Evie Interrupted, page 4
Pulling the top out of her hands, I said, “Nope. You have to take your clothes off first.”
With her brows squished together, she looked at me. “Take my clothes off?” Her tone was questioning, but not angry.
“Yeah, we need to take your sweater and turtleneck off so we can put these nice soft pajamas on. Do you need me to help you?”
“Do I need you to help me?”
It was never a great sign when the parrot impersonation started. It usually indicated that she was getting annoyed.
“Here, let me help you,” I said, leaning toward her to unbutton her cardigan.
The second the first button was released, Mom slapped my hand away. “I am not doing this!” Her tone was sharp and clipped.
“You can’t sleep in your clothes. Feel how soft this is.” I ran the material across her hand.
“It’s soft.”
“I know. So, let’s take your clothes off and put the soft pjs on.”
With an over exaggerated eye roll she stood from the bed and angrily unbuttoned her sweater. “Jesus Christ! This is the stupidest thing I’ve ever seen!” She placed the cardigan neatly on the bed and sat down.
“Mom, you gotta take off your turtleneck, shoes, and pants.”
As she reached for the cardigan beside her, I picked it up, placing it out of her reach.
“Look at me,” I said, my voice cracking with frustration.
It would be different if this were a rare occasion, but over the past months what should take only ten minutes, tops, sometimes took thirty to forty-five minutes.
“Everything has to come off,” I repeated.
Once again, she abruptly stood, and struggled to pull the turtleneck over her head.
“Let me help you.”
She snarled. “This is the crappiest-ass thing I’ve ever heard, and you are damn stupid!”
No matter how many times biting words and insults were lobbed at me, the initial hit still stung. I forced the hurt down and inwardly repeated my mantra.
It’s the disease talking, not Mom.
It’s the disease talking, not Mom.
It’s the disease talking, not Mom.
On days when I felt like I couldn’t take another minute of this life, her ugly outbursts stabbed me straight through the heart, creating a hole I doubted would ever heal, and I lashed out, screaming horrible words in anger. There were other times when I walked away and hid in the bathroom, trying to calm down. Once the anger dissipated, and only the hurt remained, I could leave my tiled sanctuary, and head back into the trenches. The amount of self-loathing I experienced on those days was stifling. The only saving grace was that Mom wouldn’t remember any of it.
I finally managed to coax her clothes off, replacing them with an adult diaper, the pajamas, and fluffy socks she liked to sleep in. It took another twenty minutes to brush her teeth, get her to go to the bathroom one more time, and get her tucked into bed.
Standing at her door, I asked, “Do you want me to turn off the dresser lamp?”
She looked at me with sleepy eyes and said in a softer tone. “No, don’t turn it off.”
“I hope you have a good night, Mom.”
“I hope I have a good night and you too. Bye-bye.”
“Goodnight, sleep tight, don’t let the bedbugs bite,” I said with a weak smile before gently closing the door.
Memories
I loved my bedroom so much. Mom and I decorated it together. It wasn’t overly girly. The walls were painted mint green, my favorite color. My bed was high up with a white headboard and a white comforter with mint green flowers sprinkled all over it. In one corner sat my matching white desk and chair. The wall directly in front of my bed was a floor-to-ceiling bookcase lined with every book imaginable that a six-year-old could want. The bookcase even had a sliding ladder like in a real library, so I could reach the top shelves.
My absolute favorite times in my room were spent on rainy days reading and at night, lying in bed with Mom as she read a classic to me. Her voice soothed and relaxed me, causing me to drift off to sleep every night.
Snuggled underneath the warm comforter and Mom’s side, I listened as she read one of my all-time favorite books, Charlotte’s Web, for the hundredth time.
“It’s getting late, my dear. We’ll resume the adventures of Charlotte and Wilbur tomorrow night,” she said closing the book.
“Why don’t I have a brother or a sister?”
Mom froze. I knew to her the question seemed out of the blue, but I had been wondering for a long time why most of my friends had a brother, a sister, or both, and some more than one. Since she was done with reading, and I wasn’t all that sleepy, I figured now was as good a time as any to pop the question.
Shifting, Mom placed the book on the nightstand. She turned in my direction and scooted farther down in the bed, bringing us eye-to-eye.
“Well, your father and I wanted a big family.”
“Are you going to give me a little brother or sister?”
“I would love to be able to give you a sibling, Evie.” Mom’s eyes looked sad.
