Page 15 of The Masks We Wear

“You can’t hide it from me, love. I can see it in the little lines on your sweet face.” She closes her big amber eyes and rests into me. “These waves you’re fighting against, hold steady, and hold fast. It will pass, my love.”

Her words warm my body, swelling my heart, and for a second, I forget about everything else. She is all that matters to me. I don’t havetimeto waste with her. Every moment needs to be filled with her love, advice, or even just her presence. Because soon... she won’t rememb—

“Mrs. Hanes.” A woman in scrubs stands at the door, her clipboard clasps to her chest.

My mother sighs, before patting me on the knee twice and stands. I watch her dandelion dress sway at her ankles as she follows the nurse through the hall, leaving me alone in the waiting room.

The door closes behind her, and minutes pass before my eyes slowly drift back to my computer. I have my list of materials for the project, and the only thing left to do is talk to the head custodian about using an old room. The morning custodian says she works the later shift, so I’ll need to stay after school sometime next week. Other than that and a few tweaks to the script, all that’s left is the research part.

Reopening my computer, I flit through a few more websites, scribbling notes as I go. The color spectrum… how humans perceive light. Color… how our brain transfers data.

Every color affects different living species in multiple ways, each one dependent on other things such as mental health, empathy capacity, and processing abilities. At some point, I even start to make connections with colors and Alzheimer’s patients.

My brain sketch with labeled parts is almost complete when my phone vibrates in my pocket. The irrational hope it’s Lily sets off a hundred butterflies in my gut, but I instantly stamp them out.

Why the fuck would I want to hear from that horrendous bitch?

Remy: Come to the game with me tonight. Pleaseeeeee.

My eyebrows furrow as I ignore my shoulders’ slight deflation and focus on the real surprise here. Remy hasnevergone to a football game.

Me: Why?

I tap the edge of my phone, tempted to call her and see if she’s sick. I’ve seen her almost every day, but knowing her, she’s read herself into sleep-deprived ramblings.

Remy: Just come. It would help if you got out.

Does she consider going to the game ‘getting out’? Memories of William and I flash through my mind, and I wince at a few. Looking back, more than a few of them are cringe-worthy.

Me: I can’t Remy, I have to work on this project. I’m behind as it is.

It’s not a complete lie, but I’m definitely using it as a scapegoat. I glance at the time. My mom should almost be done, leaving me enough time to stop by the home improvement store for the LED lights.

My phone vibrates again.

Remy: You can’t even work on your project alone. It takes two people. If you come, I’ll help with the script.

I squeeze the phone tighter, the light flutter of hope dancing through me. Her offering does relieve some of the guilt I would have had asking. Still, Lily is a cheerleader, so she’ll be there, and I don’t want to see her if I can help it.No, it’s not worth it.

Just as I open my messages to text her back, my mother re-enters the lobby. Her mouth stretches in a smile as she walks toward me, arms open for a hug. I dutifully oblige, engulfing her in my embrace.

“Good session?” I ask, releasing her.

My mother’s eyes sparkle under the fluorescent lighting, instantly rekindling the warmth in my heart. “It was amazing, honey. Now let’s get Spencer from school early and get him some ice cream. You know he loves ice cream.”

Bile hits the back of my throat, and I struggle to keep it down as my lips stretch into a dull smile. Not only does she think I’m Dad, she thinks I’m Dad from a time they were still together... when everything in my life was perfect.

When I didn’t know Lily.

I swallow the burn and nod, my voice barely a whisper as I lead her out of the office doors. “Sounds great.”

When these moments happen—the times she forgets who I am… it never gets easier. I thought it would. Maybe I would get used to it and learn to cope. But that’s the furthest thing from the truth. It gets harder. It feels impossible to understand how your own mother can look at the son she spent eighteen years raising and not recognize him. No part of me is ingrained deep enough in her mind to help her remember my existence.

It’s like losing someone who’s still here—mourning their loss, just for them to return from the afterlife before fading away again. Then it happens over and over until you’re not sure you can do it another day. But you do. Because the days she remembers… those days are everything.

I feel stuck—lodged in quicksand. I’ve struggled against it for so long, and now I’m waist-deep. Alone...forgotten. The endgame is clear. Now I just have to decide how fast I want to get there.

After securing her in the passenger seat of her smart coupe, I slip my phone from my pocket.

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