Another smile came easy from him. “You something else. I wanna do this again soon. Look out for me.”
“Okay. Have a productive day, Mehki.”
“You as well, beautiful.”
I watched him as he exited, wondering if the man that was currently entertaining two women could handle me — a bitch who had the energy of seven.
Two orders of salmon croquets,grits, sausage, and scrambled eggs with cheese sat securely in the passenger seat of my car as I drove to my parents’ house. I made it my business to stop by at least twice a week to see them. I hoped that today would be one of the days my father remembered it was one of his favorite meals from Sullivan’s. Growing up, he’d have my mother in the kitchen whipping up salmon croquettes at one in the morning happily, meaning without force or convincing, because Taija Sullivan loved her husband just that much.
My father used to eat enough for two men. Nowadays, he’d forget he was hungry until my mother called him to the table and set a meal in front of him. Pulling into their driveway, I parked behind her McLaren and walked up to the front door, using my key to let myself in. The smell of Cashmere and Amber hit me as soon as I walked inside. It was her signature scent for the house. The scent floated in the air, warm, airy, with a mix of luxury.
I’d gotten my love for decorating from my mother, and it showed throughout her home. Creams, browns, and hints of burnt orange made my parents’ house look like a page out ofBetter Homes & Gardens. This was a Sullivan home though.It had that extra umph. I could hear music coming from the backyard, so I headed back there with the food.
“Over here, babe.” My mother’s voice carried through the yard as she kneeled in front of one of her flower beds, wearing gardening gloves, a bandana to keep her hair out of her face, and what I liked to call her gardening fit.
“Here?” my dad asked, shovel in hand, dressed in a pair of cargos and an old football jersey.
“No, love. That’s mulch.”
“This one?” He pointed the shovel in another direction.
“No, Stephan,” she replied with a smile and the patience of a saint.
“They both brown though,” my father said.
“I know, honey.”
“So, how I’m supposed to know?” he questioned, looking genuinely confused.
She stood up straight and walked over to him. “Because I told you twice.”
He scratched the side of his head. “Damn. I forgot again.”
I felt myself tearing up. I knew he longed to be as sharp as he once was. My mother pulled one of the gardening gloves off and put her hand up to his face. Kissing his lips, she wrapped her arm around his neck. She was the definition of partner. My father’s backbone. His confidant and his safe space. His Alzheimer’s didn’t stop her from loving him or treating him like the king he was. She adapted to his new way of life and moved accordingly.
Spotting me in the doorway, she smiled and tapped his back, pointing at me. “Look who came to visit.”
I walked outside and over to them. “Hey, y’all.”
My father turned at the sound of my voice, and he paused, scanning my face. He searched my eyes and my face thatmirrored his own before cracking a smile. “Hey, Key,” he finally spoke.
The relief that settled in my chest coupled with joy was real. Some days, I was Key; other days, I could be someone from his childhood. On both days, he was still my daddy, and I corrected him lovingly, even if it hurt.
“Hey, Daddy,” I greeted, giving him a hug.
He kissed my forehead the same way he’d done my entire life.
“Hey, boo,” my mother spoke. “What you got there?”
“I bought y’all some food from Sullivan’s.”
“Oh, good,” my father said, dropping the shovel and taking the bag from me. “Ya mama only fed me once today.”
My mother shook her head, watching him go into the house. “I fed that man the bacon, egg, and cheese on a croissant that he asked for earlier. He is something else.” She picked up the shovel and set it up against the wall.
“How’s he doing today?”
“Good. We were out here doing some gardening and soaking up some sun. He wanted to help, so I let him do as much as he could remember. How’s your day going?”
