Say You'll Remember Me(77)

“Hey,” he said, setting down the frying pan when he saw me. “I didn’t want to wake you up.” He came over and hugged me.

When he let me go, I looked around blearily. “Where is everyone?”

“Your dad came down for coffee. He said your mom had a bad night. Your sister is taking a shower. I haven’t seen Tristan.”

The dog peered up at me from Xavier’s feet.

He had been adopted by the boys. They named him Pugsly—very unimaginative, but I’d let it slide. He’d lived in the house for the first week he was here but every time Mom saw him, she asked whose dog it was. Twenty, thirty times a day. It got to the point where we all wanted to tear our hair out. We had to keep the dog in my apartment just to maintain our sanity.

Would she do this with Grandma too? Ask us over and over where she was? Make us tell her again and again that she’d died—or worse, make up a lie so she didn’t have to relive it every time she forgot?

I somehow knew this was exactly what would happen.

I was already braced for the emotional and mental drain of dealing with this, every day, probably until Mom couldn’t speak anymore. Cruel and unusual punishment for an already heartbreaking situation and the only relief would be when Mom was so far gone she couldn’t form the words to ask.

“I have to walk the dog,” I said absently.

“I walked him,” Xavier said. “Sit.”

I nodded and let him put me on a stool. Then he went back to the stove.

“What time are we opening presents?” Holden asked.

“Oh, shit,” I breathed, putting my face in my hands. It was Christmas. I completely forgot. I simultaneously remembered and didn’t remember the holiday.

“Let’s just finish breakfast and see what your mom wants to do,” Xavier said.

The boys nodded at him like their messiah had spoken and went back to eating their eggs.

He poured me a coffee—made the way I liked it—set it in front of me, and sat down. “Can I get you to eat?” he asked, taking my hand and covering it with his.

“I don’t think I can,” I said, my chin quivering.

“If you don’t eat, you’ll feel worse,” he said gently. “Eat a little for me, okay?”

I swallowed down the lump in my throat and nodded.

Xavier assembled half an egg sandwich and set it in front of me. “It’s not a lot, but it’ll keep your energy up.”

I was staring at it, deciding whether I could stomach it, when someone started screaming. Xavier and I locked eyes.

Mom.

I flew off the stool and ran through the house.

Mom was in the living room, clawing at Dad. “Let me go! I have to get groceries!”

Dad was trying to keep her from the front door. “Lisa, we have groceries—”

“NO! I’m going to the store! Let me go, we need food!”

“What happened?!” I shouted.

Dad was holding her wrists. “Lisa! Stop!”

She didn’t. She started melting down, thrashing and swinging. It was that day in the kitchen all over again.

Dad folded around her, pinning her arms as she struggled against him, screaming.

Tristan came up behind Xavier and Jeneva ran from upstairs.

“Did you give her the sedative?” I yelled.

“I gave her everything,” Dad said, while she shrieked. “She was up all night talking about Vons. I don’t know what’s wrong with her!”

“Is she hungry?” Xavier asked.

We all paused. Even Mom took a moment to pant.

“If she’s talking about groceries, she might want food,” Xavier said.

I looked at Dad. Dad looked at Jeneva.

Tristan crossed his arms. “Did you feed her last night?”

I watched the color drain from Dad’s face. “I thought you were doing it.”

“Why would I do it?” Tristan snapped.

“Because you brought dinner!”

Jeneva’s face fell. “How could you not feed her?”

“I was dealing with calling the family and the morgue—”

“And I was dealing with my kids! She’s starving!” My sister’s voice cracked. “Tristan ordered food!”

“She wasn’t asking for dinner?” I asked.

Dad looked stricken. “She was… but she does that. She asks even after we’ve eaten…”

Mom was crying now. She’d stopped struggling though, like she knew we understood why she was upset. Maybe she did.

“Okay,” Xavier said calmly. “It’s been a rough twenty-four hours. Let’s get her something to eat. Let’s get everyone something to eat. Come on. Let’s go. Breakfast is on the stove.”

He said it in his firm, steady authoritative way and it worked. Everyone gave up the argument and turned like weary travelers for the kitchen, Tristan taking Mom like Dad didn’t have the right to touch her.

I stayed back until Xavier and I were the last ones. I stood there, hugging my arms around myself.

“How did you know?” I asked, sniffing. “About the hungry thing.”

“My patients are nonverbal. I’m used to figuring out what’s wrong and a lot of times it’s less complicated than you think. I usually start at food and work backwards.”