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“Trust me. That woman in there will never admit to needing help a day in her life. She’s never indicated to me that there’s a problem.” I glance through the corner of the window that I can see. My mom sits in the plastic chair with her arms crossed, as if having to be here is an inconvenience. I have to try not to chuckle at her sour expression. “The only reason this came up is because her manager at work noticed it and told her to get it checked out. Initially, she balked, but then her manager started talking about letting her go…”
He nods his head knowingly. “I get my fair share of pretty obstinate patients. It’s hard for some people, to be vulnerable enough to admit they need help, especially as they get older, and their independence gets threatened. They’re afraid treatment might force them to give up some of their freedom.”
My forehead wrinkles. “She really can’t hear that well? She’s never asked me to talk louder or turned the TV up too high.”
“It’s not about making things louder, per se.” He struggles for a minute, trying to figure out how best to word his explanation to me. It also seems like he’s trying to figure out how to break an even more important piece of news to me. “Her problem is a little more specific than that. Which is why the most basic models aren’t going to work, like the kind you can now get at Walmart. She needs something more specialized. She’ll need to be able to program it to hear at various frequencies. It’s about clarity, not volume.”
There it is. She needs a specialized piece of equipment. And I can’t imagine that will be cheap, but it sounds like we don’t have much of a choice. I shrug, accepting the situation for what it is. I’ll figure it out. I always do.
“C’mon. I’ll take you both to see the hearing aid specialist out front, and she can show you some different models.” He turns to look at me before opening the door, leveling a serious glance in my direction. “Even if your mom tells you she doesn’t need it, she does. She’s suffering and doesn’t want to let you see that. The misery of not being able to hear could be contributing to her sour mood.”
Once Mom and I make it to the lobby, we’re shown so many different models that my head starts to spin from all of the technical speak. There’s one that doesn’t seem too unreasonable, and they can offer a payment plan. I know that Mom’s credit score isn’t high enough, not by a long shot. She took out a lot of really predatory loans right after we were on our own, and those tanked her credit for the last decade or so. I know that I can get approved, especially with my new job. I tell them that I’ll cover it before she even has a chance to suggest otherwise. If there’s the slightest hiccup, I know that she’s just going to give up and leave. And according to the doc, she needs this. Even if she won’t admit it to herself.
“I can’t ask you to do this, Weston. It’s too much. This is the kind of thing that Joel would’ve paid for, but…” She trails off, unable to meet my eyes. This time, I don’t rise to the bait.
“That’s why I offered,” I insist, handing my license and credit card to the receptionist so she can finish filing the paperwork. “I’ll always be here for you.”
“I hate being a burden.” Her voice is small, and it reminds me of Elowyn this morning. I push the thought away, focusing on listening to the receptionist discussing the warranty plans. “Usually, women my age have a husband to rely on, but…”
She can’t ever let it go. Everything is always a constant reminder that I took her husband away. Even if she seems to have forgotten how awful he was and how we got into that position in the first place. From her perspective, I robbed her of the perfect life. Once somebody dies, it gets harder to remember their flaws. I inconvenienced her. If I had simply left things alone, she and Joel would’ve lived happily ever after. I know that isn’t true, but her words still hurt just the same.
Even though I know she’s projecting—that we’re embroiled in an unhealthy codependent relationship, it still stings. I’m doing penance and that will only end when I feel like it should.
We leave with the aid installed, me having listened to all of the instructions and her ignoring all of them. We’ll have to come back in a week for some more fine-tuning after she’s had the opportunity to test it in different environments and get a better feel for things. We ride to her house in silence. I offer to stop at a drive-thru on the way, but she turns it down. I can tell that she’s embarrassed by how much I’ve already done for her today. I have no problem helping her. She’s my mother, and I would never deny her. I don’t understand why her pride makes it so hard for her.
When we get back to her house, she’s tired enough that she falls asleep on the couch, drifting off to the sounds of a low-stakes, midday game show. She’d never let me clean the house while she’s awake, but I go ahead and take the opportunity now. I run a load of dishes through the dishwasher, wipe down the counters, and sweep before moving into the bedroom. I change the sheets out for the spare clean set in the linen closet and make sure to throw the dirty ones in the wash. I take the trash out, too, making sure to walk the cans down to the end of the drive before the guys come tomorrow morning. It’s not much, but enough to make the house feel like more of a home.
