Say You'll Remember Me(44)

He kept putting chorizo in everything he cooked. I hated chorizo. It was the one thing I wouldn’t eat. He’d made chorizo ravioli last night. Had to hand make the pasta just to get it in there, that’s how committed he was.

I offered Mom the mirror. “What do you think?”

She turned her head this way and that. Then she smiled and said the same thing she said every morning when her makeup was done. “Got my face on for the day.”

It’s funny how ingrained certain phrases can be. Crutch words and mannerisms.

Mom liked to wave things off and say “That’s all right.” Or “We can’t have it all.”

It almost felt like she was all here when she did. But she wasn’t. It was just the echo. The remnants. Familiar words at familiar intervals in a conversation. Most of the time they worked in the context, but the truth was she didn’t follow most of our back-and-forth now. She could reply to short direct questions that required a yes or no, but she couldn’t converse. She couldn’t banter or retain anything or understand nuance. I could tell her in simple terms what we were doing. Brushing our hair, coming down for dinner, sitting to watch some TV—and she could comply most of the time. But I couldn’t tell her what we were doing later. She wouldn’t remember. I’d have to repeat it when it was happening. Sometimes over and over again.

Even though I knew she couldn’t remember or understand, I talked to her while I did her face anyway. I talked to her like I was leaving a voicemail. A message I didn’t expect a response to.

I told her about my day. About my job.

I told her about Xavier.

Not that there was much to tell. One date that had ended in a UFO and a two-day weekend that was seared into my brain forever. A very limited cache of memories that I could rehash to Mom as often as I wanted to because it would never get old for her.

It didn’t really get old for me either.

I hadn’t heard from him since he left.

I mean, that’s what I’d asked for.

There was something rebellious inside me, some callback to the romantic comedies I grew up on that wanted him to make some dramatic grand gesture and come back for me. Ridiculous, I know. It wouldn’t change anything—he was still in Minnesota.

I was a little proud of myself that I’d made such a mature decision and told him to move on.

Maybe I was the kind of person capable of difficult things now. I should be happy I’d sent away that handsome, smart, sexy, six-foot-something doctor.

I groaned to myself.

Dad came into the bathroom with his gym bag slung over his shoulder. “I’m leaving.”

“Okay. When will you be back?”

“At around eleven. I want to try out the pool.”

He stopped for a minute and looked at Mom. Something a little broken moved across his face.

“She looks great,” he said quietly.

“Thanks.” I smiled at her. “We’re getting good at this.”

He gazed at her another moment. She didn’t notice him or look back.

This had to be its own type of hell for him. She was here but she wasn’t. She hadn’t died so he couldn’t stop grieving her or move on. He just had to watch her forget their entire life together. Forget him and forget herself too. The snowball melting at the bottom of the hill.

When I looked back at the doorway, he was already gone.

Mom started asking for him almost right away.

Dad always took her down to breakfast. The gym thing was new. He’d gotten a nice deal on a membership at a place down the street. It was a good idea, he needed to get out of the house.

Dad’s life was as small as Mom’s. He went to the office on weekdays, but he always came right home. Then he became a caretaker. Bathing her, making sure she sat on the toilet at regular intervals, feeding her. We all helped and that took the edge off, I think. I think it also helped that all the people he loved were back in the same place. But he needed some time that was just for himself. He needed to sit in a steam room and get back to lifting weights and maybe even meet some friends at the gym. It was good for him.

After I did Mom’s makeup, I brought her downstairs for breakfast. We stopped to argue about her going to work, and I told her it was Presidents’ Day. She looked like she didn’t believe me, but she let me take her to the kitchen anyway. Grandma was waiting with food but Mom skidded to a halt in the doorway. “Where’s Dan?” she asked.

“He’s out for a bit,” Grandma said. “Come sit.”

Mom didn’t move.

Grandma put a hand on her hip. “Lisa, breakfast. I made your favorite.”

Mom was wringing her hands and peering around, but she couldn’t ever say no to her mother. She went to her seat.

Mom was sensitive to changes in her routine, especially ones that had to do with Dad. She was okay when he was at work because that was normal for her. Dad left at the same time every day and came home at the same time every day. But he was the one who took her down for breakfast, so I guess it was to be expected that she’d sense the shift.

Grandma poured her a coffee.

“I want Dan,” Mom said, again.

Grandma put the pot back. “He’ll be home soon, sweetie.”

“You’re lying!” She pushed the stack of napkins on the counter.

I jerked to look at her. “Mom…”