“I’d like to have a sister if that’s okay with you and Dad. I know a lot of things I can teach her. Besides, Maine’s big brother is a smelly jerk, so no boys, please.”
The corners of her mouth lifted slightly.
“I’m afraid me and your dad won’t be able to give you a sister or brother.”
“Why not?”
She blew out a slow sigh. “Sometimes God has different plans for us. Instead of sending a bunch of kids, He sent us an incredibly smart, caring, and sweet one.”
I leaned toward her, so our noses were touching. “You’re talking about me, aren’t you, Mom?”
Brushing the tip of her nose against mine, she said, “Absolutely, positively correct, my dear.”
“Since I can’t have a sister, can I have a puppy?”
Mom’s beautiful face relaxed. I guess talking about puppies made her happier than talking about having babies.
“We will discuss it in the morning. Now, lights out.”
Mom slid from my bed and turned off the lamp on the nightstand. The room was dark except for the glow from my Barbie nightlight.
“Goodnight, sleep tight, don’t let the bedbugs bite,” she said, her silhouette standing in the doorway.
“Goodnight.” The door began to close when I said, “Mom?”
“Yes, Evie?”
“I’m glad you and Dad aren’t going to give me a brother or sister.”
“And why is that?”
“Because if I had one, I’d have to share you. I like having you all to myself.”
“I love you, Evie.”
“I love you too.” With still a slight crack in the door, I yelled, “Mom!”
She poked her head back in my room. “Yes?”
“About that puppy…”
“In the morning, Evelyne Rose Chapman,” she said in a sing-song voice before shutting the door.
Whenever I was called by my full name, I knew not to push it. I decided to get a good night’s sleep and go full force in the morning about the furry addition to the family. If I got Mom on my side, then I knew a ‘yes’ from Dad was a guarantee. As I drifted off to sleep, I thought of awesome names any dog would love to be called.
Charlotte.
Winston.
Bertie
Wilbur.
Spaghettios.
Meatball.
Present
I hoisted the hamper full of dirty clothes and tossed a load of laundry in the wash before pouring myself a glass of wine. Linus was curled up on the sofa sleeping off his supper while I sipped my wine and enjoyed the quiet. Mom wasn’t particularly rowdy and noisy. But when she was awake my mind and body rarely stopped. I had to know where she was at all times, make sure the cabinets were locked, anything that could be a choking hazard was put away, the knobs were off of the stove, and the list went on and on. I’ve yet to experience having a child, but I imagine this is what it’s like.
Millions of thoughts ran through my head from the moment I woke up to the moment I went to bed, and then some. But I’d learned how to master a state of Zen during those still moments. My mind was a complete blank. Not even the hint of a thought swirled. No sooner did that thought enter my head than I heard a light tap on the front door.
Simultaneously, Linus and I hopped up. He spun with excitement as I opened the door. Maine was standing there with a bottle of wine under each arm and a bag of Chinese food.
“Why didn’t you use the key I gave you?” I said, stepping to the side to let her in while gently pushing Linus back with my foot.
“Hey, fleabag,” she teased at Linus. “I thought about it, but then remembered the last time I did, I walked in on your mom, butt naked. Which is fine. We’re all grownups. It’s just a human body. But not something I wanted to repeat any time soon, especially when I’m about to eat.”
“True,” I agreed.
Linus followed Maine into the kitchen as I closed the front door. By the time I joined her the wine was uncorked and Maine was getting herself a glass. She moved around the kitchen like it was her home, which in a way, it was. We spent countless hours in this room talking about boys, dances, crushes, and the future. Funny how it wasn’t that long ago, but it felt like eons.
“Are we drinking or eating first?” She took a sip of her wine.
I held up my glass.
“Drinking it is! We can nuke the food if need be.”
We each grabbed a bottle and the three of us headed to the family room. Maine plopped down on her favorite overstuffed chair with Linus at her feet while I curled up on the sofa.
She took one long swig of wine and said, “Okay, spill.”
I knew what and who she was referring to but wasn’t sure if I was ready to delve into it with her. Maine had always been a hopeless romantic. She believed in the whole “your person” mumbo jumbo. In fact, that’s how the name of her café came about. Dough-Mates was a play on soulmates.
Playing it coy, I said, “I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”
“I call bullshit on that. But let me refresh your memory. The tall, dark-roasted grande?”
“Why do you describe everything using coffee lingo?”
