Pieces of Happily Ever After

by Irene Zutell

Blinding white dots of fury dance in front of my eyes. My body shakes. I want to punch this woman.

  “You shouldn’t be running a board and care. You should be shoveling people into ovens,” I hiss. “Don’t you know this is not my mother? This is fucking Alzheimer’s!”

  Her body flinches as if I’ve just punched her and she gasps. “Now I know vair she gets her foul mouth. I vant you and your mother out of here ziss instant,” she says.

  “Gladly. But let me tell you, I’ll be reporting you to the Los Angeles . . . Los Angeles . . .” I scan my brain for some bureaucracy in charge of board and cares but nothing comes to mind. “Well, some Los Angeles association,” I say.

  I push past her into the living room. One of the new employees whose name I never learned walks my mother toward the couch. She’s about to plop her down.

  “No!” I yell as the residents and workers look at me in horror. I didn’t mean to scream so loud, but if my mom sits down, it will take hours to pull her up. I clear my throat and smile at this Filipino girl who looks like she’s not even twenty.

  “I’m going to take my mother home.”

  The girl looks at me as if this is a ridiculous notion. She’s thinking, “How can this American woman who is nearly twice my age care for her own mother?” She smiles at me without looking at me. She gently guides my mother toward me.

  “Here you are, missus,” she says to my mother. “Your daughter is taking you to the home.” She looks up at me and nods. “I help?”

  I begin to shake my head yes when I hear Hilda behind me, inhaling loudly.

  “Thank you, Maria,” Hilda says. “Please attend to our residents.”

  Maria nervously looks at me. Then she pries my mother’s fingers off her wrist. She pulls my mother’s hand into mine.

  “She is such a nice lady,” Maria whispers. “I will miss her.”

  Hilda peers out the window as I struggle to get my mother to the car. Every step seems to take an hour. She shuffles her feet a centimeter at a time. I didn’t realize that my mother had forgotten how to walk. She doesn’t bend her knees or lift her legs. I have to coax each leg to remember until we finally get to the car.

  I am relieved when we make it to the car. My back hurts from pulling at my mother. My head pounds. When I open the passenger door, my mother won’t sit.

  “Sit, Mom, come on. You can do it.” I lean her against the side of the car and show her. I sit and stand. Sit and stand. I push on my mother’s back to get her to bend her body. Despite the Alzheimer’s, she is still strong. She remains rigid and upright.

  “Jesus Christ, Mom, come on, just sit,” I say, straining not to yell as sweat pours down my face. Mom looks at me and her eyes fill with tears. She opens her mouth and wails. I wonder when my mother had her teeth brushed last. Since Trinity left, I’m sure no one has taken the time to brush her teeth for her, and she’d never do it on herself. The smell of her breath is like water in a vase of flowers that has been dead for weeks. It is the smell of rotting organs, muscles, flesh. It’s the smell of death.

  From the corner of my eye, I see Hilda at the window. She wears the same smile she had when Hal died. I wrap my arms around Mom and start crying.

  “I’m sorry, Mommy. I’m sorry. I just don’t know how to do this. I wish you could help me. I can’t do this alone.”

  I have no idea what to do next. I pray for a miracle. I close my eyes and take a few deep breaths.

  Someone says, “Alice?”

  I look up. Nancy—Winnie the Pooh mom—sits in an idling Dodge minivan.

  “Nancy!”

  “I thought that was you,” she says, getting out of the van and heading to us. “Can I help you guys?”

  I wipe my eyes and nose. “I’m trying to get my mom to sit down, but she just won’t. I don’t know what to do.”

  “Let me see what I can do. What’s your mother’s name?”

  “Mary.”

  “Come on, Mary, you can do this,” Nancy says, smiling. “Let’s show Alice that we can do this without her, okay? We don’t need Alice’s help, right?

  She speaks in a soothing voice. Mom almost seems to give Nancy a mischievous grin. In a few minutes, she’s sitting in the passenger seat.

  “See, that wasn’t so bad,” Nancy says.

  “You’re amazing. Are you a nurse or something?”

