Chapter Eighteen

Jeremy

“You ready for this?”

I angle my head to look down at the woman next to me. The concern in her eyes warms me from the inside out. I feel her squeeze my hand and as she cups it in both of hers, steadying me.

“How could I not be ready with you next to me?” Where the hell did those words come from? Sure, they’re the truth, but that’s not what I originally meant to say when I opened my mouth. I bring one of her hands to my lips. “I’m ready,” I assure her as we enter the hospice doors.

It’s been three days since we’ve returned from New York, and LaTasha has not left my side since. Or maybe I should say I haven’t allowed her to leave my side. The only time she’s been back to her place was to get fresh clothes and spend some time with Coral and the baby. It feels unnatural to have her sleep anywhere besides my bed at night.  Today she’s finally convinced me to come in and speak with my mother again, after receiving a call from the night nurse the previous evening on her worsening condition. Doctors are saying she may have only have a month or two left to live, and LaTasha is insistent that I spend as much time with her as possible. Ordinarily, I wouldn’t let anyone boss me around or tell me what to do with my damn time, but shit is different when she says it. So here I am.

“Oh, Jeremy, I didn’t know you were coming in today,” Ms. Watson, the director who happens to be at the front desk greets me with a smile.

“Hello, Ms. Watson, you’re looking quite lovely today,” I reply. “This is my girlfriend, LaTasha,” I say, ignoring the way her head snaps up in shock at the word girlfriend. It’s the first time I’ve ever introduced her as such, but again, it just feels natural.

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, LaTasha.”

“Please, call me Tasha. Nice to meet as well.”

“We came for a visit. How is she this morning?”

“She’s much better this morning than she was last night. There was a little bit of a scare, but she’s improved now that she’s rested a bit. I think she just overdid it a little yesterday, trying to go for a walk during the day.”

I nod.

“I’ll walk you two back.”

I squeeze Tasha’s hand as we turn to follow Ms. Watson around the receptionist’s desk and down the long hallway toward my mother’s room. Along the way, we pass a large room with televisions mounted on the wall. A few residents are sitting inside the room with what I presume are their visitors. The look of sorrow on one woman’s face hits me in the gut as she looks down at an elderly man in a wheelchair, trying to feed him applesauce. My stomach twists uncomfortably with the knowledge of what this building holds. Not just the sick, but the dying. Most residents who come in here do not leave alive. I shake my head and turn my attention to the hallway ahead. We finally reach my mother’s room after making a right from the main hallway. Ms. Watson opens the door.

“Look who’s up this morning,” she greets cheerily. “You have a visitor this morning.”

“Who is it?” a paper thin voice asks, and for some reason it pains me to know that voice belongs to my mother.

“Jeremy,” Ms. Watson responds. “Oh, don’t worry about fixing your hair. You look fine,” she fusses. “Come on in, Jeremy and LaTasha.”

“Oh no. I—”

I pull LaTasha in the door behind me, cutting off her refusal. I have zero intention of leaving her out of this.

“Hi, Mar..um…Mo…Mar… Hello,” I greet, feeling too wound up to find the name that I feel more comfortable calling her. “This is LaTasha,” I introduce. “LaTasha, this is Marilyn, my mother.”

“Good morning, Mrs. Bennett.”

“Mrs. Bennett?” my mother repeats confused. “I was never a Bennett. Just call me Marilyn.”

“Sure thing, Marilyn.”

“I’ll leave you all to visit. My shift is about to end. I’ll be back in tomorrow night. All right, Marilyn? Enjoy your son and his girlfriend.”

I wait until Ms. Watson leaves the room and shuts the door behind her before I speak. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m no worse for the wear.” She shrugs a pair of thin shoulders.

I take in her appearance, seeing that her normally shiny hair has lost its luster, turning into a dull grayish-black color. Her skin is pale as well, and she has definitely lost even more weight since the last time I saw her, which was only a few weeks ago.

“Have you been eating?”

“You two sit down. It hurts my neck to have to look up at you standing there at the foot of the bed all stiff like that,” she says, ignoring my question.

LaTasha looks around the room before opting to leave me the chair closest to my mother’s bed. She takes the chair near the window.

I sit in the seat beside my mother’ bed. “Have you been eating?” I ask again.