“I don’t describe everything using coffee lingo. Sometimes I use doughnut lingo. Now tell me about your sofa buddy.”
“Butler is hardly my buddy.”
“Oh, Butler,” she moaned. “I like that name.”
“While we’re on the topic, why did you let him stare at me for so long while I was asleep? You’re supposed to be my best friend.”
“That’s why I let his adoring gaze linger on your body.” She raised her glass in a triumphant toast then took a sip.
“Well, next time a stranger lingers around my sleeping body, I ask that you nip it in the bud as soon as possible. I don’t need that in my life.”
“I definitely think you need that in your life. So, ya’ll looked pretty cozy.”
“Looks can be deceiving. He simply lost his keys and thought they’d slipped between the sofa cushions.”
Arching a perfectly shaped dark brow, Maine suggestively muttered, “Uh-huh.”
“He found them.”
“Uh-huh.”
“That’s it. Nothing more.”
“Ev, that dude almost stumbled over himself three times looking back at you as he headed to the exit. That’s definitely something.”
I took a long sip of wine while mulling over her observation.
“So, he looked back a few times. But stumbled? Maine, I think your hopelessly romantic brain is in overdrive. Besides, even if he were into me, it’s pointless. I don’t have time or room in my life for men.”
“Who’s talking men? I’m talking one very hot and charming man.”
“How do you know he’s charming?”
“You can tell a lot about a person from the way they place an order.”
Rolling my eyes, I stretched out my wine glass, indicating I needed a refill. Maine wasted little time pouring me more vino. I knew exactly what she was up to. I became quite a Chatty Cathy when liquored up.
Plopping back down into the chair, she said, “I’m not talking about anything serious, Ev. I just think he’d be a fun thing to do.”
“Maine!”
“What? He’d help you blow off some of the stress you’re under.”
“I won’t. I can’t. I’m not ready.”
It had been six months since Ben ended our engagement. I was well over the heartbreak. If I were being completely honest with myself, my heart didn’t break as much as I thought it would or should. My pity party lasted only a week and a half. I hated to admit it, but in my heart I knew Ben wasn’t my happily ever after. He was more of a distraction than the love of my life.
Being the primary caregiver for someone with an illness was not only stressful, it was isolating and lonely. At times I needed to step out of my world and into another one with fresh air and blue skies. I met Ben one night while having dinner with Maine, bemoaning my situation. Ben and his buddy were sitting at the table next to us. Our eyes met. He smiled. I giggled. Maine went home with his buddy. Ben and I flirted the rest of the night.
We were physically attracted to each other, which was the only thing we had in common. The relationship was fueled by our mutual allure and floated along nicely for quite a while. Then out of the blue he proposed. Several weeks after the de-engagement I found out through the grapevine that Ben felt pressured by his family to settle down. Step one: get married. No one had ever asked me to marry them before, and as stupid as it may sound, I didn’t think saying no was an option. So, I said yes.
Soon after the proposal, Mom’s dementia went through a phase in which it progressed rapidly. One of the weird things about dementia was that the symptoms could hold steady for a while, then all of a sudden spiral downward. The more Mom needed me, the more Ben faded into the background, and from my heart. He was right when he said I didn’t make an effort for him. I didn’t want to because our relationship wasn’t an important priority to me. Ben used me to satisfy his family’s demands, and I used him to escape my life.
“Earth to Evie.” The sound of Maine’s voice pulled me from my thoughts. “I’m sorry about what happened between you and Ben.”
“No, you’re not. You never liked him.”
“That’s not true.”
I narrowed my eyes at her lie.
“I never thought he was good enough for you. I mean, he never once helped you with your mom. Fuck, that bastard never even offered…” Stopping abruptly, she blew out a breath. “Enough about him. He’s ancient history. Our focus is you. It’s time for you to get back up on the horse. Put yourself out there. Have a little masculine fun.”
“I’m insufficient,” I admitted.
“What are you talking about?”
“The dementia isn’t only taking Mom; it’s taking me. With each passing day, month, year, I’m vanishing. The only person I’m good enough for is my mom, and there are days when I question if that’s even true.”
Maine walked over to the sofa and sat next to me. Draping her arm over my shoulder, she pulled me into a sideways hug. “You are more than good enough. Period.”
My throat closed as tears threatened. “There’s no guy out there who would want to get involved in my life, and I can’t say I blame him. I’m a twenty-seven-year-old caregiver who has only a couple of hours of free time a week, which consists of sitting at the café and running errands. Who the hell wants to sign up for that?”
