“You should–”
“Call meif she worsens.” I try to walk around her, but she steps in my way with her hands up.
“You really should stay, Liam.”
I let out an annoyed breath, and I feel myself getting hot with anger.
“You have to remember that she doesn’t mean what she says, I know–”
“Youdon’tknow, and she certainly sounds like she means everything that comes out of her mouth, now if you’ll excuse me I–”
“You said you’ll spend half an hour with her.” She sends me a pointed look, and I hate that she cares so much, but it’s good that she does.
“I’ve been here for–”
“You have not spent the entirety of your stay with her.” She gives me a warning look when I roll my eyes, but I don’t apologize. “Go back and try again; she doesn’t look angry anymore.”
“She’s always angry.”
“She isn’t. She hasAlzheimer's.” She reminds me.
My eyes snap back to Capri, and she gives me a sympathetic look.
“So it’s just me she’s angry with; that’s great to know.” When I walk off this time, she grabs a hold of my hand.
“It’ll be good for her if you stay a bit longer, Liam.”
I don’t turn around, but she goes on. “You haven’t seen her in a while. She doesn’t spend a lot of time with the other residents, and it’s important that she socializes.”
I turn now. “Well, if it’s so important, and she’s clearly not getting that here, then maybe I’ll have her moved.”
She lets my hand fall, and she shakes her head softly. She doesn’t say anything else, but I let out a breath.
“I know you’re just trying to help.” My voice comes out a bit gentler, and Capri looks up at me like she’s waiting for more, but I don’t offer anything else.
“And I know you’re trying to apologize, so I’ll wait.”
“You do that.” I walk past her, and just as I do, I hear her let out a quiet laugh. Capri has been my mom's nurse since I first brought her here just over two years ago. I didn’t want such a young nurse, but she really is the best. I know she knows I don’t mean the shit I say, but I tell myself not to bite the hand that literally feeds my mom.
I almost get a chair to sit beside her, but I honestly don’t think I’m going to stay those full thirty minutes, so I stand behind her instead as we face the window.
“What’d you do today?” I watch her reflection as she opens her eyes, and when she hums in thought, I let out a relieved breath.
“I think I went for a run.” She nods to herself like she actually believes that. She isn’t that old, and she can definitely run, but shedoesn’t. Even before she got sick, she hated running.
“I don’t think you did.” I watch her reflection morph into confusion, and I feel myself growing angry that this disease is killing her brain slowly. “I’m kidding, Mom. You did go for a run.”
She doesn’t look confused anymore, and that’s all that matters right now.
“I need to start cooking dinner soon.” She stands from her seat, and I almost stop her, but then she walks over to the table. “Come help me.”
I watch her as she takes out a puzzle, and I have absolutely no clue if she thinks she’s cooking or if she meant to say she wants to do a puzzle, but I sit across from her at the table and do the damn thing.
We work in silence, and whenever she starts putting two pieces that don’t fit together, I swap them for ones that do. She only hums here and there.
“Okay, sweetie, I seriously need to get to work now.”
“We didn’t finish–”