  “No, but my grandmother lived with us growing up. In her last years she had dementia, which I guess is the same thing as Alzheimer’s. Your mother seems like a sweetie. They’re just like kids. Sometimes it’s easier for a stranger to get through to them than it is for their own flesh and blood.”

  I hear kids fighting in the minivan.

  “What are you doing here anyway,” I ask.

  “We live up the street,” she says. “My little boy was the one who noticed you. He said there’s Gabby’s mommy.”

  One of her children begins to scream.

  “Well, I guess that’s my cue. I leave them alone for a minute and they beat each other to a pulp. We’re on our way to soccer practice. Just another crazy Saturday. But if you need anything, just call. I mean it, really, Alice. Please call me.”

  She jots a number down on a piece of paper and hands it to me.

  “If I don’t hear from you, I’ll bug you, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  More than anything, I want to ask her to follow me home and help my mom into the house, but I don’t. I was brought up not to impose, not to ask favors, to figure out how to do it alone, to bear the burden. “Never rely on others” was my family’s secret motto. I remember making pancakes with my mom in a snowstorm when we ran out of eggs. I suggested running next door to borrow some from a neighbor. Mom vehemently shook her head. “I don’t want to be beholden to anyone,” she told me as she tossed the batter into the garbage, and we ate cereal instead.

  It isn’t until I am in my driveway that I see Nancy’s minivan.

  She gets out and smiles at me.

  “I could use a break from being a soccer mom anyway,” she says as she heads to my passenger side door.

  Nancy stays with me for a few hours. But the moment she leaves, I realize my mother needs a diaper change. I don’t know what to do. I’ve never changed my mother before. I can change baby diapers, no problem. But this is beyond me. I hope one day Gabby doesn’t have this dilemma: to change a diaper or let Mommy wallow in her own excrement. Come on, Ally, you can do it. I find a box of Depends, open it up, and grab a diaper. I cover the bed in the guest room with a sheet. Then I go back to the living room to get my mom.

  Alex couldn’t have planned his departure better. I wonder what he would have done if he’d been here for this. He’d probably be on the phone with every board and care in the region until he found a place with an opening. He’d be cashing in on favors. Or he’d put her in a nursing home and convince me it was for the best. He’d find a way to sue Hilda. If nothing else, Alex was effective. He knew the right people.

  I stand frozen in the living room with a diaper in my hand.

  “Mommy, come with me,” I say, knowing she won’t respond. I head towards her and grab an arm. It’s a dead weight.

  “Cocksucker,” Mom mumbles at some unknown thought. “Motherfucker.”

  I wonder if Dad’s looking down at us and crying. I hold my breath. “Come on, Mommy,” I say. I think about calling Nancy, but can I really ask basically a stranger to help change my mother’s diaper? I inventory my friends. They’d all come up with some excuse. Only Lauren, my acupuncturist college friend, would help, but she’s in Rochester. I wonder how many real friends I have.

  The phone rings. I race over and pick it up.

  It’s the second miracle of the day. Trinity.

  “I am calling to tell you that I no longer am employed at Hilda’s board and care. I am living with my seester in Reseda, but want to tell you what a pleasure it was working with your moother. He is a berry lovely lady. And Maria call and say he left the board and care. If you ever are in needi
ng for someone in helping you taking care of your mother, I want to give you a phone number where you can be reached.”

  “How fast can you be here?”

  “Please excuse me?”

  “Do you want a job right now?”

  “Yes. I am looking for employment.”

  I stare at the diaper in my hand. “Come to my house as fast as you can. You’re hired.”

  8

  Mashed Potatoes

  Trinity, my mom, and I sit at the kitchen table eating chicken, broccoli, and mashed potatoes. I sigh. What a day. But not only have I persevered, I’ve also whipped up a three-course meal. A healthy meal for my mom, whose flesh is dangling off her bones. Trinity smiles and tells me everything’s delicious. I try to eat, but I haven’t been hungry in weeks. Mom doesn’t eat, either.

  “Mommy, you really have to eat something. Please.”

  “Come on, Mary,” Trinity says, putting the fork into my mom’s hand. Mom holds it for a second and then it falls to the floor.

  I get my mother another fork.

  “If you don’t mind, I will feed him myself,” Trinity says.

  “My mother doesn’t eat on her own?”

