Page 30 of Calm Before the Score

Grandpa was never a decorator. He preferred things plain and simple. We had a Christmas tree, but that was it. I didn’t mind because I didn’t know any different.This is going to be the best Thanks-Christmas ever.

The three of us gather in the main room. Ryan’s mom sits in the single reclined chair, and Ryan has his arm draped around me, cuddling next to him on the bigger couch. He started the fire, and his mom made us hot chocolate. We are giving Ryan’s mom the play-by-play of our first few encounters together. Ryan insisted that we leave out most of the obnoxious details, painting him as a jerk, but his mom caught on pretty quickly that we were purposefully leaving things out of the stories. She would not let it go, so Ryan started with all the details from the beginning.

“Ok, ok, ok, run that one by me again, mister, because I surely did not hear that correctly!” Ryan’s mom scolds him, and I can not stop laughing. He’s telling her the part where he kissed me at the back-to-school bash and dashed out before saying a word to me. I adore how easy his relationship with his mom seems. This is a more tender side of Ryan that I’ve been coming to love. He exudes calm in this house.

“Ryan Shane! I can’t believe how inconsiderate you were! Look at her! She’s perfect, and you just ran out because you were scared?! What is this, some type of rom-com?!”

I love Ryan and his mom’s dynamic. They are so comfortable around each other, and he can’t help but give in to all of her silly requests.

“It wasn’t like that, but I've got her now. I didn’t screw up too much.”

“And you should be counting your lucky stars!”

“Ok, let’s move on to a topic that doesn’t require you grilling me for my decisions.”

“We cantablethis, but make no mistake, we will revisit it.” She gently leans forward off her chair, steps toward her son, and pushes him back. Ryan grabs his muscular shoulder and pretends like it hurt him.

I can not stop laughing. This is the most fun I have had in a long time.This is what having a real family is like.

When she leans back into her chair, I see her face jerk, and it looks like she’s having trouble getting her next words out.

“Mom,” Ryan jolts off the couch to her side, “Take five deep breaths before you talk again.” Worry is etched in his brow. He’s trying to be calm for her, but the way he jolted off the couch to her side tells me he’s worried. He moves to squat next to his mom beside her chair. He watches intently at her breathing. After a few minutes, she seems ok.

“I’m sorry, Violet. I hope Ryan filled you in on my issues before you came here.” She looks embarrassed, and my heart cracks open a million times. The woman who was laughing and joking with us is long gone, replaced by the somber reality of her illness.

“He did, and I think you’re the strongest person I have ever met. Fighting this and coming out like a warrior.” I get up and walk to her small frame covered by blankets. I touch her cold hand and rub the top to assure her that she has no reason to be ashamed or embarrassed in front of me.

“Mom, you look tired, and I don’t want you losing sleep. I’ll walk you to the bedroom, and I promise we’ll have plenty of time to rehash all the ways I’ve screwed up so far tomorrow.” He laughs and helps his mom off the chair.

She’s so tiny compared to her son. He towers over her. Ryan locks his arm with hers to steady her. It takes a minute for her togain her balance and walk to the bedroom. I don’t follow them. When he returns, he approaches me and pulls me onto his lap. He looks like a broken mixture of happy and sad, complete and incomplete, put together and falling apart.I’m a fixer. I try not to take space in other people’s lives, but as I rattle ideas in my brain, I conclude that I can’t fix this. This isn’t fixable. All I can do is hold him and let him know that I’m never letting him go. Giving him false assurances and security about his mom’s condition doesn’t seem helpful. Instead, I want to be his rock.

Breaking the silence, I say, “She’s amazing. I’ve never had a mom or anyone close to someone like her in my life. You are so lucky to have her.” I gently rub the side of his face.

“I know,” he answers softly.

He shifts my face slightly away from him. I’m still curled on his lap, but there is distance between us. I can sense him closing himself off. I don’t want to lose this moment with him. His chin gently rests on my shoulder. We sit in silence, and I feel my shirt become damp. Wet tears coat my T-shirt, marking me with his pain. This is the first time I’ve seen him cry. I know he didn’t want me to see it. I turn back to wipe his tears away with the pad of my thumb. When I face him, I’m hit with a gut punch. My strong force of a man looks broken. His eyes are in a distant place. His jaw is clenched with a stern look. Silent tears continue to roll down his rough exterior.

“She’s not going to get better, Vi. It’s getting worse, and when she’s gone, I’ll lose the final piece holding my life together.”

I place my legs on both sides of his muscular thighs and hang both hands on his face.

“You will. I can’t change that or tell you that it’s going to be ok. It’s going to hurt. It’s going to feel like the world is falling apart, and there’s no way to ever put it back together again. The only difference is that now you have an anchor, someone to pull youup from drowning. I’ll throw you a life vest and drag you back up to the shore. You won’t face this alone, Ryan.”

“You’re my anchor,” he whispers softly into my ear.

“I always will be.” I kiss his forehead, and he slowly picks me up and heads to the bedroom. I usually fight off gestures like these. Hyper independence has become the norm of my life, but feeling Ryan’s stronghold on my body assures me that I can rely on someone other than myself for the first time in a very long time.

21

Ryan

This week at home has felt like a dream come true. It’s tough to come home again for Christmas because playoffs are always in full swing. Having Violet here in the home where I spent the majority of my adolescent life feels right. It’s the missing piece to the puzzle. I’m not alone anymore.

Mom makes sure that we do all the traditional holiday things: cooking a turkey, baking cookies, wrapping and unwrapping presents, and watching old movies. I love her and the fact that she still does all of these traditions for us, even though we’re adults. I would usually fuss about how she doesn’t need to go overboard in her condition, but the look on Violet’s face makes it worth it. She hangs on my mom’s every word, laughs at her corny jokes, and volunteers to participate in all of her Christmas crafts.

I sneak out of bed early to check on my mom. Waking up at 5 a.m. isn’t new for me. Sleep doesn’t come as easy as it used to, so I’d rather wake up than uselessly toss and turn in bed for hours.

I tiptoe out of the room and gently crack the door behind me to not wake up sleeping beauty. Before I walk across the house, Ipeek through the small crack in the door to take another look at my sleeping girlfriend. Her hair is tied in a messy bun above her head. Her small hands grip the blankets just under her chin. The rest of her body is wrapped into a blanket burrito.

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