Page 48 of Hold Still

I jump to her rescue. “Isn’t it great Becky, our neighbor, came over to visit with us today, Mom?”

Mom keeps her polite smile on her face while she greets Becky who, apparently, doesn’t pick up on Mom’s confusion. After the two exchange pleasantries, Becky points to the wingback chair, “I’ll take my usual seat.”

“Of course,” Mom replies and then her face morphs with recognition. “I swear, I should have your name engraved on the chair!”

Exhaling with relief that Mom’s back, I head back to the kitchen. Soon, their voices rise, punctuated with laughter.

I roll out the dough for Mom’s win, the way Grandma Gertie taught me. Forming the pastries onto a sheet pan lined with parchment paper, I insert jelly in some and cheese in others. Once the oven is up to temperature, I wash my hands and go in search of my phone to call Grandma Gertie about my recent baking exploits.

I pick it up from my bed and am greeted by three missed texts. Wonderful. I open the first, from Rose. It’s a photo of her and Cole enjoying their honeymoon. Greece, if I’m not mistaken. They look tanned and so very happy. My stomach twinges.

Typing a quick note back to her, I move onto the next text, this one from Felicia at the Project. I reply with a quick update, saying I’m working on the final set of songs now. Not a lie. If only Ozzy would finish up his songs, I could bang out the graphics and move on with my life.

Bang. Mental images of Ozzy banging me in all different positions around his house pop into my mind. Stop. It.

I go to the final text. Speak of the devil. Shit. My finger hovers over the icon to open it. After an internal debate, I decide to read it.

I’m an idiot. I’m sorry about last night. But, I started another new song and I’d love your opinion. Please.

When the pain in my jaw captures my attention, I release my clenched teeth. If I’m going to finish the Project and get into the running for the national competition—earning enough money for around-the-clock nursing care at home for Mom—I’m going to have to listen to this song. But that doesn’t mean I have to work at his house all the time. I respond:

Sorry, I’m busy today.

Why did I look for my phone in the first place? Oh, right. Grandma Gertie. Before I can pull up her contact, the oven timer beeps. I return to the kitchen and pull the cookie sheets out, scrutinizing each pastry to ensure they’re properly cooked. Satisfied, I place the cooked ones onto a rack to cool and stick the last of the batter into the oven.

As I pick up my phone to call Grandma Gertie, a text pings. Ozzy. Again.

Are you sure you can’t stop by the house? I promise not to take up too much of your time.

My shoulders droop. He did apologize for being an ass. And I know how protective he is of his new work, especially since he’s been in such a dry spell. Creativity-wise, that is. And before him, so had I. Reluctantly, I reply:

I’ll try.

I’ll be there when I’m there. And I’ll keep my clotheson, thank you very much.

Checking the timer on the oven, I place a quick call to Grandma Gertie, telling her I’m making her pastries. “Girl, you go and enjoy them. They’re one of my favorite recipes.”

“Ours too.”

“How’s your Mama doing?”

She’s the only person on earth who I’ve told about Mom. “She’s doing really well now. This morning, she thought I was her sister for a while.”

She clucks. “I’m so sorry. Dementia is an awful disease, stealing yourself right out from under you.”

“Don’t I know it.” The timer goes off and I remove the last batch from the oven. Inhaling their delicious scent, I tell her they’re done and end the conversation. Short and sweet. Like her.

Smiling, I load some of the cooled pastries onto a tray and bring them into the living room. “Mom, you get first pick.”

Her eyes—clear and excited—light up. I point to the cheese one and she bites into it. “Oh my, this is truly decadent.”

Becky and Elaine take theirs and offer similar praise. I grab a jelly one and return to the living room, where Elaine is setting up a game of Scrabble. I look from Elaine to Becky, and then to Mom who’s rubbing her hands together, declaring she’s going to wipe the floor with them, and smile. Scrabble’s a great game for the memory. I mouth thanks to Elaine and smile as I enjoy my jelly-filled pastry.

I’m the first one out. “Geez, you guys are sharks.”

Laughter ensues. I head into my room and grab my laptop. Today’s turning out to be a good day for Mom, so I decide to bite the bullet and head to Ozzy’s now. Returning to the kitchen, I place a few pastries onto a paper plate. Even if I’m not going to sleep with him, he might like these. Besides, if I keep them here, I’ll eat all of them by myself, which won’t be good.

Waving to the women in the living room, who are in the middle of a heated debate over whether “THYZE” is a word, I stuff another pastry in my mouth and head out the door.

---