Dad answered, looking so tired that I reached out to him.
“Dad? Are you okay?”
He just nodded. “Come in. You’re early.”
He took my coat and hung it up, ushering me into the little sitting room where I’d been with Fin not that long ago.
“You didn’t bring your young man?” Dad didn’t like Fin, that was for sure, and Mom had seemed to be captivated by him last time. I hadn’t begun to ponder that weirdness.
“No, he’s taking care of some business overseas. Where’s Mom?”
Dad motioned for me to sit down, and I did.
“She’s resting. Would you like some tea?” My stomach was churning too much, but having a cup in my hand would give me something to hold on to, so I said I did. He got up, and I was left alone in the room with only the company of the furniture and the ticking grandfather clock that sounded out every quarter hour. I used to hate that clock. It was so tall and ugly, but my mother loved it.
My childhood hadn’t been a bad one, at least not compared to Fin’s, but it was a struggle to remember times when I’d truly been happy. They were few and far between and hazy in my memories, almost as if I’d imagined them.
Dad came back and interrupted my reminiscing. He handed me a cup and I stirred it around, just for something to do.
“What’s wrong with Mom?” I finally asked, staring into the cup as the liquid spun around.
Dad sighed and stirred his own cup. Like father, like daughter.
“She has early onset Alzheimer’s and dementia.”
Both? But how? I opened my mouth to ask, but waited for Dad to continue.
“Sometimes it comes on like this and progresses fast. They have no idea why. They’ve done test after test after test, but there’s nothing we can do. There are medications that can help her cope and slow the symptoms a bit, but they can’t heal a broken brain.”
Broken brain.
I wanted to throw up. I wanted to cry. I wanted to chuck my cup at the stupid clock that wouldn’t stop ticking.
I wanted to do anything but sit there as my father told me my mother had a broken brain.
“Are you doing okay?” I asked, and put down the cup because my hands were shaking too much to hold on to it anymore.
He put his cup down and clasped his hands together.
“I don’t know. Sometimes I feel as if I’m living someone else’s life. This isn’t my life. My wife is fine. Or I think I’m in a dream and just need to wake up.”
A tear fell from my eye and then another. I got up from my seat and went to sit next to him, putting my arms around him.
“It’s been so hard, Marisol,” he said, his voice breaking. I couldn’t even imagine what he’d been through. I wanted to yell at him for not telling me sooner, for not letting me help. But maybe he thought I wouldn’t want to, given how rocky my relationship with my mother is. But this was different. We might not get along most of the time, but she was the only mother I had, and if she was sick, that mattered.
I started rocking back and forth as Dad’s shoulders shook with emotion. I’d never comforted my father before. It was a bit of an odd situation, but that was my life now. In the past three days I’d gotten drunk, gone to yoga, called Fin’s “ex-girlfriend” at the club where she worked as a sexual professional, and here I was, comforting my sobbing father because my mother had Alzheimer’s and dementia.
“It’s okay, Dad. I’m here. I’m going to be here for you. Whatever you need.” I meant every word. This was going to mean a lot of trips out here. I wished I could afford a car, but I could probably borrow one. And there was always Carl. I might even need to stay the night on weekends.
Dad finally got ahold of himself and pulled away from me, wiping his eyes with his fingers. I pretended not to notice.
“Is there anything I can do?”
He shook his head. “We just need to keep things quiet and stable for her and not upset her too much.” That last part was directed at me. Yeah, I probably deserved that.
“I can do that. Have you thought maybe about having someone come in and help? Like a nurse or something?” Clearly, he’d been doing everything on his own, and it was running him ragged.
“I’ve thought about it, but haven’t moved forward.”
Aha. Something I could do.
“How about I make some calls and let you know? I could even do some interviews if you want.”
He nodded and patted my hand. “That would be nice, Marisol. That would be really nice.”
“And if there’s anything else I can do, you know I’ll do it. I’m not that far away, and I can be here in less than thirty minutes. I don’t want you doing this alone, okay? I’m here for you, Dad. And Mom.” I gave him another hug, and he smiled for the first time in a while.
“Can I go up and say hello to her?”
He nodded, and we both got up and walked upstairs to their bedroom. God, I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been upstairs in my parents’ house.
“She’s having a good day, but she’s really tired. She’s been up late at night and then she sleeps during the day. I have no idea if it has anything to do with . . . everything else, but it’s been exhausting.” I could imagine.
“How did it get this bad this fast?” Just weeks ago she’d been fine.
Dad sighed and leaned against the wall in the hallway outside their door.
“I should have seen it coming. There were little things in the past few months. Forgetting her keys, putting her shoes in the freezer. Nothing major. It was like I just didn’t want to see it. And then by the time it got bad, it was really bad.” He closed his eyes and I wondered if he was going to fall asleep right there against the wall.
“Hey, how about you go to the guest room and take a nap? I’ll stay with her and call you if I need anything, okay?”
He nodded and shuffled down the hall to one of the guest rooms, and I slowly opened the door to my parents’ room.