She waves a bony hand, dismissing the question. “The food here is terrible. They feed me this bland crap all steamed or baked and tasteless,” she scoffs.

I know that’s not the full truth. This place has one of the best reputations in the state as far as hospices are concerned. They do serve mostly lightly seasoned food because many of the residents can’t stomach a highly seasoned diet.

“You need to eat. How else are you going to keep your strength up?”

She shrugs again, but its cut off when she begins coughing. LaTasha’s immediately at her side, bringing the oxygen mask to her face. It must have been on the side of the bed. My chest hurts and expands at the sight of LaTasha, consolingly my mother and rubbing her back as she patiently holds the oxygen mask to her face. A few minutes later her cough quieted down and she lays back against her pillows, looking exhausted.

“Maybe we should let you rest,” I say, standing.

“No!” she attempt to yells. “I mean…uh…please don’t leave.”

The pleading note in her tone forces me to retake my seat.

“We’re not going anywhere,” LaTasha announces from the other side of the room, and I’m grateful for it.

“Are you my son’s girlfriend?” My mother suddenly asks, eyeing LaTasha.

I stiffen at that question, ready to cut this little interrogation short if I feel my mother is about to get out of control or rude. Even in her weakened state, I still remember her curtness and dismissal of those she deems less than her; even me, her own son.

“Y-yes,” LaTasha answers smiling across the room at me. “Apparently, I am.”

That garners a laugh from me. Truth is, she’s much more than my girlfriend or my sub, but that’s a different discussion.

“Good. He needs a good woman in his life. Lord knows I wasn’t the mother he needed.” She sighs.

That little moment of self-awareness leaves me stunned.

“Facing death has a way of making one reevaluate their life.” She covers her mouth as she yawns, which turns into coughing. She quickly holds up her hand, halting LaTasha, who’s reaching for the oxygen mask. “I-It’s okay.” She soon quiets down, as this coughing fit wasn’t as bad.

“You need your rest,” I say. Feeling the need to do something, I stand and pull the covers up over her. “We’ll be here when you wake up.” That comment seems to settle her and she finally gives up the fight against sleep and closes her eyes. I continue to watch her silently for a few minutes until the steady rise and fall of her chest tells me she’s asleep. 

“Do you mind?”

“Not at all,” LaTasha answers.

I can’t leave her yet.

“I was thinking,” LaTasha says just above a whisper as she stands by me at the bed. “You have a number of guest bedrooms in your home.”

I clench my jaw and close my eyes, wondering where she’s going with this.

“Maybe you should bring her home.”

I inhale deeply.

“I’m sure hiring twenty-four hour care would be just as much or even less than the cost of keeping her here.” She gestures around the room. “And I’ll help,” she commits, grabbing my hand.

“I wouldn’t ask you to do that. She’s my mother,” I insist.

“I know you wouldn’t ask, but as your girlfriend, I want to do this for you.” She grins and bats her long lashes.

“When you put it like that,” I say, running my hand through my hair. I let out a huge breath, thinking of exactly what I’m taking on by having my mother in my house, living with me, and sleeping under my roof in her last few days of life. I’ve hated this woman for years. I wished I could have been born to anyone but her. I told myself for years I wouldn’t give her a second thought if I ever saw her again, but now here she is. Not only is she back in my life, but the woman I adore beyond measure is asking me to take her into the comfort of my home.

“It’s the last thing you’d think of doing. Believe me, I know the anger one carries around at a mother who’s wronged you in every way,” she continues as if she’s reading my thoughts. “But this isn’t just about her. I saw the way you looked around this place as we entered. You felt the coldness of it just as I did. And I don’t think you’d be able to live with yourself if you let her die here alone.”

I sigh and look down at the frail woman in the bed, sleeping comfortably. Rubbing my hand along my chin contemplatively, I try to muster up the anger and hatred I felt for her for so many years. To my surprise, it’s no longer there. Sure, the pain of being left never really goes away, but the flame of anger that used to burn deep in my gut just isn’t there. Angling my head to look down at Tasha who is gripping my hand, I gaze into those light brown pools and know that it’s her presence that has doused that fire. Slowly, I nod. “Okay,” I say. “Okay.”