Page 80 of Like You Want It
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CARLY
Mondays at The Steam Room are our busiest day, but it’s all mostly in the morning, which is why I usually feel okay to work an opening shift and leave by noon.
But today is just not a normal Monday.
It’s nearly one in the afternoon when I’m finally able to step away from the counter to call the Pasadena Village, the retirement facility where my grandpa lives. I typically visit him on Monday afternoons and sometimes bring my niece, Ari, along with me. But today, it just doesn’t seem like it’s in the cards.
“Hey GP,” I say, when he makes it to his in-room phone after I call for the second time.
I always do this – call once, then call again. The man is as frail as a baby bird, and he moves about as fast as a ninety-two-year-old man can, so it usually takes him a while to realize the phone is ringing, put down his book, push himself to standing, and then make it across the room.
Sometimes I call three times.
“Hi,” he says, and I wonder whether this is a moment when he remembers me or not. “I was just wondering when you’d get here.”
I let out a relieved breath. “I know and I am so, so sorry but work is slammed today, and I’m not going to be able to make it. Do you want me to try and come another day this week?”
“Oh, don’t worry dear,” he says, his voice warm and forgiving, even though I know I’m letting him down. “I know things with the kids are super important. You just come on by whenever it works, okay?”
I swallow, my eyes welling up with tears.
He thinks I’m my mother.
It’s been happening more and more, even though my mom has been gone for over ten years. But he’s in his nineties. It makes sense that his mind would struggle to sort through his memories sometimes.
“Definitely,” I finally respond. “I love you.”
“I love you too, Jeanie.”
Then he gets off the phone, and I give myself a moment. Just one. Just a quick moment to be sad for the circumstances that life has presented to my grandpa.
There’s this little place in my heart that throbs whenever we talk, just waiting for a moment alone so I can burst into tears. It always surprises Dina, since I’m such the eternal optimist. But I think people assume that being happy most of the time means you don’t feel the full range of emotions that truly make you human. And that’s just not true. If anything, I think my ability to besohappy means I can feel pain at a depth that is much deeper, much darker than others.
I’ve been visiting my GP ever since I was old enough to take the bus or drive myself. It wasn’t until just a few years ago that he was finally diagnosed with Alzheimer’s. I knew it was coming. He’d been having some serious memory problems since I was a child, and it wasn’t until I pushed my dad to get him a space at the Pasadena Village that a doctor diagnosed him properly.
It’s a scary thing, loving someone while knowing that their mind can take them from you before they’re really gone. That’s what spending time with my GP is like. He’s there, but he’s not.
I run my fingers under my eyes, dabbing at the handful of tears that have broken free. Then I take a deep breath, let it out, and haul my butt back out to the counter to help Kelsey, our newest employee that has been struggling to keep her drinks straight.
Luckily, the busyness of the day keeps my mind occupied, and I’m able to focus on work instead of GP.
Finally,thankfully,about an hour later, things start to slow down.
“You look like you could use a break.”
I turn at the sound of Dina’s voice and break into a smile. “And a hug,” I say, coming around the counter and wrapping my arms around her. “Sometimes you just need a hug from your bestie.”
She squeezes me tight, then steps back. “Wait, you’re not supposed to be here right now. Is GP okay?”
“See? This is why you’re an awesome friend.”
“No. This isone of the millions of reasonswhy I’m an awesome friend,” she corrects me.
I laugh because even though she’s joking, she’s also completely, 100% serious.
“Yeah, he’s good. It was just so busy today I couldn’t leave.”