  “Not really,” Trinity says, keeping her eyes on the table as if she’s embarrassed that I don’t know this fact about my own mother.

  I watch as Trinity scoops up mashed potatoes with a spoon and touches my mother’s lips with it. My mother’s mouth is squeezed shut, but Trinity is persistent. She taps and taps the spoon against my mother’s lips. Finally, my mom’s mouth opens a little bit and Trinity pries it wider with the spoon. Trinity turns the spoon over in my mother’s mouth and dumps the potatoes in. My mother rolls the potatoes around in her mouth until she finally swallows them. My God, at this rate she’ll be done eating in the morning.

  “If you don’t mind, you should puree everything for your moother. The chicken, the broccoli, everything.”

  “Puree?”

  “He doesn’t really chew anymore.”

  “My mother? Doesn’t chew? At all?”

  “No. Just swallows. But he love the potato. Right, Mary? Don’ you love the potatoes?”

  My mother stares straight ahead. I get the feeling that she doesn’t love potatoes or chicken or anything anymore. She’s still breathing, but there’s no joy left. What’s the purpose of life if you can’t even enjoy mashed potatoes?

  Trinity had arrived at my house about a half hour after she had called. I helped her change my mom’s diaper. (Okay, an exaggeration. I watched her change my mother’s diaper.) Then we devised a plan. I’d convert the guest house in the back to my mom’s apartment. Trinity would live there with her. It’s got a bedroom and a living room. Trinity thought that since my mother wanders the house at night, it would be better if they stayed in the guest house—especially since there’s no oven for her to play with. I also think Trinity liked the idea of some privacy.

  The guest house already had a bed, a pull-out couch, and some sparse furnishings. I had planned to eventually turn the place into my home office. One day, I’d write my novel there. Instead, tomorrow I will head to Home Depot and Pottery Barn and Crate and Barrel and convert the space into a mini board and care. I’ll get bolts for the door so Mom can’t wander at night. I’ll find all the baby proofing equipment that I was saving for our next child—the covers for the switches, the plastic locks for the cabinets—and mother-proof the guesthouse.

  Trinity spoons more potatoes into my mother’s mouth. It’s the same routine, the slow tapping on my mother’s lips. The prying of my mother’s mouth. The turning of the spoon. The dumping of its contents. The sloshing around. The eventual swallowing. Repeat. I can’t watch anymore. I get up to do the dishes.

  A few minutes later, someone pounds at the door. Gabby! I look at my watch—seven P.M. She’s been away for two days and I thought I’d enjoy the break, but I miss her more than I imagined.

  “Mommymommymommy,” Gabby squeals, leaping into my arms. “Mommy!”

  “Baby!” I slather her pudgy cheeks with kisses. I breathe in her scent, like sugar cookies just out of the oven. Alex stands there, hands in his black Armani pants pockets. His head is bowed. After eight years, I know that look. He’s guilty.

  Yes, of course, he’s guilty of many things. But there’s fresh guilt written all over him. He shuffles his feet. He wants to leave before Gabby blabs something.

  “Did you have fun, baby?”

  “Yes. It was lots and lots of fun. Daddy’s apartment is right on the beach. I could watch people surf from my gigantic bedroom window. I collected shells and pebbles. I have a big bucket outside for you. Then Daddy took me to a fancy restaurant and I got a big sundae for dessert that I couldn’t even finish. It had like five different flavors in it. It was ne-normous. We went to the Santa Monica Pier and we rode on the Ferris wheel three times and the carousel two times. And then we—”

  “Listen, guys, I should get going. There’s a lot of traffic out there and I have a long drive back,” Alex says, his eyes grazing my throat.

  “No, Daddy, please don’t go. Stay here. We can paint my shells.”

  “We’ll paint another day.”

  “No! I don’t want you to go. I want you to stay here with me and Mommy. Now! I don’t want you to go back to that stupid apartment. This house is so much better. Why would you want to leave?”

  “Gabby, I’ll see you in a few days. We’ll paint shells then.”

  Gabby scowls. “I hate you. You’re mean and you don’t even love me anymore.”

  Alex bends down to Gabby. “Of course I love you. You’re my princess.”

