Fumbling for my keys, I scan my pass to open the door to my building, nodding at Julius, the doorman who is much less friendly than Marv, before making my way toward my apartment.
I didn’t think I would appreciate being back home as much as I do, and I’m barely even at the elevator. With a week off,Cassandra on her honeymoon, Olive locked in the studio or playing shows, and Lizzie busy going on a million dates, I figured I would come home.
Also, Cole is in New York—not that it matters. Even if he stayed behind in Grangewood for the week, I still would have come back home to California.
At least, that’s what I’m telling myself. But I don’t know when I became such a liar?
Turning my key in the lock and pushing my door open, a scent I’m too familiar with overrides my senses, and I know my mom is in here. Unlike last time, it doesn’t take me long to find her.
“What are you doing here?” I ask her, dropping my bag at my feet, and slipping my shoes off one by one. I don’t greet her in a typical mother-daughter way. This is my home, and she’s invading my space.
Again.
She whips her body around, startled to see me. Clearly, the sound of my keys rattling in the door wasn’t enough to get her attention, but my voice echoing through the apartment was.
She’s wearing the same dark blue jeans that she’s owned for years. Typically, they hug her tiny legs like a second skin, but they swim on her now. The black, spaghetti strap singlet isn’t doing her any favors, either.
“Jenna?” she attempts to say, her voice low as she brings her hand up to rub her cheek, the other holding a glass of water. Her body moves slowly, but her face looks confused. Terrified, almost. Her eyes dart side to side as she moves to grip the edge of the counter. Placing down her glass, she steadies herself before straightening her posture, and clearing her throat. “I wasn’t expecting you so soon.” A weak smile appears on her face when she loosens her grip. Picking her water back up, she walks carefully toward the couch.
Something is off.
“Mom?” I say, using the name only I call her, expecting to be scolded for reminding her that she has a child. But to my surprise, I don’t get that sort of response.
I don’t even get so much as a judgmental look or comments on how my dress is too short, or that my hair looks ridiculous in a bun, or that the California sun has melted my makeup off my face.
“Mom?” I repeat, and she strains her head to look at me.
A knock sounds at the door, and I watch as her eyes flick to it, then back to mine. She makes no attempt to answer it, and neither do I.
I’m too focused on watching her. It’s almost as though she’s forgotten…everything.
“Mom?” I say for the third time, and I don’t even know if she can even hear my voice.
Do I help her, or answer the door?
Logically, I know the person behind the door can wait, but I’m frozen still in the middle of my dining room, struggling to rake through every thought process that flashes through my mind, but it happens in slow motion.
The way her eyes glaze over. The way her arm falls to her side, loosening her grip on the glass before it shatters into a million tiny pieces. The way one of her legs gives out beneath her, forcing her body to do the same.
“Mom!” I scream, hoping she can hear me, because I desperately need her to.
Her eyes are still open, but there’s no life left. It’s like looking into a dark, empty void.
I scold myself for hesitating, for not knowing how to react.
She’s my mom. I’m the only family she has left. Ofcourseshe needs me.
Running toward her, I fumble for my phone, and dial nine-one-one.
“Mom, can you hear me?” I say to her while the phone rings, and I use my free hand to slap her cheeks gently.
The front door bursts open, but I don’t look over my shoulder to see who it is.
“Becky, baby, come on,” Mark says from behind me, shoving me out of the way to rest my mother’s limp body onto his lap.
“Nine-one-one, what’s your emergency?”
***
