Page 69 of The Bodyguard Affair
Nolan
I hadn’t intended for Andi to find out about Mom this way, but after I get off the phone, she immediately says, “I’m coming with you,” no questions asked.
Even though she’s not fully aware of the situation, she seems to understand that I need the support. I appreciate it, more than I can ever express.
Whatever spell came over us minutes ago vanishes entirely. We both switch into emergency mode, drying off, getting our clothes back on, and jumping into the car as fast as possible, like we weren’t making out like teenagers in the lake.
It’s strange, having her with me the entire drive home, not just because of what happened between us. Ever since I moved back, I’m used to having things under control. But with Mom’s condition worsening, it’s starting to feel like the opposite. Andi’s mere presence is a comfort I never anticipated. There’ssomething inherently reliable and reassuring about her presence that makes it feel like everything is going to be okay, even if it’s not.
Once we’re about five minutes away from Mom’s house, I finally speak. “You should probably know, my mom is sick.”
“Sick?” She eyes me curiously, though she doesn’t look surprised.
“Alzheimer’s,” I reply, the weight of the words settling like a sandbag between us.
Her face falls with gentle empathy, though she doesn’t say anything, which I appreciate. Whenever I tell people, they usually start asking a million questions, likeWhen did it start? What were her first symptoms?A bunch of facts I have to rattle off for their own knowledge, which actually makes me feel worse in the moment. And that’s not even scratching the surface of our history, before the diagnosis.
I’ve been that way my entire life. If something is wrong, I’ve always been the type of person to close off and bottle it all up. Talking about my feelings never did me any good.
But there’s something about Andi that makes me talk. “She was diagnosed three years ago.” I explain how she started having issues with her memory even before that, while I was overseas. According to my sister, it was small things, like misplacing keys or forgetting people’s names. Emma was the first one who noticed, though Mom also hid a lot from us, because she was embarrassed and in denial.
“She was doing relatively well up until the last few months. She’s become really short-tempered, easily agitated. She also gets…confused sometimes and will go out and wander around the neighborhood, trying to see old friends. Tonight, our neighborcaught her walking down the street in her pajamas looking for my sister,” I explain. It’s not until I’m finished talking that I let out a long breath, all the tension releasing from my body. Maybe it’s the fact that talking kept me distracted from whatever the hell I’m about to walk into, but regardless, it felt fucking good to get all of that out.
Andi softly places her hand on my forearm and gives me a reassuring squeeze. “God. I’m sorry, Nolan. That must be really hard on you, especially given your childhood.”
I stay quiet, focusing on the road ahead. But something about her words hits me square in the chest. No one’s ever said that to me before. Even Emma and I, who both know what it’s like to be Mom’s caregiver, have never really acknowledged that fact. It’s always been about duty, about action, what to do next for Mom.
We pull into the driveway. Andi and I agree it’s best she go to my place while I fetch my mom next door. The fewer people, the better.
“Hey, thank you so much. I’m so sorry about this,” I say when Katrina opens the door.
“It’s fine, Nolan. She came in and asked to have some tea. She wanted to watch Bon Jovi concert clips on YouTube,” she tells me, adjusting her pink bathrobe over her round middle. I’m beyond grateful for her. She’s been really helpful and understanding about Mom, unlike some of the other neighbors, who see her as a nuisance when she shows up at their door.
Mom is in her nightgown, casually sitting on the couch with a cup of tea, bobbing her head to “Livin’ on a Prayer.” When I walk in, she looks up and smiles, her eyes wide. “Hon! You’re finally back from tour?”
Strangely, this greeting gives me relief. She may not knowwhat day it is, but at least she knows who I am. I keep waiting for the day she won’t recognize me at all. I’ve been trying to prepare myself mentally, trying to tell myself it won’t affect me as much as it does other people. But I’m starting to doubt that.
“Yeah. Just got back,” I say. “Hey, let’s get you home and to bed.”
She frowns. “But I’m not tired. I’m still in the middle of the show.”
“We can watch it at our house,” I insist.
It takes a solid ten minutes to convince her, but eventually she gets up and lets me lead her home. She quickly spots Andi waiting in our kitchen and eyes her with curiosity. “Who are you?”
Andi briefly glances at me before holding her hand out. “I’m Andi. It’s really nice to meet you, Mrs. Crosby.”
“Are you Nolan’s girlfriend?” she asks, which surprises me. I didn’t expect her to remember about Andi, given she’s still at least three years behind in her head.
Andi nods. “I am.”
Mom claps her hands together in delight. “Oh, I’m so happy to finally meet you.” She turns to me. “She’s way more beautiful than you let on.”
I smile involuntarily. She’s not wrong.
Mom is quick to offer her some wrinkly grapes from the fridge, which Andi happily accepts. Before I have any say, they’re both sitting at the kitchen table, which is filled with random boxes and spilled ingredients. I feel a surge of embarrassment, given how clean her place is in comparison.
Andi doesn’t seem to mind. She’s good with my mom, sticking to neutral subjects, like the weather and ’80s bands.
