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Paisley
MY MOTHER NIBBLES at the tiny bite of fried bread impaled on the tines of her fork, giving Oliver, the chef who prepares all of our meals now, an exaggerated nod. “Delicious.”
His face brightens up immediately. “I was hoping you would like it.”
My mother manages another nibble. “Do you make this for your little girl?”
In the short time she’s been here my mother has managed to learn as much as she can about the lives of everyone around her. Their spouses. Children.
Favorite colors.
Hopes and dreams.
She asks about all of it.
Oliver gives her a quick grin. “I’m not sure she would appreciate all the rum.”
My mother nods along, eyes wide. “That does make sense.”
Oliver backs toward the door. “I’ll let you enjoy your breakfast.”
As soon as he’s gone my mother leans close to me. “Did he say rum?”
I manage a smile, giving her a nod. “It’s eggnog French toast.” I shove a bite of my own breakfast into my mouth, hoping it will encourage her to do the same. “Eggnog has a bunch of rum in it.”
“That’s right.” My mother’s gaze is a little empty this morning. “I forgot he said that.”
She’s been forgetting a lot lately. Not me, or the names of anyone around us, but events and conversations seem to evaporate right before my eyes.
I point to her barely touched breakfast. “You better eat up. You need as many carbs as you can get so you’ll be full of energy for the party Saturday.”
I try to remind her about important things, the things I don’t want her to forget, and the party Andre’s throwing is one of them.
Especially since I know this party is for her. He might say it’s to show his appreciation for everyone that works for him, but the confusion I’ve seen on all their faces when he mentions it makes it clear this isn’t something he’s done before.
Just like the Christmas trees stationed in every room of his home. I’d been hunting for the tiny tree I set up next to my mother’s bed last year, but after searching through all the boxes brought from our apartment I finally gave up and asked Andre if he knew where it was. He told me he would take care of it.
Apparently taking care of it meant bringing in a pile of fresh-cut trees that fill the place with the unmistakable scent of the holidays. Decorations also came in by the boxload, and LaShawn and I rolled my mother from room to room as she directed us on which ones should adorn what tree.
“I haven’t been to a Christmas party in years.” My mother takes a sip from the giant cup of water LaShawn hands her no less than five hundred times a day. “I don’t even know that I have anything to wear.”
“I’m sure we’ll find something.” Probably the gown that appeared in her closet this morning. A note from Richard was pinned to the garment bag, wishing my mother and I a Merry Christmas from him and Bianca.
I’m willing to bet there’s a matching dress hanging in Andre’s closet right now waiting for me.
“You two better bring it, because I plan on looking good.” LaShawn flips on the TV, switching it to the news channel she and my mother watch every morning during breakfast. “I love a good party.”
“I’m sure it will be fantastic.” My mother reaches out to rest her hand on mine. “Andre loves impressing my Paisley.”
“I don’t think it has much to do with impressing me.” I know it doesn’t, actually. That’s not who Andre is.
Who he is is turning out to be quite complex. Maybe that’s because even he doesn’t acknowledge the truth of it.
At least not all of it.
He seems to recognize certain parts of himself. The ruthless bits. The dangerous parts I know lie just below the surface. The selfish side he wears like a coat of armor.
But there’s more to him than that and he either doesn’t see it or refuses to acknowledge it.