Before I know it, it’s time for me to head to my apartment and get ready for work myself. I wish I could do more before I leave. I realize as I back my car into the street that I’ll never feel quite caught up. I’ll be chasing that sensation of never doing enough for the rest of my life. I can’t tell if that’s a personal failing or a moral triumph.
Maybe it’s a combination of both.
Chapter Seven
Elowyn
The stale air hits me like a ton of bricks right when I walk into my apartment. After turning on the fan and lighting a candle, as well as deploying half of a can of overly fragrant air freshener, I give up and resort to opening the window. While I’m undoing the latch and forcing the rusted window upward and open, I see a beat-up forest green Honda Civic pull into the resident parking area. I’m pretty certain I saw that same car parked outside of the bar last night, and sure enough, Weston’s behind the wheel.
I wait for a minute, leaning out of the window and pretending to casually inspect the ivy growing on the side of the wall. He can definitely see me from the side of his car as it is, and he’ll have to look right at me when he walks to the entrance. I watch anxiously as his eyes pass over my window—and nothing. No smile, no wave. Not a single acknowledgment that I’m there.
Despite my swirling stomach, I’m not going to let this continue to be awkward. We need to see each other before the shift tonight, or we’re just going to be even weirder about the whole Jesse thing. And I’ll never get to know him enough to repay him for helping me out. I give it a solid ten minutes, waiting until I hear the click of his door behind him. Taking a last glance in the mirror, I smooth down my hair and make sure there isn’t any cinnamon crud in the corners of my mouth. Satisfied that I look reasonably sane, clean, and healthy, I step out into the hall and knock on his door.
“Oh, hey, neighbor,” he drawls from behind the crack in the doorway. He sounds tired and more than a little perturbed. Wherever he’s been this morning, he didn’t have a good time. “Can I help you with something?”
“Um… It’s no big deal.” I shuffle my feet and glance at the threadbare carpet. “I’m just pretty sure I left something behind when I was here last night.” I have to focus to stop my voice from jumping up two octaves like every other time I’m nervous. If it gets too bad, I sound like a cartoon mouse. “Can I come in and look around?”
Weston scrunches his face up, opening the door and gesturing behind him. “Go ahead, I guess. Sorry I’m so out of it. I got up early to uh, run some errands.”
There’s a stilted quality to the way he says the word ‘errands,’ like he almost said something else but stopped himself. Was he with a girl? Does he have a steady girlfriend? God, I want to facepalm myself. Of course, a man who looks like him would have a girlfriend. My suspicion that he hasn’t had a great day has been confirmed, but he isn’t going to elaborate on it just to indulge me. I can’t be annoyed about that, having just lied to get back into his apartment to see him again.
Playing along with the charade, I head for the couch, shifting around the pillows and cushions. As my heart whomps behind my ribcage, all of this feels like a mistake, and I realize as I’m doing this that I never actually identified what I supposedly left here. I need to come up with something quick. While his head is turned, I wiggle one of my hair ties from my wrist and shove my fist deep between two of the cushions, then pull my hand out triumphantly, clutching the piece of elastic.
“There we go!” I announce, gathering my hair into a lopsided ponytail and securing it with the tie. As soon as I’m done, I shoot him a thumbs up. It’s way too dorky, and I regret it the second I do it. “Found it!”
He rolls his eyes with a pitying smile. “Ah, yes. Who can live without a hair tie? Don’t you girls have a never-ending supply of them?”
“Not me. You’d be surprised at how many of these I’ve lost. I just couldn’t let this one go.” My mouth continues to fire off, thoroughly disconnected from my brain. Nothing I’m saying makes sense or makes me look appealing in the slightest. Do I want to be appealing? To Weston? The hot-as-all-hell man with the nameless, faceless girlfriend who made him have a bad day? I bet she’s hot. She probably doesn’t even need highlights. With the answer tingling on the tip of my tongue, I start to shuffle backward toward the door. “It’s… lucky. It’s my lucky hair tie. I always make more tips when I wear it.”
“Right. The hair tie. Really important.” A moment of silence stretches between us, Weston staring at me with a pained expression on his face. He sees right through me—he has to. I swear he’s embarrassed on my behalf. The air stalls in my throat that feels like glass shards are embedded there. His full lips draw my gaze. I want to kiss him. I feel like I already kissed him in another lifetime.