“Your time will come, Evie. That guy is out there for you.”
“It doesn’t matter anymore. The only fella in my life from this point on is old Linus.”
A furry little head popped up at the sound of his name.
“You say that now, but—”
“No matter what my dreams were—graduate school, traveling, marriage, starting a family—I need to let it all go.”
“Well, I’ll keep believing that all of our dreams will come true, until you come back around on the subject.”
“Forever the romantic,” I said wiping my eyes.
“Hell to the yeah.”
I decided it was best to let Maine hold on to her dreams. I loved her optimism. Although I could tell my best friend anything, there were times like today that I missed Mom the most. I wanted to tell her I’d met a guy who seemed really nice, and that, if he asked me out, I’d definitely go. She would be thrilled because Mom was a romantic too. She believed in love at first sight, soulmates, and that there was one true love in the world for each of us.
Maine and I sat silent for a few seconds until the sound of footsteps from the other room caught our attention. Getting up to investigate, we encountered the sight of Mom in the kitchen, wearing what looked to be about three sweaters, socks, a pair of tennis shoes, and no pants. Lifting the lid of the doughnut box I’d left on the countertop, she grabbed one and scurried back to her bedroom, bare ass jiggling all the way.
Draping her arm around my shoulders, my best friend said, “You have to admit, there’s never a dull moment with your mom.”
Bringing the glass to my lips, I tilted my head back, and chugged the rest of my wine.
Memories
Looking in the mirror I checked one last time, making sure my hair was pinned and secured.
Mom handed me the cap. “Have I told you how incredibly proud I am of you, sweetheart?”
Pretending to be annoyed, I rolled my eyes. “Only about a million times.”
She stood next to me, our reflections looking back at us. We were the same height with similar delicate features. I was almost the spitting image of her except that I was a bit curvier. Plus, I hadn’t developed the quiet confidence Mom possessed. I guessed that came with age and experience. As time passed, you understood more what was profoundly important.
“Evie, it’s such an exciting time in your life. Graduating from high school with honors and Harvard in the fall. There are so many adventures out there waiting for you.” Her eyes misted over.
“Mom, we’re supposed to be celebrating today. No tears.”
With her brows squished together, she looked at me. “Take my clothes off?” Her tone was questioning, but not angry.
“Yeah, we need to take your sweater and turtleneck off so we can put these nice soft pajamas on. Do you need me to help you?”
“Do I need you to help me?”
It was never a great sign when the parrot impersonation started. It usually indicated that she was getting annoyed.
“Here, let me help you,” I said, leaning toward her to unbutton her cardigan.
The second the first button was released, Mom slapped my hand away. “I am not doing this!” Her tone was sharp and clipped.
“You can’t sleep in your clothes. Feel how soft this is.” I ran the material across her hand.
“It’s soft.”
“I know. So, let’s take your clothes off and put the soft pjs on.”
With an over exaggerated eye roll she stood from the bed and angrily unbuttoned her sweater. “Jesus Christ! This is the stupidest thing I’ve ever seen!” She placed the cardigan neatly on the bed and sat down.
“Mom, you gotta take off your turtleneck, shoes, and pants.”
As she reached for the cardigan beside her, I picked it up, placing it out of her reach.
“Look at me,” I said, my voice cracking with frustration.
It would be different if this were a rare occasion, but over the past months what should take only ten minutes, tops, sometimes took thirty to forty-five minutes.
“Everything has to come off,” I repeated.
Once again, she abruptly stood, and struggled to pull the turtleneck over her head.
“Let me help you.”
She snarled. “This is the crappiest-ass thing I’ve ever heard, and you are damn stupid!”
No matter how many times biting words and insults were lobbed at me, the initial hit still stung. I forced the hurt down and inwardly repeated my mantra.
It’s the disease talking, not Mom.
It’s the disease talking, not Mom.
It’s the disease talking, not Mom.
On days when I felt like I couldn’t take another minute of this life, her ugly outbursts stabbed me straight through the heart, creating a hole I doubted would ever heal, and I lashed out, screaming horrible words in anger. There were other times when I walked away and hid in the bathroom, trying to calm down. Once the anger dissipated, and only the hurt remained, I could leave my tiled sanctuary, and head back into the trenches. The amount of self-loathing I experienced on those days was stifling. The only saving grace was that Mom wouldn’t remember any of it.
