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“Coming, Ma.”
“Go,” Mia says, tipping her chin toward the hallway.
“We’ll talk more about it later. To be continued.”
Her answering smile is a jolt to my heart.
“Be good,” I playfully warn her.
She scoffs. “That’s not how I roll. I’m a bad girl, remember?” Grinning, she takes a seat and opens her laptop.
My palm twitches with an unusual desire to spank her ass.
That’s new.
I bet she’d be into it too. But I haven’t the foggiest idea how to do it safely. A few light smacks on the ass is one thing, but that’s not quite what I want to do.
Based on past conversations, I know who I can ask about it.
But that’ll have to wait until all this shit is cleared. Then I can worry about leveling up my freak skills.
My mother’s brushing her hair at the vanity that my father built for her. When she sees me, a wide smile spreads across her age-weathered face.
How many more times will she greet me this way until she doesn’t recognize me?
Shaking off the pitch-black thoughts, I bend to kiss her forehead. “Good morning, Ma. How are you doing today?”
“I’m good. My low back is a little stiff, but I’m fine. What brings you here so early?”
Does she not realize I’ve been sleeping here for two weeks?
It’s best not to upset her by reminding her, so I simply offer, “I missed you.”
And oh shit.
Last night being the exception, I’ve been staying here. How can I do that while guarding Mia? Add that to the list of things I need to figure out today.
She squeezes my hand before dropping it to grab a hair band. Like always, she ties it in a soft bun at the nape of her neck. I make her bed, then check the automated medication dispenser in the bathroom.
Thankfully, she took all of yesterday’s meds without my intervention. The system is slick and sophisticated, so I shouldn’t worry about it as much as I do. When it’s time for another dose, the machine dispenses the pills into a little cup and emits a loud beeping sound until she removes it. If she’s a half hour late for a dose, the app sends me a notification.
Checking the locked slot on the top of the dispenser, I study the insides. She has enough to last several more days before I need to get her refills. Studying the bathroom mirror, I count three new Post-it notes affixed to it that weren’t there yesterday morning.
She’s been writing herself notes to remember to do things for a few years. Lately, the notes have morphed into reminding herhowto do things. This new one is a brutal punch to the gut.
Detailed on the four-by-four yellow note are five steps to brushing her teeth.
The woman I looked up to my whole life has been reduced to needing a checklist for toothbrushing. I squint and breathe deeply to stave off the swell of emotions.
Before I leave the bathroom, I check her toothbrush and am relieved to find it wet. That’s a good sign about her state of mind. Often, I can tell how bad her day will be by judging her morning routine.
“Ma, there’s someone here I’d like you to meet.”
She stands, pushing her stool under the vanity. “Oh? Who is it?”
“A friend from work.”
Who I’m falling in love with despite my inability to fully trust her.
