Walking back into the house, tranquillity surrounds me. The domestic scent of laundry detergent and our afternoon lunch welcomes me back, as does the hauntingly beautiful melody of a familiar song floating from the living room. The words arethick with emotion and full of soul. Jules isn’t just singing, he’s bearing his heart to the only woman he’s ever loved. He sings the same lyrics she had once sung to me, but this time I can really hear the meaning behind them. I find myself lingering at the door, soaking up the melancholy in his voice and absorbing it as my own. I imagine Theresa singing this to Jules as a child, teaching him to never dull his colours for anyone else. Now he’s giving it back to her, but with his own message - he’ll always be there.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Jules - Three weeks later
Age 20
She’s leaving me soon, I can feel it deep in the marrow of my bones. It’s the kind of hurt that no amount of preparation can dull, and no amount of time will ever heal. Her body is tired, as is her mind. It’s letting her down day by day. I miss the way she would call mehoneyjust as much as I miss the vibrancy of her smile. Her muscles are weak and wasting away, leaving the only traces of happiness in her eyes– she was always right about that.
The nurses are here all the time now. Topping up the pain relief and turning her every couple of hours; their sole focus is her comfort, above all else.
On top of everything with Mom, Zander has reduced his hours at work. I told him it wasn’t necessary; I promised to be nice to the nurses, and he should stick to his routine. After all, I’ve seen the effects first-hand of what happens when he doesn’t have the safety net of structure. It starts with little things like bursts of irritability, then it moves on to more physical urges, such as organising and rearranging. Then the nightmares start. The pained screams and gasps for breath. Sweaty sheets andsleep paralysis. When everything around him feels so unstable, routine and discipline are the solid ground he needs to keep his head above water, for now.
I’m lying on the bottom bunk waiting for him to finish his shower and settle in beside me for the night. The soft pitter-patter of water splashing down into the tray is a welcome distraction from the silence. Mom’s feeding tube malfunctioned earlier in the evening, covering Zander in a concoction of saline and Fortisip. It smelled like sour milk and looked a lot like baby puke. I swear I saw the corner of her mouth tip up in amusement– her eyes were definitely watering with the laughter she couldn’t release, all while Zander held it together, pretending he couldn’t smell the pungent liquid seeping through his clothes. We ended up having to change the sheets on the bed; a laborious task under normal circumstances, never mind the ones we find ourselves in. I let Zander do all the heavy lifting; he’s no stranger to lifting kegs at work, what’s a tiny lady in comparison?
That turned out to be a mistake, too. Once the sheets were back on the bed and he placed her back down, the smell had transferred from his clothing and onto hers. We both looked at each other, stuck at a crossroads, knowing that if she could protest us changing her, she would. That’s when a miracle happened; the night nurse arrived early to administer her evening medication. The relief in the room was palpable, and we left her to it, giving Mom a kiss goodnight and our endless thanks to the lovely nurse. She just chuckled and went about her business, speaking to Mom the entire time about howsome things needed a woman's touch. Zander was right when he said there are limitations to what we can do for her– not because we don’t want to, but because no matter what, I always want her to keep her dignity.
Too busy thinking about the events of the evening, I don’t hear Zander come in until an almighty– “Fucking hell!”travels from across the room.
“What's up?” I ask, my inner child obviously wanting to laugh.
“Did you move the drawers?”
“What, no. Why would I move the drawers?”
“I don’t know, it just kinda seems like a ‘Jules’ move.”
“Presumptuous, much?”
“Defensive, much?” He shoots back, completely serious. I climb out of bed to see for myself what all the fuss is about.
“Zander, they’re in exactly the same place they’ve always been. Let’s just go to bed.”
“No, they’re not, if they were I wouldn’t have smashed my toe into them, would I?” Ohhh, so because he lacks spatial awareness, it’s somehow my fault.Got it.Out of nowhere, he drops to his hands and knees, examining the divots in the carpet as his compulsions outweigh his control.
“Zander,seriously? Your foot is still attached, so let’s just get into bed, please?” Grunting his disapproval at the lack of evidence to back up his accusation, he stands, grabbing the boxers from the drawer and dropping the towel from his waist.
Right in front of me.
Withoutwarning.
Without shame.
Just…Nakedness.My eyes drop straight to where the towel is now missing. I can’t help it, it’s been a long day. He still hasn’t accepted my touch yet, but his reasons seem to have shifted. At first, it was because he was still figuring himself out; he wanted to give himself time to adjust to the change. But now, he just says he wants to make me feel good, that I deserve the pleasure, with the weight of everything else. Selfishly, I’ve accepted his touch and his affection, because he’s right; the release does make things feel a little lighter for a while.
But I want to touch him, make him feel just as good as he makes me feel. I want to know that I can summon the same response from him, but above all else, I need confirmation that thisisreal. Sometimes, I find myself wondering if he would have chosen this life if my Mom weren’t unwell. Would we have fallen into the relationship under more natural circumstances, or is this just one broken person finding comfort in someone equally as tarnished?
“You good there?”
“Why won’t you let me touch you?”I guess the filter is still missing.
“Touching me isn’t what you need right now.” He’s so confident with his answer.
“But what if it is? What if it’s exactly what I need? Better yet, what if it’s exactly whatyouneed?”
“Jules, do you understand how wrong it would feel for me to let you do something like that, with everything you have going on?”
“Do you think I don’t know what I want, is that it? Do you think I would regret it?”