It was dark, the curtains all drawn tight to block out any daylight. Mom was sleeping peacefully under the flowered duvet cover. They’d redecorated since I’d been in here last. Honestly, it looked like a florist threw up in here. Flowers were everywhere, on the walls, the lamps, the furnishings. It was way too much, but my mother’s taste had never been all that subtle.
I sat down in one of the tufted, flowered chairs and rested my head against the back of it. Mom sighed in her sleep. I looked around and found a novel on her bedside table. Being careful not to disturb her bookmark, I started reading. It was typical romance fare, one of those formulaic things that was a nice read but didn’t get too deep. I skimmed the words without really reading them. She slept on, and I found myself getting drowsy in the low light, but I kept my eyes open.
How much our lives could change in the work of a moment. A few months ago, if I told myself I’d be sitting here, watching my mother sleep, I’d have called myself crazy. But I was here now, and that’s what mattered. I was here, and I was going to be here from now on.
My father came and got me just as I was drifting off in the chair. It was so plush and comfortable, and I couldn’t help but let my eyes close a bit.
I set the book back where I found it and snuck out of the room. Mom had slept the whole time.
“Thank you for that, Marisol. I didn’t realize how tired I was until I actually let myself stop.” He did look a little better, but his eyes still had circles under them. I predicted a lot more sessions at my mother’s bedside while Dad took a break. Almost like having a baby with one parent taking a breather and the other burning the midnight oil.
“Don’t even think about it. I’m here for both of you. Don’t hesitate to call me about anything. Anything. I’ll get you some names of visiting nurses as soon as I can. I’ll call tomorrow in between classes. I’m sure we can find someone to at least come in during the day and give you a break. Don’t be afraid to ask for help. I know it’s hard, but you can’t do this on your own.”
He nodd
ed and gave me another hug, holding me tight like he hadn’t since I was young.
“I’m so lucky to have you, Marisol. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
Well, I’d not been so great of a daughter for a long time. Now I had to make up for it. I hugged him back and reiterated that he should call me if he needed anything before I headed downstairs to call for a cab.
Even though I just sat next to my mother’s bed, I was completely worn out when I finally got home. There was a traffic jam on the highway that delayed our trip by forty-five minutes. Now I was the one who needed the nap, but I knew if I let myself sleep now, my clock would get all messed up again. So I had some coffee and made myself stay up and work on some more homework. I was now ahead of the game and really happy about it. At least that was something I could do. Once I was pleased with my academic progress, I got online and looked up visiting nurse services in Boston and the surrounding areas. There were a lot of them, and I bookmarked a few pages and wrote down some phone numbers to call when I had a chance the next day.
Finally, I thought about what I wanted to ask Sapphire. She probably wouldn’t tell me her real name anyway, not that it mattered. I was also curious about how she’d gotten into the line of work she’d was in. I didn’t even know what to call it. Saying she was a prostitute seemed . . . crass, but maybe she didn’t care.
I definitely wanted to know about that first time with Fin. Not the details, but what he’d been like when he was younger. He’d given me the picture of himself during his chubby phase, but that wasn’t enough. I’d told him plenty of my childhood stories and escapades, and I wanted us to be even.
By the time I headed to bed (at my usual time), my head felt much lighter, and not as crowded with questions and worries and speculations. This was a good feeling. I hoped it would last.
During my lunch break between classes, I called several of the visiting nurse services and wrote down costs, what they could provide, and started comparing them. At one of the places I called, the woman was so pleasant and sweet, and she said I could stop by their offices whenever I wanted. It wasn’t that far from campus, so I made a note to stop by on Tuesday before I had my “date” with Sapphire.
I also called Dad to relay the news, and he seemed to be in much better spirits than the day before, and excited about the visiting nurse coming in.
“How’s she doing today?” I asked.
“She’s having a lucid day. Completely like her old self. We’re going to the botanical gardens in a little while. She wants to see the latest addition to the butterfly garden.” That sounded like her. My grandmother had loved flowers and passed that on to her daughter. I hadn’t gotten the bug, though. I tried to grow things, but they always died on my watch, no matter how closely I followed the growing instructions.
“That sounds really nice, Dad. Tell her I said hello.” He said he would, and we hung up. That went well. Somehow this crisis had brought me back into my parents’ lives and was making us act like, gasp, a family again. God, life was weird sometimes.
On Monday night I sat with a fresh notebook and pen, writing down my questions for Sapphire. Sure, that was probably a weird thing to do, but it helped me compose my thoughts. I was trying to see this meeting, date, whatever, as more of an interview than anything else. Just an interview between two people. Thinking about it that way made the whole thing feel less . . . weird. More like an assignment for school.
I honestly thought about calling the number again and cancelling my “delivery.” I thought about calling Fin and making sure he was completely fine with this. And I thought about calling Chloe and telling her the truth.
I did none of those things, and as a result, I spent most of my morning classes on Tuesday completely preoccupied. If it wasn’t the meeting with Sapphire, it was the visiting nurse services and hoping I could find someone, and that they could start right away.
