“Ummm…” I say, and Aaron looks at me, pushes away from the table, and starts pacing around the living room, rubbing the back of his neck.
“I never should have said those things to you. Even as I was saying it, I knew it wasn’t true. I knew you were never going to end up using me like Mom. You came home without your hearing, and all I could think of was how it was going to affect me. I didn’t show you one ounce of compassion, and I’m so sorry. And then I was just too goddamn stubborn to man up and apologize, and now it’s been years, and I’m an idiot.”
I did not see this coming. I had hoped, and maybe even expected, that we’d be able to get past our argument. But his apology seems so sincere it’s taking me off guard, and a lump rises in my throat. I can’t let Aaron take all the blame for what happened.
“Aar, it’s not all your fault. I was an asshole. I know I was. I mean, yeah, I was struggling with my own shit, but I shouldn’t have just expected you to manage everything with her. That wasn’t fair. I’m really sorry too.”
We stare at each other for a second before Aaron steps closer and throws his arms around me. And suddenly, we’re both fucking crying.
“Fuck, I’m sorry, Ty,” he says, and I can feel his voice shake more than I can hear it. ”I miss you so much.”
“I’m sorry too, Aar. I miss you too, and I promise, I’m going to do better. We’ll take care of this shit with Mom together.”
After we break apart, both a little embarrassed from our outbursts, we clean up the kitchen together and then crash on the couch. We spend the rest of the evening in silence, but it’s the good kind, the comfortable kind. I know that whatever needs to be resolved between us will be. We’ll work it out because we love each other, and we need each other. Between Sam and now Aaron, for the first time in as long as I can remember, I feel like I’m not alone in this world, and a tiny spark of hope flickers to life inside me. Maybe, just maybe, things are turning around for me.
CHAPTER 32
TYLER
When I wake up, Aaron’s in the kitchen, making us breakfast. Later today, we’re meeting with Mom’s care home to talk about what happens when she’s well enough to return there.
It’s still early when we get to her room. Early enough that the nurses haven’t been in to wake everyone yet. Aaron says it’s because he’s on Tennessee time after his latest trip, so his clock is still a couple of hours ahead, but I think he feels obligated to be here.
“I’ll go get us some coffee,” I say and head down to the cafeteria. I remember how Aaron likes his coffee, same as mine, more cream and sugar than should be legal, and when I get back up to our room, the nurse has been in to open the blinds, letting light stream in through the window. It’s a rare sunny winter day, and though it’s still wet and cold, there’s something springlike in the air.
I take the seat across the bed from Aaron, and we both settle in, sipping our coffees. Again, the silence between us isn’t strained; it’s comfortable, and I’m so happy to have my brother back.
We haven’t been sitting there long when I catch movement out of the corner of my eye. Mom is moving one of her hands, her eyelids fluttering.
“Oh, fuck, Aar,” I hiss. He looks at me and then over to her, his eyes widening when he realizes what’s happening.
“Should we call someone?” I ask, but before Aaron can answer, she opens her eyes.
She blinks up at us a couple of times before the fog seems to clear. “Hi, boys,” she says in a voice too soft for my hearing aids to pick up, but I read her lips. She smiles at us, and I can’t tell if she knows what’s happening or if she’s locked in some memory of the past. It would have to be one of the rare decent memories because it wasn’t often she gave us that soft, genuine smile and used a gentle voice with us.
“Um. Hi, Mom,” Aaron says as he shoots me a sideways glance.
Our mother was always unpredictable, but since her dementia took over, it’s impossible to tell what version of her we’ll be seeing when she opens her mouth.
“Do you two remember that time we went to the County Fair and you both got cotton candy?” she says.
Aaron and I trade glances. “Yeah, Mom. We both remember that,” he says. It’s one of the rare good days we had together, one of the tiny handful of my happy memories of us. We had gone to the Washington State Fair—I must have been six or seven, and Aaron was a teenager. She bought us cotton candy, and I was completely covered in the stuff, my fingers and my face all blue from the food dye. Then we went on the roller coaster together, and the three of us just screamed with laughter. I’d been terrified and exhilarated all at once from the ride and the sugar but also from the excitement of having a good day with my mother. I was already old enough to recognize that the good days were few and far between.
She gets this dreamy smile on her face. “You two are both so handsome.”
Aaron’s eyes widen as he stares at me, and I’m probably reflecting that same expression right back at him.
“I’m sorry, boys,” she says, and we both look at her, shocked. That may be the only time those words have come out of her mouth, and even though I’m not sure she even knows what she’s apologizing for, it settles something inside me.
She closes her eyes and stays quiet for a moment before she reaches her un-casted hand toward us, so Aaron takes it, and I tentatively hold her fingers that are poking out the end of her casted arm. “You’re good boys. You won’t make my same mistakes.” It almost seems like she’s talking to herself until she opens her eyes again and looks at each one of us. “I love you,” she says before squeezing Aaron’s hand and curling her fingers around mine.
“I love you too, Mom,” I say. She hasn’t said those words to me since I was a child, and my eyes fill with tears, threatening to spill over. I look over to see Aaron struggling in a similar fashion.
“I love you, Mom,” he says, and she gets a serene look on her face before she lets her head fall back against the pillow and closes her eyes, her muscles going slack as she drifts off again.
We’re silent for a moment before Aaron straightens up, setting her hand down gently beside her and clearing his throat. It’s like we both feel like something important just happened, but we don’t know what to do or how to handle it.
“We should probably tell someone she was awake, I guess?” I say, and he nods before pressing the call button.
