Chapter Nineteen – Dylan
The bag of sugar donuts is still warm in my grasp, and that automatically puts me in a good mood.
To be honest, after staying up all night and then interacting with what can only be described as a snail moving around in bakery-lady form, not eating a donut in the car is quite fucking impressive of me.
But the sun’s out, warming my neck, and although I’m tired enough to take a nap standing, I oddly find myself very happy. Maybe it’s because of the fresh air, hot donuts, and an intelligent girl who admitted I was hot last night. However, I don’t want to overthink it too much.
I crunch up the gravel driveway, spotting a little blue car, somebody in it moving around as if they’re in a hurry.
My eyes flutter and I crane forward. The door swings open, and hastily, someone erupts out of it, eyes wild, hair disheveled, in a dress I recognize.
It’s Fawn, and she’s looking fucking furious — or trying to.
“Are you kidding me?” she shrieks the instant she spots me. “I get it! I stalked you online, and now you’re here, stalking me to tease me. Real original, jerk!”
I stop dead, clutching the donut bag to my chest, like she might smack it out of my grip.
What the heck is she doing here? And why is it that even when she’s a mess, mad as a hornet, she’s still ridiculously cute?
“I bet you and Torin cooked this up last night. You’ve had your laugh. Very funny.”
“What’s with you? I’m just here to see my mom . . .”
Her chin shoots up. “Your mom?”
“Yeah,” I say, holding up the donut bag like it’s an ID card. “She’s at this home. What are you doing here?”
Her amber eyes pop, and her cheeks go rosy — a color I could bottle and sell, no doubt. She bites her lip, and for a second, my brain just goes haywire.
“I’m visiting my grandpa,” she mumbles.
What are the fucking odds of that? My mom and her grandpa, both here? Fate must be pulling a prank on me, or maybe it wants me to see this woman more often.
Fawn’s shoe finds a stone on the ground and pushes it aside, her eyes lifting to me for just a second before dropping away.
“Sorry for snapping at you. I was just shocked, that’s all.
Spending time with my grandpa means a lot to me.
I thought you and Torin were plotting something or suddenly became jerks. ”
I scoff. “I understand. I would never interfere with you seeing your grandpa. But believe me, if we ever pranked you, it wouldn’t be subtle at a nursing home. Think ice rink, glitter explosions, coordinated dance moves, maybe even a fog machine for dramatic flair.”
She laughs, a quiet, shy sound that feels genuine.
“So are you here for the morning bingo?” I ask, falling into step with her, the gravel crunchy underfoot.
“Yep.” She brushes a stray hair behind her ear. “Skipped it last week, felt terrible. I try to make it a few times, though. Grandpa’s . . . well, he’s at that point where he doesn’t always remember me anymore. So it hurts to see him.” Her voice is soft, with a tired twinge I know all too well.
“Trust me, I feel that. Mom sometimes forgets she even adopted me.”
Fawn’s bros pull inward. “Adopted?”
Fuck. I forgot I never actually said it aloud last night. But hey, I need to cut myself some slack. I wanted to make a good impression.
I clear my throat, trying to sound casual. “Yeah, so, I never knew my biological parents. I was bounced around foster care till I was six or so. Then, a sweet woman adopted me much later in life. Seriously, it was the best thing that ever happened to me.”
She focuses on me like she’s waiting for more. The way she looks . . . soft, understanding, a little sad — it makes my chest feel like it is shrinking.
We get to the front doors, and a nurse pops out with a big smile. “Morning!” she sings, all cheerful. “Bingo just started.”
Fawn and I look at each other real quick — I probably smile a little too long. Then, we trail the nurse indoors, walking close together.
We enter the main hall, and it’s like entering another world, one with a subtle disinfectant and lavender aroma.
The residents are seated in concentric rings around wooden tables, peering at their laminated bingo sheets as the caller shouts out numbers, as if auctioning livestock.
“Sixty-five! Sixty-five! Edna, head down!”
The nurse offers us a bright, cheerful gesture. “You’re lucky. Your family members are sitting right next to each other.”
Of course they are.
My eyes scan the room, and I pick him out right away — Fawn’s grandfather.
Bird Man, I call him. He’s not easy to mistake.
He once cornered me and talked exclusively about his beloved finches for half an hour.
And then, next to him sits my own mother — leaning in, batting her eyelashes, laughing like she’s sixteen years old.
They’re flirting . . . again.
“Ahh,” Fawn whispers, “your mom is the famous Mary?”
My shoulders draw up and my face scrunches before I can stop it. Yep, that’s my mom. She’s known, all right — mostly for yelling at doctors and telling her bridge club to fuck off.
