Me, who had to tell Dave she had Alzheimer’s — not just “being forgetful to annoy him.”
She was on medication now, slowing the progression.But like King Canute, there was no holding back the tide.Eventually, the disease would over-take her.Not yet.But one day.
I chose that moment to tell Dave about Ashton — not the connection to Dad, just who he was to me.
Dave didn’t take it well.
He was more concerned about how it reflected on him than how it made me happy.
After everything that had happened, I shouldn’t have been surprised.
Or disappointed.
But I was both.
For now, I was going to enjoy this time with Mum while she still remembered us.Sometimes she asked after Dad, forgetting he was gone.Those moments hurt the most.
But tonight, she was happy.
A full house.
New people to tell her stories to — people who didn’t contradict her.
And honestly?
Watching Gavin, Evan, and Ashton at the dinner table was the exact chaos I needed.
Gavin had somehow appointed himself “official taste-tester,” which meant he kept leaning over the table with his fork like a seagull eyeing chips.Evan kept batting him away with the serving spoon, muttering something about “boundaries” and “basic human decency,” which only encouraged Gavin to try harder.
Mum thought it was hilarious.
She kept offering Gavin extra roast potatoes just to watch Evan’s eye twitch.
Ashton, bless him, was trying to be polite — but every time Gavin stole something off his plate, he’d give this tiny, affronted gasp that made me choke on my drink.At one point, Gavin reached for Ashton’s Yorkshire pudding, and Ashton slapped his hand away with the reflexes of a ninja.
“Touch it again,” Ashton warned, “and I’ll feed you to the neighbour’s cat.”
Gavin grinned.“Worth it.”
Dave glared at all of us like we were ruining his evening, which only made it funnier.Evan caught my eye and gave me a conspiratorial smirk, like we were both silently agreeing that chaos was preferable to misery.
And through it all, Ashton kept brushing his knee against mine under the table.
A small thing.
A quiet thing.
But grounding.
Reassuring.
Home.
For the first time in a long time, the house didn’t feel heavy.
It felt alive.
And as Mum laughed at something Gavin said — a bright, clear sound I hadn’t heard in months — I realised something:
