Chapter Seventeen
Zander
My knees groan in protest as they absorb the shock running up from my feet.
The ladder would have taken too long to navigate, especially with Jules lying in front of it.
So without further thought, I propelled my body over the railing, landing not so graciously, or quietly.
Dread settles low in my stomach, from what I’m about to find, but also what I’ll return to after.
The fact I was relieved when Jules climbed up to my bunk hasn’t gone unnoticed, nor has the way I found it so easy and comforting to touch him and command his attention.
For a brief suspended moment, everything just felt right.
Like the satisfaction of scratching an itch, or knowing everything is in its place.
It’s the same feeling I get from the routine I’ve created for myself.
The most frustrating part of it all, however, is that I didn’t need time to adjust, I didn’t need to retrain my way of thinking, and let the stillness settle.
When I looked down at Jules, everything just stopped– the noise, the anxiety, the world.
He holds my peace like I hold his hand; steady, safe, and secure.
“MOM?” Jules calls out, racing down the ladder just as I reach the door.
“WE’RE COMING…” I don’t wait for him to catch up; I just act on instinct, almost ripping the door from the frame.
The sound of it bouncing off the wall, and Jules’ muttered– fucking hell, is nothing more than background noise to the sound of my beating heart echoing like a bass drum.
I’m met with heavy resistance as I try to push the door open, with each shove, the door just bounces back.
“Theresa, can you hear me?” I shout through the small gap.
My question is answered by a groan from below.
That’s when I see her slippers hanging half off her feet.
“Theresa, can you shuffle forward a little so I can get in there and help you?” It’s nothing less than a plea, my voice wobbly and full of fear.
“Is she okay?” Jules asks from behind. “Mom! Just try and move forward a little.” Anchoring my body against the door, I push forward again, slowly, so as not to hurt her, ushering Jules past with my hand to squeeze through the gap.
“When you get through, try and move her away from the door, carefully, so I can get through, okay?” I direct him.
His body is sandwiched between the door and me, the blue eyes staring up are filled with so much fear, it chips away a piece of my heart.
Jules gulps and nods in understanding before squeezing through the crack.
“Mom? Zander… She’s awake, I just think she’s a bit dazed.
I’m gonna try and move her now.” I hear the familiar groaning as Jules manoeuvres her across the carpet.
“You’re okay, Mom. I’m just moving you away from the door,” he explains, softly.
I manage to push the door further, enabling me to slip through the gap.
The scene that greets me brings bile flooding up my throat.
Jules’ body is curled over Theresa protectively, her weak hands grip his arms loosely as he whispers over and over–
“I’ve got you, you’re okay.”
“Heyyy, what are you doing down there?” I ask, crouching so she can see me better. Theresa’s warm brown eyes meet mine as a fragile hand reaches out, wrapping around my own.
“Too much Baileys, and not enough common sense,” she replies, huffing out a laugh before breaking into a coughing fit.
Jules helps her sit up, rubbing her back and checking her over with worried eyes.
Whilst he tries to convince her to get checked out at the hospital, I take a look around the room.
There’s no empty glass to corroborate her story, nor is there anything littering the floor that could have caused the fall. Why is she lying?
“Zander, honey, could you grab my dressing gown, please?” Her eyes burn into me, almost worriedly, as though she can hear my unravelling thoughts.
“Sure,” I manage in response, swallowing thickly past the doubt and uncertainty.
Between the two of us, we managed to successfully hoist Theresa up onto her shaky legs and get her settled into bed.
“Why don’t you go make your Mom a cup of tea, Jules?
Might help with the shock,” I suggest, wrapping Theresa’s hands in one of mine so he can’t see the violent tremors vibrating right through to the bone.
She looks so small and fragile lying in bed, a far cry from the woman who could usually fill a room with her smile alone.
“Yeah, umm, okay. I’ll make it extra sweet, I read once that sugar helps by–”
“Sweet tea sounds wonderful, honey,” Theresa politely cuts him off, knowing he was going into textbook mode.
