Page 76 of Capri

I cut her a look and throw my straw wrapper at her. “Funny.”

“I want you to be happy, Capri. Let yourself be happy. Is it really that hard?”

“It’s more than just that, Cols, and you know it. Jones is a man with plans…plans I’m not sure I’ll be able to give him.”

“Shit. I know. I’m sorry. I’ll never understand the extent of what you’ve been through, but I can’t imagine it will ever be easier.” I shake my head, looking like an emotionally unstable woman in the middle of a juice bar. “Take your time and just follow your heart. Promise me you’ll at least do that, okay?”

“I promise,” I say. Although, I’m not sure my heart will lead me to happiness, but tragedy instead.

22

JONES

I’ve beenin Timber Heights for two weeks now, and the nerves I feel every time I enter this building never fail.

There’s nothing about Paloma Memory Care that feels sterile. That’s why I chose it for my mother. The exterior of the building is made from brick, with large blue Bahama shutters over the windows, giving it a coastal feel.

Entering the double doors, the warmth of plants, furniture, and smiling faces greet me. This place feels like a home–as much as a medical facility can. It adds to the warmth my mother feels here.

Despite being on her own, I want to make sure she feels safe, taken care of, and comfortable as if in her own space.

The staff and administration do a great job at ensuring that level of comfort is met.

But the feeling I get has nothing to do with the aesthetic, but the woman at the end of the hall who raised me.

What side of her will I get today?

The side that’s excited to see me or the side that wishes I were gone and someone else was in my place?

I greet Tracy, one of the front desk ladies, receive my badge, and make my way to my mother’s suite. My chest grows heavy and my stride slows. I’ve been here every day since arriving in Timber Heights, and the circumstances never change.

It’s almost easier being on the other side of the world because I don’t have to witness her hatred if the day calls for it. But at the same time, on the days she loves me, I get to be on the receiving end of that love.

It’s fucked up and there’s nothing I can do about it.

I feel colossally untethered from her but deeply connected to her heart. It’s a feeling I wouldn’t wish on anyone.

Fuck. I just want my mom back.

Entering her suite, the smell of patchouli lingers in the air, telling me my mother is living by her own rules today.

“Mom?” I call to her.

“In here. Shut the door, would ya?”

I close the door behind me, and a plume of smoke floats through the air. “Are you lighting incense again?” I ask, coughing my way toward her.

Mom has always been a bit of a hippie. She loves incense. Growing up, the smell of sage and patchouli perpetually permeated the air, driving Tommy and my father crazy.

I learned to deal with it, but she can’t be lighting that shit in here.

“I’m meditating,” Mom says, coming into view through the fog.

I smile; despite the hundreds of rules she’s breaking.

Today is a good day.

“How ya doing? You look nice,” I tell her, seeing she’s changed out of her pajamas.

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