I finally managed to coax her clothes off, replacing them with an adult diaper, the pajamas, and fluffy socks she liked to sleep in. It took another twenty minutes to brush her teeth, get her to go to the bathroom one more time, and get her tucked into bed.
Standing at her door, I asked, “Do you want me to turn off the dresser lamp?”
She looked at me with sleepy eyes and said in a softer tone. “No, don’t turn it off.”
“I hope you have a good night, Mom.”
“I hope I have a good night and you too. Bye-bye.”
“Goodnight, sleep tight, don’t let the bedbugs bite,” I said with a weak smile before gently closing the door.
Memories
I loved my bedroom so much. Mom and I decorated it together. It wasn’t overly girly. The walls were painted mint green, my favorite color. My bed was high up with a white headboard and a white comforter with mint green flowers sprinkled all over it. In one corner sat my matching white desk and chair. The wall directly in front of my bed was a floor-to-ceiling bookcase lined with every book imaginable that a six-year-old could want. The bookcase even had a sliding ladder like in a real library, so I could reach the top shelves.
My absolute favorite times in my room were spent on rainy days reading and at night, lying in bed with Mom as she read a classic to me. Her voice soothed and relaxed me, causing me to drift off to sleep every night.
Snuggled underneath the warm comforter and Mom’s side, I listened as she read one of my all-time favorite books, Charlotte’s Web, for the hundredth time.
“It’s getting late, my dear. We’ll resume the adventures of Charlotte and Wilbur tomorrow night,” she said closing the book.
“Why don’t I have a brother or a sister?”
Mom froze. I knew to her the question seemed out of the blue, but I had been wondering for a long time why most of my friends had a brother, a sister, or both, and some more than one. Since she was done with reading, and I wasn’t all that sleepy, I figured now was as good a time as any to pop the question.
Shifting, Mom placed the book on the nightstand. She turned in my direction and scooted farther down in the bed, bringing us eye-to-eye.
“Well, your father and I wanted a big family.”
“Are you going to give me a little brother or sister?”
“I would love to be able to give you a sibling, Evie.” Mom’s eyes looked sad.
“I’d like to have a sister if that’s okay with you and Dad. I know a lot of things I can teach her. Besides, Maine’s big brother is a smelly jerk, so no boys, please.”
The corners of her mouth lifted slightly.
“I’m afraid me and your dad won’t be able to give you a sister or brother.”
“Why not?”
She blew out a slow sigh. “Sometimes God has different plans for us. Instead of sending a bunch of kids, He sent us an incredibly smart, caring, and sweet one.”
I leaned toward her, so our noses were touching. “You’re talking about me, aren’t you, Mom?”
Brushing the tip of her nose against mine, she said, “Absolutely, positively correct, my dear.”
“Since I can’t have a sister, can I have a puppy?”
Mom’s beautiful face relaxed. I guess talking about puppies made her happier than talking about having babies.
“We will discuss it in the morning. Now, lights out.”
Mom slid from my bed and turned off the lamp on the nightstand. The room was dark except for the glow from my Barbie nightlight.
“Goodnight, sleep tight, don’t let the bedbugs bite,” she said, her silhouette standing in the doorway.
“Goodnight.” The door began to close when I said, “Mom?”
“Yes, Evie?”
“I’m glad you and Dad aren’t going to give me a brother or sister.”
“And why is that?”
“Because if I had one, I’d have to share you. I like having you all to myself.”
“I love you, Evie.”
“I love you too.” With still a slight crack in the door, I yelled, “Mom!”
She poked her head back in my room. “Yes?”
“About that puppy…”
“In the morning, Evelyne Rose Chapman,” she said in a sing-song voice before shutting the door.
Whenever I was called by my full name, I knew not to push it. I decided to get a good night’s sleep and go full force in the morning about the furry addition to the family. If I got Mom on my side, then I knew a ‘yes’ from Dad was a guarantee. As I drifted off to sleep, I thought of awesome names any dog would love to be called.
Charlotte.
Winston.
Bertie
Wilbur.
Spaghettios.
Meatball.
Present
I hoisted the hamper full of dirty clothes and tossed a load of laundry in the wash before pouring myself a glass of wine. Linus was curled up on the sofa sleeping off his supper while I sipped my wine and enjoyed the quiet. Mom wasn’t particularly rowdy and noisy. But when she was awake my mind and body rarely stopped. I had to know where she was at all times, make sure the cabinets were locked, anything that could be a choking hazard was put away, the knobs were off of the stove, and the list went on and on. I’ve yet to experience having a child, but I imagine this is what it’s like.
