Page 27 of Forbidden Desires

Gently, I knocked on the door. I didn’t like walking in unannounced since I never knew where their mental state mightbe. Sometimes I was a stranger when they looked at me, and then there were those precious times they immediately knew I was their son. I always hoped for the latter, even though the former was becoming more frequent.

From the other side there was a little thump, the sound of quickly treading footsteps, and then finally the click at the lock on the door being undone. A few seconds later the door opened, with my mother on the other side.

Born and raised in France, my mother had always been a waifish woman. She had not cleared even five feet in her youth, and as she had gotten older only seemed to have lost inches as the years went on. She was significantly shorter than myself and even more so than petite Jasmine, who looked down at my mother comically before she schooled her expression with a warm smile, as though this weren’t the first time she was meeting my mother—and the first impression wasn’t of her in an oversized Christmas sweater that I recognized as my father’s and, presumably, no pants, since her legs were bare.

I drew in a relieved breath as my mother’s face broke into a wide, beaming smile of recognition. She stepped toward me, her thin arms instinctually wrapping around my middle as she held me tight.

“Eric! You’re here!” she exclaimed, and I could still hear the lilting French accent in her voice, despite her moving to America after marrying my father in her early twenties. “Your father and I didn’t know when you’d be coming. They said you were going to visit, but that was weeks ago.”

It was just yesterday.

I hugged her back, waiting until she had her fill and released me, but at the moment, she was content to keep me in her arms. “Well, you know me,” I said, going along with her personal perception of time as opposed to the reality of time that I knew.“I got caught up with work. I’m sorry. I’ll be sure to make it up to you.”

She sighed happily. “You make it up to me just being here, darling.”

Her head rested on my chest, and I cradled her there, her thin whisps of grey hair soft like a powdered cloud beneath my fingertips. It was almost like embracing a juvenile, really. It was a strange feeling that I had yet to truly come to understand or even know how to navigate. Being a caretaker to those who had taken care of me for most of my life was not something that I had ever considered being a part of my future. Foolishly, I had always pictured my parents in my adult years being the way they had always been. Young. Spry. Unmovable in their ways and unshakable in their countenance.

“Eric?”

A feeble yet still somehow clear male voice came from an adjoining room. I pulled back from my mother to look in the direction of their bedroom, where I knew my father was likely resting. Like a mischievous child, my mother grabbed my hand, pulling me toward her bedroom. I quickly looked back to Jasmine, who smiled at me and took the free hand I offered, following us along on what probably looked like from the outside as a pair of people being led on an adventure.

Well, for Jasmine it might be one into the realms of the unknown. For me, I wasn’t entirely sure what to call it, adventure or not.

Their room was one I had been in many times. My mother liked to show off her décor every time I visited—which would sometimes be pristine, artistic accoutrements, and at other times would resemble more the machinations of a child putting a miss-match of anything they liked together as opposed to designs that made sense.

Today, it seemed a combination of both. I noticed new framed fashion magazines on the wall that hadn’t been there the last time I’d been here, and they’d changed to a red, black, and white color scheme with semi-modern furnishings. It was not common in most late-life care facilities to allow such free decorating, but given how expensive the place was, I’d made sure there was a considerable amount of wiggle room when it came to such things. I also provided a generous stipend every month to suit my mother’s whims. She only had to order online during those times she remembered, or through catalogues that she managed to get her hands on.

My attention focused on these new details, the haphazard way that it was put together, because it stalled me from having to look at my father. Shame was a deep-rooted thing, though it wasn’t shame for my father. Shame and guilt foroneselfwas so much richer, so much more potent.

My father was nowhere near as small as my mother. He had still managed to maintain his above six-foot height—which I’d inherited—along with his broad shoulders and chest, even in his older age. I could not help but take that in with the juxtaposition of his weary, wrinkle-lined face and feel my chest tighten just a little more when that face crinkled into a smile.

“Eric. You’re back.”

My mother went around to the far side of their bed, sitting on the edge. She pressed her hand to his forehead, a gentle caress that my father leaned into. Jasmine came up beside me, an almost mirror to their own gestures as she slid her hand in my hold.

It gave me the push to speak.

“I heard you hurt yourself, Father,” I said, moving to the open side of the bed and closer to him, bringing Jasmine with me. “So, I wanted to come see how you were.”

He waved his hand in the air in a familiar gesture, like it wasn’t a big deal. “All I did was tumble a little.”

“You hurt your hip, Richard,” my mother scolded him before cuddling down at his side, almost in the way a child would comfort a parent—or seek comfort from them. He sighed and cuddled her in kind.

I had no idea what to say. It would be like my father, with or without his condition, to blow off awholebroken hip as if it were nothing—though I was grateful it had been a minor injury in comparison. He’d likely gotten hurt fooling around, doing something he thought he had the physical capacity to handle, only to have it bite him in the ass.

The distraction came when my father seemed to finally notice Jasmine in the room. His face at first held a flicker of confusion—and of course I worried. But then, a deeper, warmer smile spread across his face.

“Oh. Hello dear. Welcome back,” he said, as if he were greeting an old friend. “Did Eric drag you across country again? Just for my little accident?”

Here was the true test, how Jasmine and my parents would interact with each other. I had no way of knowing how well this would go. They didn’t recall enough to remember the previous woman’s face; only enough to remember that I had brought a woman, that she was my “wife,” and that they liked her well enough to be cordial.

Jasmine didn’t miss a beat.

“I insisted,” she said, releasing my hand to reach out and take my father’s. “I couldn’t imagine sitting back home wondering how you were, and I know that you’re a little stubborn, so I had to see for myself that you were alright.” She gave him a genuinely sweet smile. “I’m glad you’re okay. You had us worried.”

My father tilted his head, like he was trying to comprehend something, before he shook off the notion and laughed. “All youyoung people are the same! Always worrying about what us old people are doing. I’ll have you know, back in my day, I’d be up and about and spry in no time.”

I shook my head, even though I was glad to see him in good spirits. “You hurt your hip, Father.”

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