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“Dad,” I exclaim in pain.
“Quinn, none of this is right. Don’t… don’t… don’t forget.”
“She knows, dear,” Mom says as I pull my hand free.
Mom soothes a hand over his head, rubbing his bald spot. She’s the only one he ever let do that. He would get so mad at me if I touched it. He was sensitive about his lack of hair with anyone but Mom. Mom always told him she thought it made him look distinguished.
“I won’t, Dad, I promise.”
“Good,” he mutters, settling onto his bed, and then he drifts off to sleep.
Mom and I slip out of his bedroom and return to the kitchen.
“Tea, dear?”
“Sure,” I say, plopping myself down in a kitchen chair.
Mom busies herself with the teapot and bustling around the kitchen. I let the easy familiarity soothe my nerves while sitting in silence. I still can’t believe Dad is sick. It came on so suddenly. One moment he’s fine, then he’s not. I’m so tired and it makes my memories feel hazy and leaves blank spots. I know he was diagnosed. I know I was there, but I don’t remember it.
Mom places a cup of hot tea in front of me and the soothing scent of mint mixing with fresh honey rises out of the mug. There are two hand drawn otters hugging on the mug with a tag sayingI love you otterlyover them. It makes me smile. Mom loves her silly mugs. She collected so many of them Dad would pack away old ones when she wasn’t paying attention to make sure there was room in the cabinet for the new ones she was sure to buy.
“I’m sorry,” she says, taking the seat catacorner to me at the table with her own cup. A small plate sits between us with Oreos and chocolate chip cookies. I pick a chocolate chip one up and take a bite before answering.
“It’s fine, Mom,” I say. “I’m happy to help.”
“You’ve got so much happening,” she says, blowing on her tea, then sipping. “I hate to be a bother.”
“Mom, you’re not a bother.”
“You’re all grown up,” she says. “And school. That’s a lot for a young lady to keep up with.”
I roll my eyes, not wanting to fall into this game. It’s a subtle guilt trip she’s laying in because I haven’t been around enough to make her happy. In my defense, I have been busy. Too busy.
“You should talk to the doctor about his medications,” I say, changing the subject.
“You look exhausted,” she says, ignoring my attempt. “When is the last time you slept?”
“Last night,” I snap. “Mom, his meds are off. He shouldn’t be getting so confused.”
“It’s fine, dear,” she sighs. “Some days are worse than others, that’s all.”
She’s wrong and I have a powerful urge to make her see it, but I also know it won’t do any good. Mom is subtle when she digs in her heels, but it doesn’t mean she’s any less entrenched once she has. Pressing down the desire to be right and make her wrong, I sigh and drink my tea.
The warmth of it spreads from my belly and out across my limbs. If I didn’t know better I’d almost say she put something in it but I’ve never heard of ‘edible’ tea. I suppose she could have boiled it with some weed in it, but that’s not my mom. It’s probably Mom magic, but whatever it is, I am more relaxed than I’ve been in days.
“Good tea,” I say.
“Thank you, dear.” She smiles over her cup. “Any boys of interest lately?”
And there it is. The other shoe I knew would drop, but I’d been lulled into complacency, thinking this one time it wouldn’t come up as a subject. Mom is of an age to have been a feminist but she never adopted such “modern” ideas. She’s still firmly of the mindset that a girl needs a man to take care of her. Though how she can hold on to this antiquated idea when she has to be Dad’s caregiver twenty-four hours a day, I’ll never figure out.
Of course, as soon as she asks, Duncan is at the front of my thoughts and it must show on my face because she leans over, resting her elbows on the table. The delight in her eyes is almost avarice. I’ve never seen her look like this.
“There is,” she observes.
“No.” I shake my head.
“Who is it?”
