Page 49 of Must Love Christmas

“Ah yes. Definitely a close friend,” Catriona said with a smile.

His mother sniffed. “You think that lad will do your share of housework for months? He can barely do his own share, from what I’ve seen.”

“Ma, Garen’s been outstanding.”

“But he’s so scatterbrained,” she said. “He’d forget his head if it wasn’t attached to his shoulders.”

“Mrs. Andreou,” Catriona said, “the plan is for Simon to be discharged to home only when he’s able to more or less care for himself. Theoretically he should be able to live safely alone. Of course,” she told Simon, “if you need assistance with bathing or meal prep or a bit of tidying up, we can offer a home health aide.”

A month ago, Simon would’ve been horrified at the thought of someone helping him bathe. But in losing his dignity, he’d discovered how efficient and respectful health care workers could be.

“See, these are things I could do myself,” Ma said, “rather than having some stranger care for you.”

Simon sighed. How could he explain he’d rather have a paid professional helping him than someone he was close to? Was that weird?

Catriona clicked her biro pen. “Shall I give you a few minutes to discuss it?” she asked Simon.

“Please.”

Once Catriona went to look after another patient two tables away, his mother turned to him. “Have you discussed this with your father?”

“Not exactly.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Of course not. It’s always me who gets the bad news.”

“Why is it bad news I want to look after myself?”

“It’s broken me heart not being here every day while you were suffering.” She seemed to be fighting back tears. “Now I’ve got the chance to help you heal, and you don’t even want my help.”

He felt a pull in his chest at the sound of her pain. “Ma, this isn’t about you.”

That was only half true. Simon knew she was already overwhelmed caring for her own mum and working full-time. If he went home, she would spend her last ounce of energy looking after him. But if he told her that now, she’d simply protest that she could handle it, that everything was “proper sound.” She might even be insulted at the idea she wasn’t invincible.

“Simon, how will you get yourself to doctor’s appointments?”

“I’ll use my ride-hailing app,” he said. “They’ve got drivers who can help disabled people.”

“What about food?”

“Same—I can have anything I want delivered. And you’ve seen the lift in my building.”

She frowned. “I’ve also seen the stairs outside the front entrance.”

“Only three, and they’re low and wide. I’ll be able to navigate them in my chair.” He patted the wheelchair’s rims. “I’ll just pop a wheelie.”

His mother put a hand to her forehead like a headache had just struck her. “Pop a wheelie,” she muttered. “My God, what is happening here?”

“Ma, I need to prove to myself I can do this.” When she looked unconvinced, he added, “I’ll phone you every day with a status update.”

“And you’ll tell me the truth?”

“Of course,” he said.

“And if you change your mind and find it’s too much, you’ll call on us, no matter the hour?

“Okay.”

“Promise me, Simon Aleksander. I’ll not have you dying of stubbornness.”

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