ONE WEEK LATER
My heart sinks as I pull into the home for developmental disabilities where my mom resides. It’s been over a week since I’ve seen her so I’m making myself visit but I don’t fucking feel up to it.
It’s also been over a week since I’ve seen Katie and I know my bad mood is tied to that fact. I can’t believe she wouldn’t give me her number just because I’m not particularly fond of her friend who hacked me.
What a little brat.
She enjoys defying me.
I shouldn’t even be this into her. I know that she smokes pot— it was obvious that she was even doing it at the office— and that’s usually not my type at all. My upbringing was so chaotic that I had to teach myself strict discipline and mental clarity in order to not turn out like my poor mother. There’s no place for weed or other drugs in that scenario and there’s usually no place for women who do them.
But that hasn’t stopped me from fantasizing about Katie.
I know she liked how I kissed her and grabbed her ass but she wouldn’t let me do anything further. She wouldn’t even let me get her number when I rarely want womens’ numbers. What I usually want is for them to stop calling me but I want to call Katie so I can see her, and kiss her more and fuck her, but she won’t even let me.
She needs to be punished.
My cock gets hard just thinking about it so I try to focus on something else, since this isn’t the time or place. As I walk through the sterile, bright front doors of the home I try to take a tally of my business holdings and inventory.
My plastics company is doing well. The real estate holdings are good. It’s just this damn toy company and its lawsuit driving me nuts. I hope Asher and Ron can fix the problem for me.
My mind is soon inundated with numbers and details of my businesses, which are secure, concrete things I can always hold onto during times of emotional turbulence.
I didn’t get to where I am in life— billionaire CEO of several different companies— by letting distractions get in my way. I can’t believe how hung up I’ve been on this little, bratty girl.
No one has ever fucked with my head this way— for a long time, anyway. I haven’t let them. I’ve learned my lesson in the past.
“Damien!” My mom calls out, as soon as she sees me walk into what they call the “community living” center. She had been playing dominos with another woman.
I’m glad she’s lucid and recognizes me.
“Hi, Mom,” I tell her, giving her a hug. “Sorry it’s been a while.”
“It’s fine,” she tells me, patting the empty seat next to her. “Sit down and talk to me for a while. It’s always so nice to see you.”
“How have you been doing, Mom?”
“Just fine. I’ve been working on the books. They like when I do that for them.”
She closes her eyes and starts counting out loud.
“One, two, three, four, five, six…”
Then she squints up at the ceiling.
“Two hundred and nine, five hundred and sixty, eight hundred and four. Eight hundred and four and then what? Damien, why can’t I remember all the numbers?”
“It’s fine, Mom,” I tell her, squeezing her hands. “You can take a break from that work for right now. I’m sure you mind must be tired.”
“I do work hard all day,” she says, leaning her head on my shoulder. “You’re such a nice and caring son to look out for me.”
I’m just glad she stopped counting. Sometimes when she’s in that state she can continue for hours.
I feel so bad that she thinks I take such good care of her when really I’m too fucking busy with my own life to stop by more than once a week lately.
“Hello, Mr. Hudson,” says her doctor, as he approaches me. I hadn’t seen him come in.
“Hi, Dr. Madison,” I say, standing up to shake his hand. “Thanks for coming out here to say hello to me.”
“Of course,” he says. “I enjoy visiting patients in the community living center and seeing how they’re doing. And it’s nice to see you here when I do. Your mom is always in great spirits after your visit.”
This only makes me feel even more fucking guilty. I guess he can tell by the look on my face because he adds, “Of course, there’s only so much any of us can do to affect her moods one way or the other.”
I know this. He’s told me this. But somehow, I still always feel responsible. As if I should be doing more. Ever since everything happened all those years ago, I’ve felt I’ve needed to make up the past to my mother.
“Has she been having good days?” I ask the doctor.
“Mostly, yes,” he says. “The numbers and the counting come and go but it rarely pre-occupies all her time like it used to. The new meds are helpful for that. As are your consistent visits, and of course the activities you bring her to do.”
“Thanks, Dr. Madison. That’s good to know.”
He nods and pats my mom’s shoulder and says, “You have a good day, Ms. Hudson,” before walking off.
I know that he’s probably just telling me I make a difference to make me feel better. But it does make me feel better all the same.
Speaking of activities, I pull a wooden box out of my pocket and set it on the table in front of my mom.
“Look, Mom,” I tell her, as I open the box. “I made this game for you.”
“Wow!” she says, as she spills the contents of the box out onto to the table. They are wooden pallets with holes in them, not incredibly different from the Dominos she loves to play with in her spare time— the ones she was playing with when I came in— except smaller and collapsible, so that she can carry this box with her wherever she wants to go.
“Each hole that is drilled into the block can represent an increment of ten, or one hundred, or one thousand,” I tell her. “Any number you want, really. You can stack them, or arrange them, to build larger combinations, or multiples. Like this, for example.”
I stack up ten blocks on top of each other.
“See? This entire stack here could represent one thousand. Or one million. Or ten. It’s up to you.”
“Cool,” she says, sounding like a small child, which she sometimes has the tendency to do.
She flicks them with her finger and laughs with glee as they all fall down. Then she begins stacking them up again, her face scrunched up in a mixture of concentration and joy.
The toys and games my company makes are usually made for kids but they work well for anyone with disabilities or mental issues. I’m always inspired to make new ones that my mom would like, and I get letters from parents and caregivers all over the world, telling me how much my products have helped.
“Each one is the number fifty-six,” she tells me, pointing at the stack of ten blocks she’s built. She stacks ten more beside them. “Now they equal one thousand, one hundred and twenty.”
“Good job, Mom,” I tell her.
I’m proud of her but I fear that the toy I’ve made is too easy for her. I’ll have to try another model, with irregularly spaced holes or that have high numbers written on them.
My mom’s mind is always really sharp when it comes to numbers, no matter what else may or may not be going on in there. I try to make challenging toys and games that keep her mind occupied so that she doesn’t get upset when I’m not around.
This one might be too simple but at least it’s a start to a new idea—the first one I’ve had in a while since this whole patent lawsuit started. Worrying about what would happen with the lawsuit— and how my truly meager toymaking company could afford to pay for me— was stifling my creativity and ingenuity.
But ever since I met Katie, I’ve felt more alive, more productive. I’ve finally been able to work out this new idea.
That’s it. I need to get Katie’s number and more than that as well. I’m not going to let anything stop me.
I’ll let her know that Ruby’s job is safe— but I can’t say the same for Katie’s heart, or mine either. I’ve never felt like this about a woman I haven’t even slept with. Hopefully I just need to get that out of my system and everything will return to normal.
I can start chasing other women again and get Katie out of my head. Or at best, she’ll be my pet for a while and then I can move on to the rest.
I’ll fool myself by thinking that, just like Dr. Madison fools me by saying I really make a difference in my mom’s moods or treatment.
I decide to go to Asher and Madilyn’s wedding and do whatever it takes to get with Katie Finnegan. I have never been one to let anyone’s “no” stop me, and I’m not going to start with hers.
“Okay mom, I have to get going,” I say, standing up and giving her a kiss on the head.
“See you later, crocodile,” she says, still enthralled in her game and obviously slipping out of lucidity.
Oh well, I think, smiling down at her. At least she knew who I was when I first got here. And at least she likes my new game, even though I have big improvements to be made.
Also, at least I was able to work some things out for myself during this visit. Such as the fact that I am going to go get Katie Finnegan no matter what it takes.