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“I love you more,” he chides. “Don’t devalue yourself and your feelings, okay?”
I smile at him and bump up against his shoulder. He means well, and I wish other people could see it the way the guys and I do.
“So, he apologized and told me about all that stuff with his wife. I started to get messed up because I had been drinking, as you all know, and my brain started playing that fucking what-if game,” I tell the guys but don’t look at any of them; instead, choosing to watch my feet as my legs swing back and forth.
“Declan June Rothschild,” Bordeaux scolds, his voice deep and full of warning. “The what-if game? Do not even tell me you got soft for the guy.”
I chance a look at Bordeaux and see the worry in his eyes.
“I kinda thought with Spence being back, the two of you might actually be something more than friends. You guys were practically in love before you got with his brother.” Miller lets out a laugh.
“Oh, please, you guys. Come on. Why does everything always come back to Spence?”
Flynn shrugs. “I mean, Kade and Spence do look like they could be twins. If she isn’t going to go for Spence, might as well go for Kade.”
Well that statement hits a bit too close to home.
“Okay.” I jump off the table and pull my bass around my shoulders. “I think that’s enough about me and my night. Are we going to play some music, or are you guys going to continue to baby sister me all day?”
* * *
My stomach whirls when I pull up to the assisted living community to see my mom. I wish the guys and I could have just stayed holed up in the office all day playing songs and forgetting that hard things exist, but I have to see her before we leave for tour.
Landon and Rush stay parked in the car outside. They don’t have to go into Belleview Manor with me because it’s a closed facility—no one can get in. The staff all know me by now. In the beginning, three years ago, I was asked for autographs and photos, but now they’ve become a bit desensitized to me. I’m less rock star, more regular woman.
Signing myself in, I smile at the young receptionist as she chews away at her bubble gum, talking to someone on the phone. She gives me a small nod, and I walk to the hall my mom’s room is in. I’ve thanked the universe so many goddamn times for having the money I do. If I didn’t have this money or live this life, Mom would be in some shitty state-funded home. I’m sure the halls would smell like piss like the horror stories I hear about other people’s loved ones. I can afford for Mom to be here, at Belleview, where I smell cleaning solution and fresh flowers, and they are overstaffed as opposed to detrimentally understaffed.
I round the corner to Mom’s room, and my gaze finds her. She’s standing, looking out the floor-to-ceiling window. She normally has the long, flowing curtains fully open, but today, she’s got them closed, just peeking out from them.
“Bird watching, Mom?” I ask, and she jumps.
She turns to face me, her hand flinging to her chest as she lets the long curtain fall in front of the window, blocking the glass. “You just scared the crap out of me, Declan!”
“Must be an intense watch.” I laugh, sitting in the corner chair and trying to see out the window. There are exactly zero birds, though.
Mom turns back toward the window, sliding it a fraction of the way open and motioning me over. “Do you see that man over there? The one with the watering can?” She looks at me and then nods in the direction of a groundskeeper who is watering flowers.
“Yes.”
“I think he’s just acting like he’s a gardener. He’s not really doing shit aside from walking around looking at the flowers. Every now and then, he sprinkles a little water here and there, but there’s some funny business going on here. I can feel it.”
I sigh and rub her back.
This is just another thing that’s started happening lately with her early-onset Alzheimer’s. She’s only forty-seven years old; I never even thought, not for a fraction of a second, that my mom would be diagnosed with Alzheimer’s—especially not so young. When we got the diagnosis a few years ago, I was shocked, I was angry, I was pissed. I was in complete and total denial. But as more and more symptoms continued to pop up, I had to stop denying that it was happening and start navigating how to help her. Her house almost went into foreclosure because she forgot to pay the mortgage. She couldn’t remember simple things like where she parked at the mall—even though she only ever went there for one store and always parked in the same lot. There were a lot of little things that started to add up, and quickly.
“Mom, I think he’s just trying to tend to the flowers. I’m pretty sure you have nothing to worry about,” I tell her, trying to ease her mind. The paranoia has been one of her newest symptoms, and it’s one her doctors say is normal for the stage she’s in.
Mom lets the curtain fall and goes to sit on her bed. “I may have Alzheimer’s, but I think I know when I see somebody suspicious.” She rolls her eyes at me, and I smile. Mom still has enough clarity to know that she has the disease. Her mind isn’t too far gone, and she knows what’s happening to her, but sometimes I think it would be easier if she didn’t. She has moments when her clarity disappears, when her brain goes foggy, and her eyes glaze over. Most of the time, though, she still has her wits about her, and I am so thankful for that. I’m not ready to walk into this room and her have no idea who I am. I don’t know if my heart could take it.
“What brings you to my humble abode, honey?” Mom asks sweetly, seemingly forgetting about the international spy outside her window. She smooths her brown hair that’s about half-gray now—I’ve asked if she wants to go to the salon they have here to color it, but she said she wants to see what she looks like with gray hair. She won’t be any less beautiful. She’s still gorgeous, with her flawless skin and dark eyes. She’s the most beautiful woman in the world to me.
“I’m about to leave on tour, so I wanted to make sure I check in. I can’t come every few days, and I’m going to miss you,” I tell her, finally allowing myself to feel it. I’ve been putting this off because I don’t want to think about not being here for her—about not visiting and her being alone. I have people lined up—both paid and unpaid—who come see her every single week. A woman from Mom’s church comes to play cards with her on Mondays. I have a therapy dog who comes in on Wednesdays and spends a half hour with her. On Thursdays, I have private occupational therapists who come in and do therapy with her, but I think most of the time they just shoot the shit, and I’m okay with that too.
Mom’s posture falls just a little, and if I hadn’t been watching her, I wouldn’t have noticed. “I didn’t realize that was coming up so soon, honey. That’s so exciting!” She smiles, clasping her hands together. I know she’s excited for me—she’s always been so supportive of my dreams—but I also know she’s going to miss our visits and our chats, and I hate that.
“We’ll only be gone for about three months. We’re doing an East Coast leg first, and then we’ll have a month off before the next portion of the tour. Now that we’re making the rules, it’ll be a lot easier for me to be home for you,” I say, standing from the chair and sitting next to her on the bed. “I’m going to miss you, Mom. I wish I could just pack you up and bring you with me.”
She smiles softly. “I’ll miss you too, honey, but you were made for this. You’re the most talented, beautiful, smart young woman I know. I’ll never forget that, no matter how much this bullshit disease takes from me. That lives in my heart, honey, not my head.”