I skipped lunch and headed to one of the offices. I had a lovely meeting with the administrator, Gwen, who gave me more information than I’d ever need. I thought about calling Dad as soon as I left but decided to put it off until I finished with Sapphire.
I got to Fin’s over an hour early and spent the wait time with various activities. Laundry, searching for a book before deciding I didn’t feel like reading, making Fin’s bed even though it was already made, lining up my products in the bathroom, cleaning out and organizing the fridge. I had to stop myself before I started defrosting the freezer.
This was insane. This was completely crazy. I couldn’t handle this. No way. I’d have to call the whole thing off. I had my phone out and was dialing the only number I had for Sapphire when there was a knock at the door.
Too late.
Maybe if I ignored her she’d go away. No, that was too childish. I’d just answer the door, tell her I changed my mind, and then it would be over.
But when I opened the door and found her standing there, a dark hoodie hiding her face, wearing the same pair of ripped jeans, my mouth didn’t agree with my brain.
“Come in,” I said, and I stepped back to admit her.
“Thanks.” She pulled the hood off as soon as I closed the door behind her. To the average observer she almost looked like a teenage boy in her attire, dirty black Chucks and all.
“Sooo . . .” I said. “This is a little bit awkward.”
She crossed her arms and rocked back and forth on her heels. “Yeah, pretty much. I’m sorry. We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to anymore.”
I shook my head. She’d given me a chance to get out, and I hadn’t taken it. There was something seriously wrong with me.
“Do you, um, want anything? Soda, water? Vodka?” I tried for a joke with the last suggestion.
She laughed nervously. “I might have taken you up on the last one, but I have to work later and it’s better if I’m sober.” Work. Oh.
“So you have to . . .” I had no idea how to describe her “work.”
“Yeah, I have to go back to the club later. Listen, I know this is an uncomfortable situation to begin with, but I’m under no illusions about what I do. I’m a professional submissive. Not a hooker, not a prostitute. What I do isn’t about sex. It’s about freedom and release for my clients. Some people go skydiving. Some people need to tie me up and whip me for a while.” She shrugged one shoulder.
Well now.
“I don’t care. I mean, about what you do. It’s none of my business, really. And I understand what you’re talking about. I wouldn’t be with Fin if I didn’t.”
Our eyes met, and she searched mine, as if looking for something. Then she nodded and walked further into the apartment.
“You know, I’ve been dying to see this place for years.” She held her hands behind her back, like she was trying not to touch anything.
“So you’ve never been up here?” I asked, following her, but not too closely.
She turned around and shook her head. “No. Fin always came to me at the club. That was part of our agreement.”
“Agreement?”
“Yes. I always sign an agreement with my clients ahead of time. Well, my long-term clients anyway. To make sure everyone follows the rules, you know.” She gave me a wink and then kept walking.
She may look young, but she walked like a woman who knew all sorts of dark secrets. Guess she did.
“What’s your real name?” I asked, and she sat on the couch. More like flopped on the couch.
“Why do you want to know?” she asked, scanning the bookshelves.
I made my way over and sat on the other end of the couch. I really should have gotten a drink or something. Like Sunday with the tea. It would give me something to mess with while I tried to organize my scrambled thoughts.
“I don’t know. I just . . . I don’t know.”
She laughed again.
“God, this is awkward. Okay, fine. My name is Lauren. I’m not telling you my last name,” she said.
“Lauren,” I repeated. She definitely
didn’t look like a Lauren. Sapphire suited her much better.
“Okay,” she said, still looking at the books. “I knew he’d have a lot of books. I used to tell him he read too much.” She chuckled, as if at a private joke. My stomach churned.
“How can someone read too much?” I asked. She looked at me as if she’d forgotten I was there.
“Never mind. You can’t, I guess. Anyway, I’m guessing you have some questions for me. Fire away.” She turned in my direction and gave me her full attention.
“Sure. Yeah, okay. Are you sure you don’t want anything?”
She shook her head again.
“Listen, I’ve known Fin for a long time. For what it’s worth, coming from me, he’s a good guy. Shitty past, but a good guy. He’s lucky to be as okay as he is. Some of us aren’t so lucky.” She picked at a rip in her jeans.
“Did you have a bad childhood?” I would assume so, if she was hired to sleep with Fin when she was still a teenager. My question made her roll her eyes.
“Listen, I’m not here to tell my sob story. Yes, I had a messed up childhood, and I’m over it, okay?”
Okay, touchy subject.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to be a pain in the ass.”
That made her smile. “Sure you did. I can’t blame you for being curious how I got to where I am. It’s a long story and not a nice one. But I’m not bitter or angry about being here. I’m a grown woman, and I’ve made my choices. So.”
“How often does he see you? I mean, did he see you?” This was one of my easier questions.
She thought about that for a minute.
“Well, when he was traveling, it was whenever he was in town. So, maybe once or twice a month?” Wow, okay. Next question. I almost wanted to write down her answers.
“And when did he start seeing you like that? I know you met when you were both teenagers, but he didn’t start coming to you until years later, right?”
Deep Surrendering: Episode Eight Page 5