  “If you loved me, you’d stay here with me and Mommy.”

  “Listen, me not living here has nothing to do with you, Gabby. I promise I’ll see you in a few days. We’ll do something real fun.”

  “Mommy’s fun, too,” Gabby says, almost pleadingly. “She’s much more funner than she used to be. She even talks Barbies with me.”

  “I’ll see you in just a few days. Okay, Gabster?”

  He moves closer to the front door.

  “Will that girl be with us again?”

  Girl?

  Girl?!

  Could she be talking about Rose? Of course she’s talking about Rose.

  Alex’s mouth flops open. His eyes bug out. His ears turn red—Alex’s tell-tale sign of complete embarrassment.

  Girl?

  For some reason what upsets me more than anything else—than even the fact that Alex outright lied to me again, that he exposed Gabby to Rose—is that Gabby considers Rose a girl. Gabby calls my friends ladies or women. Rose, just a few years younger than I am, is considered a girl. A girl!

  I struggle to remain silent. I bite my lips. I don’t want to fight in front of Gabby.

  “Will she, Daddy? Will she?”

  “She wasn’t with us that much, Gabby. She just stopped by.” Alex speaks in a strange sing-songy voice.

  “For like hours and hours. I liked her doggie. She was cute. Mommy, can we get a Chihuahua? I want one that I can dress in beautiful clothes, just like that girl does. You should have seen this doggie. She was wearing a furry pink hat and a matching pink jacket. The girl let me feed her doggie biscuits. You have to remember to keep your hand flat or a dog might bite you. Can we get a Chihuahua? I want to name it Ariel Cinderella.”

  I don’t hear a word. My rage is bigger than the rage I felt at Hilda’s. It wants to explode all over the place. Instead I take a deep breath and hold it in while it rattles inside every nerve in my body. I start trembling.

  “Gabby, why don’t you go in the kitchen. We have a visitor.” My voice is low, shaky, and drained of any emotion. I barely recognize it.

  “A visitor, yay!”

  As Gabby shuffles off, I stare at Alex. My face is beet red with fury.

  “What the fuck, Alex?”

  “Al, it isn’t what you think. I never invited her over. She came back from Toronto and showed up unexpectedly. I only let her st
ay for a little while.”

  “Alex, I’m so sick of your lies.”

  “This isn’t a lie.”

  “It’s all lies. You told me you were using this time to find yourself. Instead, you’re shacking up with that vapid actress right in front of Gabby. Don’t you even care about your daughter? She’s confused enough as it is. This is so not fair.”

  “I love Gabby more than anything in the world. I didn’t do this to confuse her. I made Rose leave after a few minutes.”

  “You never should have let her come over. I thought you wanted to spend the weekend with your daughter. If I’d known, I never would have allowed this.”

  “Don’t blow this out of proportion. Rose didn’t know Gabby was there. I didn’t let her stay very long.”

  “Long enough so Gabby could feed her rodent macrobiotic dog biscuits.”

  “Alice, don’t. It was all completely innocent.”

  “Innocent? Innocent? Nothing’s innocent. What’s the deal, Alex or Xander or whoever you are this week? Who are you supposed to be anyway?”

  “Alice, I swear. This break has nothing to do with her. It’s about me.”

  I can’t help but laugh. How clichéd, I think. It’s like he’s reciting bad movie dialogue again.

  “Get out of here. I’m calling my lawyer tomorrow.”

  Alex is my lawyer.

  “Ally, please, give me some time to sort through all this. I haven’t seen Rose in weeks. I didn’t want to see her.”

  “Get out of here,” I hiss.

  I slam the door, lean against it, and take a few deep breaths. It’s quiet in the kitchen for a few seconds. Then I hear Gabby and Trinity stifle giggles.

  “Oh, Mary, shame, shame. That is a very naughty word,” Trinity says. “You must not say that word in front of your little granddaughter.”

  The phone rings. I want the machine to pick it up, but instead Gabby does.

  “Who’s calling please,” she says. “One moment.” Then she screams, “Mommy, it’s some lady for you.”

  I pick up the phone. “Yes?”

  “Hello, Alice? It’s Debbie Sutton from 4819 Degas.”