Page 102 of Irons

“I’m referring to your finger, there’s not a ring.” She deadpanned.

I shook my head in confusion. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

She rolled her eyes. “Are you in a relationship?”

I looked at Brock, then at her and scrunched my nose. “No, he’s my brother. What’s wrong with you?”

“Ugh! Do you have kids?” She was growing frustrated.

“Not with me, they must belong to someone else.”

She looked around the dining room and there were no kids. “What part of earth do you live on?”

“It’s actually quite nice. It’s a lot softer than here and just about everyone has a basement, unlike the hard soil found here. The farmers do well, I guess, it’s a pretty rich earth.” I could hear Brock struggling not to laugh.

“You’re fucking with me.”

“Nope, I have no interest in fucking with you. Especially in front of my brother, so no thanks.” For a moment there I thought she was going cross eyed.

“Do you have a concussion or something?” She stopped leaning against my booth.

“Not lately, I haven’t been to any sporting events, but who doesn’t love an overpriced hot dog and a cold beer?”

“Ugh, not concession, concussion.” She stomped her foot just slightly.

“Bless you.”

Brock buried his face near his elbow as it rested on the table. I could see his shoulders shaking, so I knew he was laughing quietly.

“Enough games, I’m done. What do you want to eat?” I think she was pissed.

“That’s the last thing on my mind while dining with my little brother. Plus, I already shot you down, I’m not fucking with you today. But if you’d like to know my breakfast order, I’ll take the special.” I looked at Brock who shook his head and refused to look up. “I’m guessing Brock will take the same.”

She narrowed her eyes on me. “You’re a bigger asshole now than in high school. You can get your own damn food.” She turned on her heels and stormed away.

I reached for my wallet and threw down a few bills. “Let’s get out of here, she’s absolutely going to spit on our food.”

We laughed all the way to the Tahoe. Stacy was a bitch to Wrenly, and I had no remorse. Plus, it cheered Brock up so it was totally worth it. We ended up closer to the city where we went through the McDonald’s drive thru and ate in the Tahoe at a park.

“Tell me about your mom’s situation.” I prompted him.

“Right now, she’s recovering from pneumonia and two broken ribs. That’s how hard she coughed. She was in the hospital within a week after I got out. While I was gone she held herself up in the house and Paula brought her groceries. She tells people it's broken heart syndrome and she’s in heart failure. She was able to survive on her disability benefits while I was gone, but she didn’t go out to get her meds, which is why she developed pneumonia. Aunt Tricia allowed her to stay in the house and not pay rent until I got home. Her mental health has declined over the years, and she doesn’t talk much. She will talk to her family when they make threats to come over and help her. She’s become a recluse, and she’s angry with the world. She’s not very nice to Paula, but your mom doesn’t give up all that easily. She has a complete meltdown if I as much as mention dad, and she threw out all his belongings, including your photos. She blames everyone but dad for his actions. She thinks he would have been a better husband if Paula and him weren’t so close, she blames his older son and you for abandoning him. She refuses to see that it was him and Paula that abandoned you. When she has a meltdown it’s violent and she lashes out on the world. We only have one kitchen chair left because of her outbursts. She spends most of her time in bed watching television. Just getting her to shower is a battle. What other eighteen year old kid has to drag his mom into the shower and wash her down once a week? I honestly don’t know if she showered the entire time I was locked up.” He took a bite of his sausage bagel.

“Have you considered checking out a few assisted living facilities?” A place like that would probably be better for his mom.

“What’s that?” He crumpled up the paper from his sandwich.

“It’s like an apartment where she would receive nursing care on an as needed basis. Typically, they’re connected to a nursing home and they’re for people who don’t need twenty four hour care but may need help here and there. I’m sure she would qualify.”

“A nursing home?” He asked.

“Yeah, except she would have her own living space, like a kitchen, bedroom, and living room. They might even have better luck in motivating her to participate in activities.”

“I doubt she will even consider it. Not just because she wouldn’t want to move but she will see it as a red flag to her family that something more is up with her. If I’m not taking care if her, she will just let herself wilt away.” He said.

“You’re eighteen years old. Surely she would rather you focus on yourself rather than taking care of her.” She couldn’t be that selfish, could she?

“I can’t motivate her into showering herself, let alone motivate her to move.” He said.

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