Millions of thoughts ran through my head from the moment I woke up to the moment I went to bed, and then some. But I’d learned how to master a state of Zen during those still moments. My mind was a complete blank. Not even the hint of a thought swirled. No sooner did that thought enter my head than I heard a light tap on the front door.
Simultaneously, Linus and I hopped up. He spun with excitement as I opened the door. Maine was standing there with a bottle of wine under each arm and a bag of Chinese food.
“Why didn’t you use the key I gave you?” I said, stepping to the side to let her in while gently pushing Linus back with my foot.
“Hey, fleabag,” she teased at Linus. “I thought about it, but then remembered the last time I did, I walked in on your mom, butt naked. Which is fine. We’re all grownups. It’s just a human body. But not something I wanted to repeat any time soon, especially when I’m about to eat.”
“True,” I agreed.
Linus followed Maine into the kitchen as I closed the front door. By the time I joined her the wine was uncorked and Maine was getting herself a glass. She moved around the kitchen like it was her home, which in a way, it was. We spent countless hours in this room talking about boys, dances, crushes, and the future. Funny how it wasn’t that long ago, but it felt like eons.
“Are we drinking or eating first?” She took a sip of her wine.
I held up my glass.
“Drinking it is! We can nuke the food if need be.”
We each grabbed a bottle and the three of us headed to the family room. Maine plopped down on her favorite overstuffed chair with Linus at her feet while I curled up on the sofa.
She took one long swig of wine and said, “Okay, spill.”
I knew what and who she was referring to but wasn’t sure if I was ready to delve into it with her. Maine had always been a hopeless romantic. She believed in the whole “your person” mumbo jumbo. In fact, that’s how the name of her café came about. Dough-Mates was a play on soulmates.
Playing it coy, I said, “I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”
“I call bullshit on that. But let me refresh your memory. The tall, dark-roasted grande?”
“Why do you describe everything using coffee lingo?”
“I don’t describe everything using coffee lingo. Sometimes I use doughnut lingo. Now tell me about your sofa buddy.”
“Butler is hardly my buddy.”
“Oh, Butler,” she moaned. “I like that name.”
“While we’re on the topic, why did you let him stare at me for so long while I was asleep? You’re supposed to be my best friend.”
“That’s why I let his adoring gaze linger on your body.” She raised her glass in a triumphant toast then took a sip.
“Well, next time a stranger lingers around my sleeping body, I ask that you nip it in the bud as soon as possible. I don’t need that in my life.”
“I definitely think you need that in your life. So, ya’ll looked pretty cozy.”
“Looks can be deceiving. He simply lost his keys and thought they’d slipped between the sofa cushions.”
Arching a perfectly shaped dark brow, Maine suggestively muttered, “Uh-huh.”
“He found them.”
“Uh-huh.”
“That’s it. Nothing more.”
“Ev, that dude almost stumbled over himself three times looking back at you as he headed to the exit. That’s definitely something.”
I took a long sip of wine while mulling over her observation.
“So, he looked back a few times. But stumbled? Maine, I think your hopelessly romantic brain is in overdrive. Besides, even if he were into me, it’s pointless. I don’t have time or room in my life for men.”
“Who’s talking men? I’m talking one very hot and charming man.”
“How do you know he’s charming?”
“You can tell a lot about a person from the way they place an order.”
Rolling my eyes, I stretched out my wine glass, indicating I needed a refill. Maine wasted little time pouring me more vino. I knew exactly what she was up to. I became quite a Chatty Cathy when liquored up.
Plopping back down into the chair, she said, “I’m not talking about anything serious, Ev. I just think he’d be a fun thing to do.”
“Maine!”
“What? He’d help you blow off some of the stress you’re under.”
“I won’t. I can’t. I’m not ready.”
It had been six months since Ben ended our engagement. I was well over the heartbreak. If I were being completely honest with myself, my heart didn’t break as much as I thought it would or should. My pity party lasted only a week and a half. I hated to admit it, but in my heart I knew Ben wasn’t my happily ever after. He was more of a distraction than the love of my life.
