Dell’s smile sank into a sigh. Georgia had started asking this with increasing frequency.
“You need someone with you, Mom. You might be out of the hospital, but you’re still recovering.”
“I do have friends, you know. Lots of ‘em, in fact.”
“I know.” The fridge was entirely stocked with casseroles for the next six months. Dell’s diet was now composed of pasta and cheese. If being back in the UP had taught Dell anything, it was that Georgia McCleary had friends. “But I’m your son.”
Georgia sighed. “Oh, Dell.”
Dell sat back on his haunches.
“I don’t want to fight while we decorate the Christmas tree,” he said, voice quiet.
“I don’t want to, either,” Georgia said, after a stretch of silence.
“Okay. Then let’s not.” Dell stood, hauling over the first box of ornaments. “Come on. Adaline said trying to put these on would be good fine motor practice. Up and at ‘em, McCleary.”
“You,” Georgia grumbled as Dell handed her an ornament, “are a pain in my fine motor ass.”
* * *
The next day, the first snow arrived.
And not even Christmas decorations could stave off the fight then.
Dell stared out the window at the sugar maple in the backyard, already fully covered in white, and worked his jaw back and forth.
“Mom,” he said, voice quiet but firm. “Mom, you can’t stay here.”
Georgia turned from where she’d been working on a puzzle. Not one of the puzzles that still lived in the closet across from the laundry room, but a puzzle meant for children that Adaline had given them, with larger pieces, easier for Georgia’s fingers to hold.
“Excuse me?”
Dell sighed.
“Mom, truly, no one should stay in the UP through the winter, but especially not someone recovering from a stroke.”
“I have lived here my entire life, Dell,” Georgia said, voice icy, “and snow hasn’t stopped me yet.”
“But maybe it should.”
Georgia threw up a hand, turning back to the puzzle.
“I’m not having this conversation with you again.”
Dell took a slow breath. He knew this particular iteration of the conversation had already gotten off to a rocky start, but he had to see it through.
“I’m sorry, Mom. But weneedto have this conversation again. You shouldn’t be alone. I know you’d still want your independence, which is why I built the ADU; it’s your own private space. And I know you’d love?—”
“Dell, I swear to god. I’ve tried to be kind about this in the past, but I am never moving into that damn ADU, as beautiful as it is.”
“Mom.” Dell held his head in his hands. “I miss you, okay? I want you closeby.”
“And you don’t think it breaks my heart?” Georgia suddenly shouted, a puzzle piece flying through the air. “To have you so far away? You’re my entire world, kiddo. You always have been. My whole world. And I need you to stop reminding me, all the damn time, that you are thousands of miles away. Because I already know. I feel it every single day.”
A horrible silence crackled through the living room. Dell thought his chest might cave in.
“I’m sorry, Mom,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry.”