“Yup,” I sigh, hoping she hasn’t insulted Fawn. “Has she, like, yelled at you or anything?”
Fawn shakes her head. “Nah, she just flipped me off and called me a pretty girl once.”
Even though my mom’s brain might be gone . . . at least she still knows a pretty girl when she sees one.
“At least she’s honest, but I’m sorry about her flipping you off.”
“Honestly, it’s nothing, really.” A smile plays on Fawn’s face.
We head to the table, and Mom and Bird Man are already cracking up about something — probably a joke they’ll both forget in five seconds. They don’t even see us coming. Lost in their own little world, totally clueless. And you know what? I actually kind of love it.
I place the donut bag on the table for Mom, and she jumps a little, like a startled bird. Guilt rolls through me, I didn’t mean to spook her.
Then, her frail hands reach out, gentle but steady, and she grabs a donut like it was gold. “Sugar donuts. My favorite,” she whispers, finally turning to me. Her cloudy green eyes widen as she focuses. “Hello, son.”
My heart leaps. Just like that, the day flips from good to one of the best. She remembers me!
I pull up a chair and kiss her cheek. “Hey, Mom.”
Across from us, Fawn’s sitting, squished between her grandpa and me, trying to make herself tiny, like she doesn’t want to hog any shine from someone she cares about. Cutie.
Mom beams, pushing me forward like I’m a prize on display. “Edmund, this is my son. He’s handsome, isn’t he?”
She’s forgotten I’ve met him already.
Fawn stares at her grandpa, her eyes holding a hopeful look I know all too well. Edmund gives her a polite smile, warm but totally blank. He doesn’t seem to remember her at all. There’s no you’re my family spark in his eyes.
A dull ache settles in my heart, just for her. I have to stop myself from reaching out, wanting to put my hand on her leg to tell her she’s not alone.
Edmund gives me the once-over, like I’m about to be shipped off to war. “Yes, yes. Strapping young man.” Then, he leans toward Fawn. “Is she his girl?”
Fawn makes a quiet squeaking sound.
Mom chuckles. “She’s really pretty. Almost out of your league, son.”
Well, if that doesn’t give Fawn confidence, I don’t know what will. I’m just glad my mom’s happy and not hurling insults.
“Mom, this is Fawn,” I explain. “She’s here visiting Edmund.”
I don’t want to mention she’s his granddaughter in case he hears and gets upset or doesn’t understand. Nothing worse than a person with dementia getting overwhelmed.
Somehow, my mom secretly understands; she gives Fawn’s hand a little pat, like they’re old buddies. “Edmund loves you, my dear.”
Fawn’s eyes go bright and wet, her throat shifting as she swallows. Fuck, I want to hold her.
****
The bingo game ended in a mess of loud voices and chairs being dragged across the floor. My mom lost it twice when some newbie yelled ‘Bingo’ even though they didn’t actually have it. Seriously, a false call is like a declaration of war to my mother.
The prizes were actually pretty good today. Mom got her hands on some cookies, and Edmund looked like he’d won the lottery with a warm, non-alcoholic beer.
Maybe I should come to bingo more often. I mean, I’d battle an old person for a pack of cookies.
Fawn and I wind up sitting next to each other as some of the elders dance to an old record player. My mom and Edmund are laughing away, enjoying themselves.
“Aren’t they just adorable?” Fawn says in awe as she rests her chin on her hand. “It’s just like watching a couple of teens on a date.”
I let my weight fall back in the chair, a crack rolling up my spine. “Let’s just hope they don’t fight. My mom’s got one wicked punch.”
Fawn snorts. “Ahh, have you been on the receiving end of one then?”
The truth is, I have, both times when she was overwhelmed and lashed out. The first time she punched me, I cried — something I never do. I knew it wasn’t her fault, but I hated seeing my mom that way. In those moments, she didn’t see me as her son; she looked at me like I wanted to hurt her.
“Twice, unfortunately, but they forget in minutes anyway.”
Something tells me to look over at Fawn, and I’m glad I do, because considering she was throwing up last night, she looks pretty today.
The sun shines through the window, straight onto her face.
I never noticed her freckles before. Her mascara is slightly smudged, and she has somewhat messy hair.
It kind of makes her look . . . erotic. “So, are you feeling any better?”
She groans. “Still rough. Had to come straight here instead of going home. Man, I need a shower. Good thing I had some breath mints in the car.”
“You don’t look bad,” I say, because she really doesn’t. “You look . . . good, actually.”
The corners of her mouth pull into a smirk. “Not bad yourself, considering you haven’t slept.”
Oh, we’re really doing this. I realize — yeah. This is definitely flirting.