabinet. “Time to go to the conference room I guess.” He leans forward and I rear back. “Now, now, I do hope you can keep your hands to yourself since we’re just co-workers and all.”
He disappears and I hear him gather his stuff before he returns to the opening of my cubicle with his notebook, coffee, and bagel. “Ready?”
I turn around with a huff and grab my things.
He waves his hand out in some grand gesture. “After you, work BFF.”
My shoulders slump but I go first. Halfway down the hall, he passes me. “Sorry, I can’t look at your ass anymore,” he whispers as he passes. He opens up the conference r
oom door and it dawns on me how secluded we really are in here. He closes the door after I sit down.
“I think we can leave the door open,” I say.
“No, we have top secret stuff to talk about.”
Taking what would usually be Mr. Copeland’s chair, Ethan’s leg touches mine and I retract from the contact. “What are you doing?”
“Nothing. Sorry.” He peeks under the table. “Thought it was the table leg.”
“Ethan.”
“Blanca.”
“She was my friend.”
“Was?” He raises both his eyebrows.
“We were close and yes we parted ways, but she brought me here. Gave me a place to live. A place to start over. We’re just getting our friendship back on track and I missed it, okay? I don’t have a ton of girlfriends and I can’t go against girl code the first month of a friendship. It’s wrong. Especially since…”
It doesn’t matter what he thinks. He doesn’t have to know all the reasons I made my decision.
“Especially?” He leans back, crossing his arms. Cocky and arrogant like usual.
“You weren’t exactly doing cartwheels to get me to go out with you. I’m not going to throw away a friendship for what could be a few more dates and then you’re sick of me.”
“Huh,” he says and sits up straighter in the chair, grabbing his coffee and sipping it.
“What?” I ask with a whine in my voice.
“It’s just that a few nights ago, we agreed we shared something special. Something neither of us has felt with someone else, but now you’re so quick to give it up.”
My hands land on the table with a thud. “She’s my friend.”
“Okay.” He shrugs.
“Okay as in you’ll stop all this ridiculous behavior?”
“I was acting ridiculous? I was just being what you wanted me to be. Your work BFF, right?”
“We can be friends.”
“Okay. We’ll be friends. Let’s talk about the articles then.”
“Perfect.” I smile. Maybe we can overcome what’s happened between us, as difficult as that seems.
“I say we pick Are Bestie’s Ex’s Off The Table?” I slam my pen down and Ethan laughs. “I’m kidding.”