“You honestly think no one will recognize you?”
“You need to see your mother, don’t you? It’s the only way we can do that and get to the gala. The risk is negligible.”
“Is it?”
“How many Asians will we see?”
I think about the home. “My mom.”
“Yeah. I think it’ll be fine.” He smiles.
“I’ll introduce you as a friend from work who gave me a ride,” I say. “She doesn’t know I was fired, so keep that quiet. In fact, best if you don’t talk at all.”
“Why didn’t you tell her?”
“I don’t want to upset her.” I look out the window, feeling the worry rise and dip as I tell myself that her mood might have passed by the time I arrive, then convince myself that she’s in serious distress and the home is downplaying it so as not to worry me and her Alzheimer’s is getting worse and I’ll need to find her more help and…
Catastrophizing is such a bitch.
Sam touches my hand briefly and begins humming quietly as he repacks his bag. I start humming along with him to cover the rotating thoughts in my head, getting distracted by knowing the song but being unable to put a name to it. Soon we’re in a humming war, each of us trying to hum louder than the other until I slap my leg in triumph, letting out a small yelp.
“‘Girls & Boys’ by Blur,” I announce.
“Took you long enough.” He grins.
“There used to be a club that did Brit pop nights and they played this every time,” I say. “Had dollar shots, too.”
“Not sure if that sounds appealing or dangerous.”
“Little bit of A, little bit of B.” I sigh with nostalgia. “It was such a dingy club and they had those blacklights so if you wore a white bra it would show through your shirt.”
Sam’s eyes drift down but then snap up to my face. “I never had to worry about that.”
“Yeah.” I shrug. “Not like I go to those places anymore.”
“I never went.”
I frown. “Are there no clubs in China?”
“Of course there are but I always had to go to ones that were good for my image.” He looks out the window.
“Then no dollar shots. Bummer.”
“Definitely not.”
“I was kidding about it being a bummer,” I assure him. “I mean, at the time, it was fun to get drunk and grind on the dance floor with random people you’d never see again, but cheap booze hangovers are a real pain.”
He groans. “Not helping.”
I know he’s trying to make me laugh and it helps get me through the drive, even though my knee is jiggling as I try to chill out. Mom’s not hurt. She’s upset. The doctors said this can happen. It’s not good but it’s not unusual.
We turn the corner and the dread returns. “We’re here.”
He catches the change in my tone and nods. He gives my hand a soft touch and holds the door open for me as we enter the home. I try to keep from running in the hall.
“You said my mother was agitated?” I ask when I arrive breathless at the desk.
“It’s been a bad day for her,” says the nurse. She glances at Sam and then ignores him. “Is it an anniversary? Something that would trigger her?”
“No, I don’t…” I stop, appalled. It’s the anniversary of my dad’s death. “I’ll go see her,” I whisper.
How could I have forgotten? Guilt sickens me. Sam waits until we’ve cleared the desk to touch my shoulder. “What’s wrong?”
With her dementia, I can’t believe Mom remembers what today is, but I suppose some dates are seared on your mind forever. Or, in my case, not. “My father died ten years ago today. It’s why she’s upset. I should have been with her.”
“Gracie.” This time he takes my hand in his. “You’re here now. That’s what matters.”
I want to believe him, but I can’t. He keeps my hand in his as we go to Mom’s room, where he releases it. “Work colleagues,” he murmurs.
With a brief nod, I poke my face around the door. Mom is up and wandering around the room, arms clasped close to her chest. I must have made a noise because she looks up as Sam runs his hand down my back.
“Mom?”
She greets me with a burst of Chinese that I can’t understand. “Mom, it’s Gracie. You need to speak English, okay? Shuo Yingyu.”
Mom sees Sam behind me and her eyes widen. “Xiao He?”