Say You'll Remember Me(83)

“I can’t wait to go to bed,” I said, pulling off my heels.

“Pajamas,” Jeneva said to the boys. They ran up the stairs. “I’m down for a glass of wine if anyone wants to join me.”

“You may have a bottle from the cellar,” Tristan said. “One.”

I scoffed. “So benevolent. I have work tomorrow, but I’ll eat ice cream.”

Tristan was already heading for the basement.

“Get the Hales Vineyard Merlot!” Jeneva called after him.

Dad took Mom upstairs to put her to sleep. I went to let out Pugsly and feed Pooter. I changed into Xavier’s hoodie trying not to get more depressed than I already was that he was gone. I came back to find everyone in the kitchen. Someone had put out one of Xavier’s charcuterie boards. Tristan was eating a stack of cheese slices with a single piece of salami in the middle. My sister was already drinking a glass of red wine in her sweats. She’d set the strawberry ice cream out for me. Dad had a whiskey.

“It was a nice service,” I said, grabbing a bowl.

Everyone mumbled agreement.

Dad took a swallow of his old-fashioned, the ice clinking in the glass. “There’s something I need to talk to you about,” he said. “I don’t really know how to say this. I’m too tired for tact.”

We all looked at him.

“Your grandmother had a heart condition.”

Jeneva and I glanced at each other.

“Did the autopsy come back?” Jeneva asked.

“No,” Dad said. “She told me. Months ago.”

We all stared at him.

“She needed a surgery. An aortic valve replacement. She’d been aware of it for a while, it was progressive, her doctors were monitoring it, she was just starting to have issues. It’s probably what caused her to pass.”

I abandoned the ice cream and sat gingerly on a barstool. “Why wouldn’t she tell us?”

“Because she wasn’t planning on fixing it,” he said. “She didn’t want you pushing her to try.”

“Why wouldn’t she fix it?” Jeneva asked.

“It was a major surgery. They needed to crack open her chest. Months of recovery and physical therapy—if she even made it out at all. I think she thought she had more time and she didn’t want us to have to take care of her. We were already spread too thin.”

Tristan’s eyes were fixed on the floor, still holding his cheese.

“And you just… didn’t tell us,” Jeneva said, looking stricken.

“She asked me not to,” he said.

“So what?! She’s gone now, maybe we could have convinced her!” she said.

“I honored her request,” he said in an end of discussion tone. Then Dad dragged a hand down his mouth. “I think it’s time to consider a memory care facility for your mother.”

The entire room jerked to attention.

“What?” I said.

“Wha—We promised her she would stay at home,” Jeneva said.

Dad looked weary. “I know. I know what we promised her. But the situation has changed. Her condition has changed. And I can’t do this anymore.”

“And why is that?” Tristan snapped.

Dad looked at him with bloodshot eyes. “I’m worn out. I don’t know how much I have left. You have no idea the level of care she requires.”

“Don’t I? We fucking live here—”

“Yeah?” Dad said. “Are you up with her in the middle of the night when she’s sundowning until three a.m.? Are you showering her? Dressing her? Are you changing her diapers?”

Tristan pressed his lips into a line.

Dad shook his head. “You think putting some makeup on her and dyeing her hair is the extent of what she needs right now? Your grandmother and I had been doing the bulk of the heavy lifting here for the last six months. She’s gone. Your mother’s care is complex and evolving, and I’m tired.”

I licked my lips. “Okay. I can understand that. But I think there’s some things we can do before we go full assisted living—”

“Like what?” he said, looking at me. “The adult day centers? Driving her there and back once a day when she tries to jump out of moving cars? Home health aides? I’ve looked into it. Her social security will only cover a fraction of the cost and we’ve already tapped into every program we qualify for. We’ll come out of pocket for the rest of it. You know how much it is to have someone come here? Twenty-five to forty dollars an hour. Do you know how many hours are in a day? It would cost us three hundred dollars just to cover me for one full night’s sleep. It’s cheaper to put her in a facility than it is to pay for her to stay at home. Your grandmother and I talked about this at great length. It was her idea. And I think she was right.”

“Her idea?” Tristan said. “How convenient that we can’t ask her.”

Dad blinked at him. “What exactly do you think is my angle here, Tristan? Your grandmother was dying. She knew what this was going to look like when she was gone. A core part of your mother’s care team is no longer here. We don’t even have someone to watch her while everyone is at work.”

“I can,” I said. “I work from home—”

He started laughing. A mirthless, worn-out laugh. “Good luck.” He shook his head. “She’s restless, emotional, and she’s living in a haunted house. She can’t remember that her mom is dead. This place reminds her that she’s missing. Every day she’s going to ask about her. Every hour. Sometimes every minute. Are you ready for that? In the middle of a conference call? In the middle of a project? Her wringing her hands and working up to a meltdown while you’re here alone from nine to five?”