My mother isn’t in denial; she’s scared. At the small twist in her lips, maybe even terrified. She’s always been the fearless one while I worry about everything. And now, she’s scared and I’m scared. I want to force her into a surgery that we might not beable to afford, but the longer we wait, the further away she might slip from being the woman in front of me. The woman I need and love.
“I have to get Bennie,” I say to the windshield.
Quiet, she gets out of the car and walks toward her house.
The bridge of my nose burns with unshed tears, but I refuse to let them fall.
Because they won’t fix our money.
Because they won’t fix my mom’s brain.
And because once they start, they might never stop.
Four
“Leave it to your mother to hide a brain tumor,” Jonathan says with an empty chuckle. He pours me a glass of wine at his kitchen island then sets a plate with a reheated pork chop and potatoes in front of me.
I stare at it. The thought of taking a bite makes my stomach churn.
He must see the guilt on my face, because he adds, “It’s not your fault, you know?”
I make a sound that’s neither agreeing nor disagreeing. I don’t blame myself for the tumor, I just don’t know how I missed it. How I can be with this woman—my mother—every single day and not notice something so catastrophic.
Across his open kitchen there’s a full view of the living room where Bennie’s asleep on the couch. A blue light dances across her face from the movie playing quietly on the TV.
Jonathan has two kids from his first marriage who are almost out of high school and handles Bennie with ease. I wouldn’t necessarily call them close—about half the time we spend together is when she stays the night with my mom—but they’re fond of each other.
He takes a sip of his whiskey, his two-finger nightcap of choice. “How was she?”
I shrug, twirling the stem of my glass. My chest aches so badly I wonder if this is what a heart attack feels like. “Fighting the surgery.”
He sets his glass down and wraps his hands around my shoulders, digging his thumbs into the muscles that are tense enough to be rock. He reads me well. Sees my stress and knows exactly where to push to give relief.
“What’s the plan?”
Jonathan loves a plan. It’s his favorite question when anything starts to go off the rails and one of the things that makes him so good for me. When times get tough, Jonathan doesn’t get emotional.
And, much like my parents never fought, I’m not sure if Jonathan and I have ever argued in our two years together. That’s saying something considering our first conversation happened because he disagreed with me.
I had just placed my go-to order of a London Fog—my one ridiculous indulgence—at the local coffee shop when he interjected.
“You know,”he said, slight smile lifting his lips as he stepped next to me. With his svelte build, salt-and-pepper hair, dazzling smile, and crisp white shirt with a presidential-red tie, he was a sight to behold. I was his complete opposite in my usual uniform of overalls, tank top, and worn leather sandals.“Studies show coffee is far superior to tea. Less acid and better for your teeth.”
I looked at him, unable to tell if he was flirting or serious.“Is that so?”He nodded, and I feigned concern.“Guess I better not tell my dentist.”
“Keeping secrets from a medical professional?”He paid for both of our drinks, looking at me sideways.“I see the kind of woman you are.”
Then he smiled fully, and it was like a patch of warm sun through parting clouds.
I’d spent years alone after losing Nash, pouring myself into Bennie and work, and for the first time I thought maybe I was ready to take a step forward. Nash wasn’t coming back; I needed to move on.
Jonathan left that coffee shop with my phone number, and as they say, the rest is history.
Dating in this stage of life is different than when I was younger. More calculated and less spontaneous, both of which suit me. With him a few years older than me and having kids and me having Bennie, everything moves around their schedules and the lives we already have carved out. Some weeks we’re together almost daily, some weeks we only talk a few times.
He has his hobbies—he’s obsessed with road cycling—while most of my free time is wrapped up in the store or perusing flea marketsforthe store. But he’s good with Bennie, he’s there when I need him—like today—and nothing is forced or stressful.
My mom jokes about him being perfect, but he really is as close to the word as it gets. He only has two flaws: He hates being told no and he’s wretched when he drinks. Since we rarely disagree, me telling him no has never been an issue—that’s reserved for people he works with and stories about his ex-wife—but I’ve had the unfortunate experience of seeing him drunk once. For as buttoned up and predictable as he is in his everyday life, Drunk Jonathan is a complete trainwreck.