Being the primary caregiver for someone with an illness was not only stressful, it was isolating and lonely. At times I needed to step out of my world and into another one with fresh air and blue skies. I met Ben one night while having dinner with Maine, bemoaning my situation. Ben and his buddy were sitting at the table next to us. Our eyes met. He smiled. I giggled. Maine went home with his buddy. Ben and I flirted the rest of the night.
We were physically attracted to each other, which was the only thing we had in common. The relationship was fueled by our mutual allure and floated along nicely for quite a while. Then out of the blue he proposed. Several weeks after the de-engagement I found out through the grapevine that Ben felt pressured by his family to settle down. Step one: get married. No one had ever asked me to marry them before, and as stupid as it may sound, I didn’t think saying no was an option. So, I said yes.
Soon after the proposal, Mom’s dementia went through a phase in which it progressed rapidly. One of the weird things about dementia was that the symptoms could hold steady for a while, then all of a sudden spiral downward. The more Mom needed me, the more Ben faded into the background, and from my heart. He was right when he said I didn’t make an effort for him. I didn’t want to because our relationship wasn’t an important priority to me. Ben used me to satisfy his family’s demands, and I used him to escape my life.
“Earth to Evie.” The sound of Maine’s voice pulled me from my thoughts. “I’m sorry about what happened between you and Ben.”
“No, you’re not. You never liked him.”
“That’s not true.”
I narrowed my eyes at her lie.
“I never thought he was good enough for you. I mean, he never once helped you with your mom. Fuck, that bastard never even offered…” Stopping abruptly, she blew out a breath. “Enough about him. He’s ancient history. Our focus is you. It’s time for you to get back up on the horse. Put yourself out there. Have a little masculine fun.”
“I’m insufficient,” I admitted.
“What are you talking about?”
“The dementia isn’t only taking Mom; it’s taking me. With each passing day, month, year, I’m vanishing. The only person I’m good enough for is my mom, and there are days when I question if that’s even true.”
Maine walked over to the sofa and sat next to me. Draping her arm over my shoulder, she pulled me into a sideways hug. “You are more than good enough. Period.”
My throat closed as tears threatened. “There’s no guy out there who would want to get involved in my life, and I can’t say I blame him. I’m a twenty-seven-year-old caregiver who has only a couple of hours of free time a week, which consists of sitting at the café and running errands. Who the hell wants to sign up for that?”
“Your time will come, Evie. That guy is out there for you.”
“It doesn’t matter anymore. The only fella in my life from this point on is old Linus.”
A furry little head popped up at the sound of his name.
“You say that now, but—”
“No matter what my dreams were—graduate school, traveling, marriage, starting a family—I need to let it all go.”
“Well, I’ll keep believing that all of our dreams will come true, until you come back around on the subject.”
“Forever the romantic,” I said wiping my eyes.
“Hell to the yeah.”
I decided it was best to let Maine hold on to her dreams. I loved her optimism. Although I could tell my best friend anything, there were times like today that I missed Mom the most. I wanted to tell her I’d met a guy who seemed really nice, and that, if he asked me out, I’d definitely go. She would be thrilled because Mom was a romantic too. She believed in love at first sight, soulmates, and that there was one true love in the world for each of us.
Maine and I sat silent for a few seconds until the sound of footsteps from the other room caught our attention. Getting up to investigate, we encountered the sight of Mom in the kitchen, wearing what looked to be about three sweaters, socks, a pair of tennis shoes, and no pants. Lifting the lid of the doughnut box I’d left on the countertop, she grabbed one and scurried back to her bedroom, bare ass jiggling all the way.
Draping her arm around my shoulders, my best friend said, “You have to admit, there’s never a dull moment with your mom.”
Bringing the glass to my lips, I tilted my head back, and chugged the rest of my wine.
Memories
Looking in the mirror I checked one last time, making sure my hair was pinned and secured.
Mom handed me the cap. “Have I told you how incredibly proud I am of you, sweetheart?”
Pretending to be annoyed, I rolled my eyes. “Only about a million times.”
She stood next to me, our reflections looking back at us. We were the same height with similar delicate features. I was almost the spitting image of her except that I was a bit curvier. Plus, I hadn’t developed the quiet confidence Mom possessed. I guessed that came with age and experience. As time passed, you understood more what was profoundly important.
“Evie, it’s such an exciting time in your life. Graduating from high school with honors and Harvard in the fall. There are so many adventures out there waiting for you.” Her eyes misted over.
“Mom, we’re supposed to be celebrating today. No tears.”