I waste no time once he leaves the room, pinning her with a glare so intense she almost winces.
“Tomorrow, Zander. When Jules goes to work tomorrow, I’ll tell you everything,” her voice is weary, defeated, and small.
“Okay, but I want the truth. No sugar coating it because you think I can’t handle it, and no lies. Promise?” She nods, totally resigned.
“Promise.”
The morning rolls around pretty quickly.
The weight of the evening’s events had pulled us all into a deep slumber– so deep, in fact, Jules is currently running around the bedroom with a t-shirt half over his torso and a slice of toast dangling from his mouth.
How he manages to stay so lean is completely lost on me; the guy eats strictly white foods, mostly of the starchy variety.
Rice, bread, pasta, potatoes– oh god, the potatoes.
“Have you seen my wallet anywhere?” His abs contract and flex as he reaches up, patting his hand along the shelf housing his anime figurines.
“Zan?! I’m going to be late,” he says, exasperated.
I realised, rather than answering him, I’d just been staring at his semi-naked upper body.
If he notices, he doesn’t say anything– ever the polite one.
“Uhh, I put it in the tray by the door, the one labelled necessities,” I managed to answer, finding something else to occupy my eyes.
“Of course you did,” his voice is full of warmth and appreciation for my need for order.
Mess is just another unnecessary load on my already heavy mind; since I can’t seem to control my thoughts, I choose to control my environment instead.
Watching Jules tear through the bedroom like a tornado, however, is really fucking with that peace.
My obsessive need to bring order to his chaos sees me striding across the room, coming to an abrupt stop in front of him.
My fingers twitch, and my skin hums with compulsion, an overwhelming urge to correct and contain the building catastrophe– at least that’s what I tell myself.
I recognise the need for calmness, the same one I get when I give an object a forever home, but also the same kind he so easily gave me last night.
It’s hard to differentiate which impulse my body is acting on right now: the obsession I’ve crafted for myself, or the one standing in front of me, growing on its own.
“Let me just–” I reach up, not waiting for permission.
I start by taking the soggy toast from his mouth, placing it on a nearby coaster– not today, crumbs.
Jules’ eyes follow the food before finding mine again.
I gently take hold of his wrist, guiding it through the arm hole of his white t-shirt, before slowly rolling the gathered material down over his stomach.
My fingers glide along the flat, yet soft skin with every inch I cover.
I watch, transfixed by the way they lightly skim his abdomen, fascinated by the goosebumps that follow closely behind.
If I couldn’t feel the heat myself, I would be sure the hands I’m watching belong to someone else.
When smooth skin turns into rough denim, I quickly take a step back, reaching for the toast and plugging his mouth with it before he has a chance to say anything. Because what the fuck even was that?
“There, loads better. Keys and wallet are in the tray. Have the best first day, and text me if you need anything.” I spin him quickly by the shoulders and shove him in the direction of the door.
Theresa is waiting in the kitchen by the time I get downstairs.
There’s a mug set out in the place I usually sit, as well as an assortment of breakfast foods.
Ever since that very first sleepover, she’s always made sure there is an array of food available in the morning.
She doesn’t mind if some days we have to grab and dash, as long as we leave the house with full stomachs and smiling faces.
“Don’t worry, I didn’t spike the tea. Come, sit.
” She pushes the chair opposite with her foot, inviting me into what looks like a little bubble of discomfort, lovely.
“Before I begin, you have to eat something. I won’t have you hearing this news on an empty stomach,” She nods toward the toast and spreads set out before us.
I have no right to be as nervous as I am, not when I get the ominous feeling whatever news she has is worse for her than it is for me.
I managed one slice of toast and half the cup of tea before my stomach rolled in protest. Sickly anticipation has taken control of my body, seizing my throat and my words.
I was so confident in my demand last night.
But now in the cold light of day, and with the way she’s watching me, I’m not so sure I want the truth.
“Look, you don’t have to–”
“I have ALS.”
Three words. That’s all it takes to completely shatter everything.
She continues, “There is no cure, there is no hope that I will get better, and I’m telling you this because I know you will understand that.
