“Hey, why don’t you go and rest?” I suggest reluctantly.
Mom blinks a few times, clearly disoriented. “I— Yes. Just for a little bit.”
I get up and help her out of her chair. She leans against me, but her weight is barely discernible as I guide her to her bed and help her lie down.
She lets out a little sigh as her head hits the pillow, and I brush her hair back, whispering, “Get some rest.”
“You always take care of me.” She hums softly. “Just like your father.”
Her words hit me straight in the chest, the loss of both my parents still a fresh wound.
She’s wrong, though; I’m nothing like my father.
He should be here. He would have been here, taking care of her, if it weren’t for me.
I close my eyes, my throat bobbing as I swallow hard.
I stay there for a few moments longer, until she’s asleep, before quietly making my way out of the room. In the hallway, I spot the same nurse from earlier, who gives me a warm smile.
“Visit over?”
“Yeah, she’s tired and started to get lost.”
Some of that cheerfulness dissipates as she nods solemnly. “We’ll take good care of her, Mr. Williams.”
I thank her and make my way to the exit where I’m buzzed out, my mind still on the visit. On my mother’s frail body, and how quickly she’s changed from the vibrant woman I remember to this washed-out version of herself.
Last weekend she didn’t feel good enough to join us for Jackson’s birthday party, and Becky mentioned these days she’s lost in the past more often than not. How much longer until she can’t remember us at all?
The dark thoughts running rampant in my mind make it hard to breathe. My ears are buzzing, heart beating wildly inside my chest as I look around the clean, sterile foyer.
The nurses give me a curious look. I nod at them before turning on the balls of my feet and go for the door.
Breathe.
I need to breathe.
Stumbling out of the building, I suck in much-needed air, trying to calm down my erratic breathing and heartbeat. I bend forward, hands on my knees, as I force my lungs to open. In and out. Slowly. Steadily.
Only when my chest doesn’t feel like it’s going to burst do I straighten. I run my hand over my face, then let it fall to my side.
That’s when I see her.
Jessica is standing a few feet away, next to a white SUV, but her gaze is locked on me.
For a moment we just stand like that, staring at one another, then she turns to her car.
I expect her to slip inside and leave, but she just stands there, staring at it for a while.
My brows furrow in confusion as she reaches for something on her windshield. I expect her to pull out some pamphlet, but when she steps back, her profile turned to me, I can see her holding a flower.
She stares at it for a long moment. Her face is hidden behind those long honey strands that are shielding her from view.
I might still be right where you left me, but I’m not the girl I used to be.
Something that feels a lot like envy fills my chest as her words ring in my head.
Does she have somebody? She’s gorgeous, smart, and funny; it would be surprising if she didn’t. Did he leave her the flower? And why does the idea of the nameless fellow make me want to punch something?
