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“That’s wonderful. I’m so glad.”
When we got home, my mother was sleeping peacefully. She had a great night with Kate, which I verified with multiple texts and calls, along with occasionally spying on them via the camera feeds. I guess I shouldn’t call it spying since I told Kate we had nanny cams and would be checking periodically.
“Before she got in her car, she asked if she could come next week to visit Ma. Her mother passed from the disease about ten years ago, and she felt an instant kinship to my mom.”
Mia’s palm presses against her chest. “That’s so sweet. What did you say?”
“I told her to pound sand. What do you think?” I tease.
She gasps, her mouth hanging open. “Cal! You did not.”
“Kidding. I told her absolutely yes. In fact, I asked her to work up an estimate of how much she’d charge to be an in-home caregiver for Mom.”
“You did?”
“Yeah. I doubt I’ll be able to afford it, but it doesn’t hurt to ask, right?”
My stomach sours. The chances of being able to swing it are nonexistent, but a son can dream.
“What is your long-term plan for her, if you don’t mind me asking?”
No longer only souring, my gut threatens to revolt.
Wordlessly, I scoot my chair a few inches from the table and pat my lap. She studies me, contemplating my offer. With a shrug, she capitulates and saunters over. Before she sits on my offered thigh, she grabs her pie plate and pulls it across the table. I laugh silently.
I knew she’d love my pie as much as she loves my cake.
“Calvin, are you distracting me to avoid the question?”
I squeeze her thighs and help her swing her legs to one side. She settles across both my quads, placing her generous ass in groping range of my left hand. Perfection.
“Not distracting you. I figure if you’re on my lap, it’ll hurt less to talk about it. Holding you makes everything better.”
She cups my cheek and kisses me. “Oh, you sweet, sexy man. Quit trying to melt my heart. I don’t have one.”
It baffles me how she’s never gone for the low-hanging fruit and teased me for being a mama’s boy. She wouldn’t be the first. To be fair, I wouldn’t deny it. But it’s never felt quite right. I’m close to my entire family, not only to my mother. She’s just the one who needs me most.
“My sister, Caroline, and Ma want to find a full-time memory care center for her to live in. Permanently.” My voice cracks, so I take a pause. “Caroline is coming down in a few weeks to help me find a facility and put the house up for sale. They think she’ll make enough to cover the lion’s share of the costs, offsetting her own retirement and my father’s firefighter pension. She did the math and should have enough to let the disease…” I trail off, refusing to say those last few words:run its course.
Mia spares me from having to say it. “When did your mother make that decision?”
“Not too long after she was diagnosed. Once she accepted her fate, she apparently made a plan, discussed it with Caroline, and put it in writing. She didn’t tell me about it back then because she knew I’d fight her on it.”
I hit the high notes from some of the lengthy conversations I had with my sister before and after she told me about the letter.
Mia runs her hands soothingly through my hair. “Did you see the letter?”
“Yeah, my sister texted me a picture of it a few days ago.”
“What was the main reasoning? Is it all financial?”
I take a moment to steady my emotions by feeding her another bite of her pie.
She grins around the fork. “That’s so damn good.” Then she patiently waits for me to answer her question.
“It was partially financial, but also concern about Caroline and me being burdened with her care.”
“Makes sense. Considering how selfless you are, it figures she’d be the same way.”
