Page 23 of Nathan

My stomach flips when I think back to Nate’s hands on my body, his mouth in the most intimate of places, and how he felt inside me. How he tasted. A quiver snakes up my spine, and I close my eyes, savoring each and every one of the wonderful memories he and I shared last night.

But then something he said after we fought nudges at me. Nights like last night don’t happen to men like me. What could he have meant, men like him? TV stars? No, surely not. Nights like that must happen to famous actors all the time. Could he have meant cruel or heartless men? Well, he does have a mean streak, that’s for sure. The way he’d taken my semi-joke literally and almost let me walk out before he made a move showed me that.

And then to say those wonderful words, how he’ll remember my name for the rest of his life.

I groan, dip a cloth in the hot water, and drape it over my face. No wonder I don’t understand Nate. We did things the wrong way around. Dinner and good conversation should have come before the night of hot, sweaty sex. At least he wants to see me again. I wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d dumped me after I put out when we hadn’t even been on a single date.

A date. Is that even what tonight is, or is it Nate’s way of apologizing for his behavior before letting me down gently?

Urgh… I’m getting on my own nerves.

I pull the plug and get out of the bath before toweling myself dry. I’d have given anything to stay when he’d asked me to, but as I’m not working this Sunday, I want to spend more time with Mom. Elva will have taken the kids for a visit this morning, but it will have been the usual rush in, quick chat, rush out. Not that I can blame my sister. It isn’t easy bringing up two hyperactive kids virtually alone because Andy, her husband, works long hours trying to provide a good life for his family.

I get dressed, feed Milo—giving him an extra cuddle to make up for being out all night—then make some sandwiches, throwing in a bag of chips and a couple of cans of Coke. Mom loves it when I bring a picnic, although what I’ve packed can hardly be counted as such. Not that Mom cares. It’s as though she’s regressed to her childhood and the smallest of things seem like an exciting treat. If it wasn’t so cruel, it would be endearing.

The weather has improved, making the trip to the nursing home less treacherous. Californians don’t do well driving in torrential rain. It’s not something they’re used to. I barely remember the drive over to Oak Ridge, but once I park my car and wander past the neat, tended lawn, and the pretty spring flowers, the exhaustion from trying to keep my head above water, as well as the debt collector from the door, melts away. It’s all worth it to keep Mom here. Oak Ridge is one of the best nursing homes in the state, and I’ll spend the next fifty years paying off the debt if it means Mom dies happy.

I sign in, share a few words with the receptionist on duty, then head for the sunroom where Mom spends most of her time. As I get closer, manic chatter bleeds through the doors, and I smile. A lot of the residents here may be extremely ill, but they don’t let it affect them. I know the minute I round the corner I’ll see all manner of activities going on: a couple playing poker, a table set up for chess, complete with timer, the odd game of Monopoly, even Trivial Pursuit.

Mom is gazing out at the rain-soaked gardens and chatting with her friend Norma. A glass of iced tea rests on an occasional table to her side. I wander across and pull up a seat, giving my mom a kiss on the cheek.

“Hi, Mom. Norma. Did you see that downpour earlier?”

My mother looks up and squints at me, her brow furrowing in confusion before she smiles. Whenever she smiles like that it reminds me of who she was before her doctor diagnosed her with early onset Alzheimer’s.

“Oh, Sally,” she says. “It’s lovely of you to come.”

My heart twists. Sally was my great grandmother’s name.

“Where else would I be?” I play along because to correct my mother results in confusion, anguish, and then tears. It’s taken a while to figure out how best to deal with her illness, but I’m pretty much there now. Never argue, never correct, never say, “You’ve already told me that,” when she regales me of a story I’ve heard more than a hundred times.

“Look what I brought.”

I hold up the bag with the sandwiches and snacks inside. My mom’s face lights up like a child’s on Christmas morning when they see a mountain of presents beneath the tree. Anxious to tear through the gift wrap, yet wanting to savor the moment and draw it out as long as possible.

Mom peels the plastic wrap off a cheese and ham sandwich and takes a bite. “My favorite,” she says, tearing it in two and giving half to Norma, despite the fact there is plenty to go around. “Thank you, Sally.”

A drop of blood seeps from another blade to my heart. There have been so many in the last three years, each one more painful than the last. Life is unbelievably cruel at times, and some people seem to suffer much deeper than others. To take our father from us before he reached forty was bad enough, but now, at the age of forty-seven, my mother can’t even recognize her own children, her brain having been ravaged by a terrible illness she doesn’t deserve.

It isn’t fair. But then again, life isn’t fair.

“Dex, do you have a moment?” Jennifer, the manager of the home, appears beside me. I don’t like the look on her face, and dread curls in the pit of my stomach.

I glance back at Mom. “Sure.” Getting to my feet, I squeeze my mom’s shoulder. “Won’t be a minute.”

Mom doesn’t even flinch. Lunch is far more interesting than a daughter she doesn’t even remember. I follow Jennifer into her office, taking a seat when one is offered.

“She’s doing well,” I say, rubbing the space between my eyebrows while I wait for Jennifer to drop the bomb I already know is coming. I’m behind on the payments for my mother’s care, and Jennifer is running a business after all, not a charity.

She nods. “Extremely well. I know it isn’t easy to see her like this, Dex, but from your mother’s perspective, nothing is wrong. To her, life has become very simple. I hope you can take some comfort in that.”

I pick a stray piece of white cotton off the sleeve of my sweater, briefly wondering where it came from. “I do.”

“But there is something I need to discuss with you.”

I let out a resigned sigh. “I know, Jennifer. I’m doing my best, honestly, but it’s not easy. I will get you the money. Somehow.”

Jennifer’s lips twist to the side in a sympathetic way. “I understand, Dex, but I have bills to pay, too. Staff, food, utilities.” She runs her fingers along the edge of her desk and blinks, then hits me with the hammer blow. “Fees are going up at the end of the month. Five percent.”

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