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“Yes. No. Mama, can we talk about something?”
“Of course, honey, hold on for a minute. I’ll come home.”
“What home, Mama? I’m here… in California.”
“California? Why or earth would you be there?”
Stunned by what she tells me, my lips tremble, the bile in my throat rising. “Mama, I moved to California, remember, with Flynn?”
The tears fall down my face, unwillingly. I have no control. I’ve lost her. The pain, a tidal wave of emotions. My sobbing is broken apart by the short pauses, my head falling between my legs to shield my hollowness.
“I know that, silly. How is Flynn?”
“Good,” I choke, breathing in and out to disguise my grief. “Mama, is everything okay?”
“Everything’s fine. I’m sorry, sweetie, it’s late. How about we speak tomorrow?”
“But Mama…” I wail, softly but laced with desperation. “I need to talk to you.”
“I know, honey, but I’m so tired. I promise, first thing when I wake up, we’ll talk, okay?”
She says goodbye so quickly, not giving me a chance to get in another word. I don’t allow another minute to pass, calling the manager at the facility. After getting the run-around, and raising my voice at Deidre, I’m finally put through to the head manager, Mrs. Scullino.
“Miss Milenov, I understand your concern, but it’s quite late, and I have some last-minute patients I have to attend to. I think it’s best we schedule a phone meeting.”
“This is a phone meeting. I want to know what’s happening with my mother,” I sputter, momentarily beyond words. “She’s not the same. Some of the things she says… I don’t understand why this is happening so quickly.”
I can hear the sigh on the other end. “Miss Milenov, you sound tired. I really think it’s best we discuss your mother’s condition when you’re in a more rational state.”
“Don’t…” I cry into the receiver. “Don’t tell me I’m not rational. My mother is sick. I need her… do you understand that?”
“Miss Milenov, if you must know, I’m recommending we do some further testing. Her dementia may be an onset of something else. Given her age, and her regular health has been good, I do have some concerns.”
I can barely breathe, my body like jelly yet shaking from the cold that sweeps into the room. As I begin to hyperventilate, unable to form my words to make any sense, Mrs. Scullino attempts to calm me down.
“I come from a big family, being Italian, of course. I understand how much it hurts to find out a loved one isn’t well,” she says, sedately. “If you can come up and see her in the next few days, we can talk about our next steps.”
Through the pain and heartache, I agree to fly up and spend some much-needed time with Mama. I have to invest all my energy into making her better before she gets any worse.
We hang up the phone, yet I continue to sit here numb. I have never felt so alone. This life I have created is nothing like I expected. I may be surrounded by people, though the loneliness is palpable. Here I am, drowning, barely able to stay afloat, lost in the dark seas and moving further and further away from the light.
Desperate to find Flynn and beg him to fly home with me, I grab the note on the fridge with the address he posted. I decide against changing outfits, running out the door in a mad rush and driving in a manic state toward the venue.
Although the club is a few miles away, the traffic doesn’t let up at this hour. Red lights, rows and rows of vehicles, desperate to get somewhere and all just as impatient as me. The grueling pace gives me too much time to think. I don’t want to think.
My fingers fumble with the radio, twisting the volume to maximum and allowing the song to blast through the speakers. It’s some love song that irks me. I press another button, welcoming a rap song about fucking someone’s wife or bitch. I can’t quite figure it out.
The club is busy with a line of girls outside dressed in short skirts and hooker heels waiting while trying to flirt with the security guard.
I don’t hold back, demanding to get in because my brother is part of the band. After an hour of cross-checking, I may have just as well waited in the line.
I move quickly past security, cramming like a sardine amongst the crowd. I search the stage, seeing only the equipment and no Flynn. Bumping my way through the crowds, I finally see Flynn at the back. He’s talking to someone, and I yell, though pointless, through the loud noise. He hasn’t noticed me yet, and as I walk toward him, my frustration mounts with the tight crowds and hot air inside.
Movin
g in closer, Wesley appears beside him. Still dressed in his suit from tonight, he leans into Flynn whispering something into his ear. He extends his hand, Flynn shaking it until he pulls back. Flynn clutches his fist, dropping his gaze with a satisfied smile. My blood begins to spike, and with a brutal push against the people blocking my way, the adrenaline kickstarts—my heart hammering erratically.
“What did you give him?”