” Her voice is strong and unwavering, despite the devastating words she speaks.
Her shaky hand wraps around my own, squeezing and infecting me with her warmth.
The lump in my throat feels like it’s growing bigger and bigger with every passing second.
The silence hangs heavy between us, begging to be broken.
All I manage is a pitiful noise from the back of my throat; it’s the only sound I trust right now.
“Jules doesn’t know yet, but there will come a time when I can’t hide it from him.
He’s going to need you, Zander. We both are.
” She speaks the raw, honest, and ugly truth; they're both going to need me. She’s not asking if I will, she knows I would do anything either of them asks of me. What she’s really asking is if I can.
The truth is, I don’t know. It's shameful, but I have no doubt it’s the truth she’s expecting. Death isn’t a stranger to me; it’s almost a companion at this point, always unwelcome and never missed.
“He’s not going to understand,” I croak out.
“I know.”
“How do I get him through this?”
“You love him, Zander. You love him like you always have. You let him know every day just how worthy he is of all that is good in this life. You laugh with him on the good days, and you cry with him on the bad ones. But most importantly, you stay by his side during all the ones in between.”
Her words ignite something within me. It’s not hope– that would be cruel and futile.
This feels more like resilience and purpose, even if it is appalling.
The fire in her eyes burns bright with a ferociousness only a mother could muster.
She’s not thinking of herself; she’s past that point.
She’s accepted what the not-so-distant future holds, and now she’s planning.
Theresa is making sure that her son is protected and loved, even from beyond the grave.
The word alone sends my body stiff and rigid.
The aura–as the therapist called them–of an impending attack dances on the edge of my vision, creeping in like a tidal wave of doom and despair.
Small hands knead into my palms, and soft words reach my ears, beckoning me to come back, to not lose myself to the misery I know I managed to escape.
“Zander, stay here with me,” It’s a simple request, but it carries far more weight given Theresa’s earlier admissions.
Stay, Zander.
I screw my eyes shut and concentrate on the steady drip from the tap.
The feel of dependable hands, warm and soft around my own.
And the smell of crisp toast and lavender fabric softener.
I’m reaching for anything and everything with my senses, trying to ensure the door to my past stays firmly closed.
“Keep talking to me, please,” I beg, not wanting to waste a single second that we have left.
A soft hum fills the air, the melody of her sweet voice and the gentle familiarity of a song my mind pleads with me to remember, tugs at the dormant parts of my brain.
The tender hum turns into words that feel almost native, like they’ve been floating in the deepest voids of my mind and are finally slotting back into place.
“This world makes you crazy, and you’ve taken all you can bear…” There is no hurry in which she sings, each word is savoured and wrapped in tenderness as they flow slowly and effortlessly from her mouth. “...Just call me up ‘cause I will always be there.”
The fog starts to lift as I cling to each word she sings. I can feel my mind grasping for the next line, but it's just out of reach. Instead of pushing myself, I let the unknown comfort wrap around me, soothing and lulling me back into the safety of the place I call home.
I keep my eyes shut long after the thoughts have receded, content in soaking up the affection Theresa offers through her song. It feels like an affirmation, a reminder of a message she had given me before. They have always been there.
As hard as I try to repel it, a vicious thought flashes through my mind, the one that says she won’t be for much longer.
The woman who raised me as her own, who brought me into her home and showered me with love and peace, will be gone.
Will it still feel like a home without her smile lighting up the room?
Will I still be the same person? Will Jules?
“How long?” I don’t really want the answer, but I need the structure only time can offer.
When everything feels so unreliable, time is the only thing I know I can depend on.
It’s the only constant; it never changes, never stops, and no matter how hard we wish we could change its pace, it only moves forward, never back.
“Two years, three at a push.” I hang my head low, determined to match her bravery in the face of such cruelty. “Can you do this, Zander? I can’t leave him to face the world alone.” The tears are evident in her voice now; her throat forces the words past the sob stuck thick in her throat.
“I’ll be everything he needs, I promise.”