Chapter 8 My Favorite Person
WREN
“I’m home,” I yell, pushing open my parents’ door and walking into their modest, brick ranch.
“We’re outside, sweetheart,” my mom shouts from the screened-in porch that is attached to the back of their house.
I make my way through the living room toward the door, taking in the home I grew up in. It’s like a time capsule of my childhood, just with a little less furniture and some added ramps for my brother’s wheelchair.
As I step onto the deck, my parents stand to meet me, and I notice my dad winces slightly as he gets up from his chair. I’ve worked hard not to feel guilty about the decisions I’ve made, but I can’t help but wonder if I was still living here, if he wouldn’t be hurt.
I set the gift I brought for my younger brother, Cody, on the table and wrap my mom up in a hug first, taking a moment to breathe in her perfume. She smells like peonies, and for the first time in a while, I feel the tension in my shoulders melt away.
“Glad you could make it, sweetheart. You’re all he could talk about,” she whispers in my ear. I giggle to myself, glancing over at Cody.
I turn to find my dad. “You okay?” I ask as he wraps me in a hug.
“Always worrying about us.” He shakes his head. “I’m fine, honey. Just tweaked my back helping this guy into bed the other day.” He nods toward my brother.
“Aren’t you going to tell me hello,” a mechanical voice says through the speakers of the iPad Cody uses to speak.
“It’s always all about you isn’t it,” I tease, flipping around and wrapping my arms around him. I place a kiss on the top of his auburn hair. “Hey, bud. I missed you.”
He laughs, and it’s my favorite sound. Almost six years ago, I never thought I would hear it again, and while it doesn’t sound like it used to, I love his new laugh just as much as I loved the old one. It’s a reminder that I still have my little brother.
He begins to type on the screen, and I wait for his response.
“Fucking liar,” he says. I shake my head.
“Language,” my moms scolds. “Please don’t use that word under my fucking roof.” Cody’s whole body shakes with laughter, and he begins to type again.
“Is that for me?” he asks, using his speech device.
“It sure is. You want to open it?”
He nods his head, and I place the small bag on the tray table connected to his wheelchair.
I help him hold the bag, and he pulls the tissue paper out with his left hand, and it falls all over the floor.
Reaching in, he pulls out a Funko Pop! figurine of Spiderman hanging from his web. His whole face lights up.
“I didn’t think you had this one yet.”
My mom walks over and looks at the box. “He doesn’t,” she confirms. Cody begins to tap on his screen. “You don’t have to bring him a present every time you come over. I mean the twenty-three gifts for his twenty-third birthday two weeks ago was plenty.”
“Yes, I do,” I say, smiling at my brother. “Those were birthday gifts. They don’t count.”
“Thank you I love it Dad can you put it on my shelf,” my brother says using his iPad, the sentences coming out as one because he doesn’t use punctuation when he talks.
Standing, my dad nods. He winces again and places his hand on his lower back for support. “You got it, bud.” He takes the box and disappears back into the house.
“So, what’s the plan for today?” I ask.
He begins to type again, and I find an empty chair.
“Marvel movie marathon,” Cody says.
“Sounds perfect. What are we starting with? I guess I’ll let you pick.” His finger swipes on the screen, and I know he’s navigating to the page of saved movies that make it easier to participate in conversations.
“Lunch will be finished around two, and then I made dessert,” my mom explains.
“Iron Man Black Panther Thor,” he says.
I check my watch. “Iron Man is perfect. We’ll have time to watch it before lunch, then I can stay, and we can watch the others after. I cleared my whole schedule just for you.”
Cody’s mouth forms an asymmetrical smile, and he begins to type on the screen again.
My mom stands to help him move his wheelchair into the living room.
She parks it in front of the TV that hangs over the fireplace, and I curl up in my dad’s worn leather recliner under a blanket then click through the recently watched movies until I find Iron Man.
“I feel special,” he says, after typing on the screen.
“You should because you are. Now don’t let it go to your head. The movie is starting.”
____
My mom and I walk out of Cody’s room and into the kitchen where my dad is still sitting at the table, finishing the last of his slice of pie.
“I know you were looking forward to more movies, but he seemed exhausted.” Mom squeezes my hand. “Coffee?”
I nod. “It’s okay. I’m not going to deprive him of a nap just because I want to watch some movies we’ve both seen more than a dozen times.”
“I told y’all I could help,” my dad says as I take a seat across from him.
“No. You can’t. You hurt your back lifting him,” I say matter-of-factly. My mom slides a mug in front of me and joins us. “How did that even happen?”
“Caregiver called out a couple days ago, and your mother had run up to the store. He said he was tired, and I must’ve lifted with my back a little too much, because the minute I got him standing, I could feel it.”
“Why not use his lift?”
“That old thing?” My dad shakes his head. “I think it’s broken. It’s easier to just do it myself.”
I exhale. The lift is broken? Caregivers are calling it out? I wonder what else they haven’t told me.
“Since when?”
“A couple weeks now,” my mom says. “I’m trying to get a new one or at the very least a repair, but you know how insurance can be.” She shakes her head. “I’m hoping to hear from them soon.”
“And how often are the caregivers canceling?”
“Depends. We have a few really good ones right now, but you know how it is. We’ll find good ones, and then they move on.”
For the first time today, I really take them in.
Both are in their mid-fifties. My dad’s hair is beginning to gray.
My mom’s hair used to be the same shade as mine, but now it’s a deeper red that you can only get at a salon.
There seems to be more creases around their eyes than the last time I saw them.
Guilt overwhelms me. I should be here helping. Maybe getting kicked out of my apartment is a sign from the universe that I need to be here, not living my life like nothing awful happened to my favorite person.
“You know, I actually have to be out of my apartment by the end of October. Maybe I should move back in. I could help. I know y’all need it.”
The base of my mom’s mug clatters against the wood surface of the table. “Absolutely not,” she says.
“But Mom—” I begin, but this time my dad chimes in.
“As much as we would love to have you under our roof again, you can’t move back here. You are going to be Cody’s primary caregiver one day, but that day isn’t today. Your mother and I are more than capable of caring for him.”
“We do appreciate your offer, honey, but your father is right. You’re twenty-four. You should be out in the world living your life. You’re always welcome here, and we are so appreciative of how much you helped after his accident, but you can’t put that pressure on yourself.”
She grabs my hand, and tears begin to run down my cheeks.
I know they’re right. We spent more than a year in therapy together learning how to process everything that happened.
My takeaway was that I couldn’t be there for everyone the way I wanted to be if I didn’t take care of myself first, but some days that fact is still hard to accept.
I love my family more than anything in the world, and it feels selfish not to be here helping.
It’s an internal battle I fight constantly.
“Don’t you start crying,” she says. “Our lives were forever changed the day your brother fell, but that doesn't mean we have to live life being sad about it. We still have him, and while he may use a computer to talk to us and needs a little bit of extra help sometimes, he’s still our Cody. I know for a fact he wouldn’t want you to live here. ”
“Oh, did he tell you that?” I can’t help but laugh at her frank statement.
“He did. He never liked having to share our attention.”
“Very funny,” I deadpan.
“Why are you moving?” my dad asks.
“They sold my apartment building, and the new company is kicking us all out to demolish it.”
My mom gasps. “Why didn’t you say something?”
“I didn’t want to make a fuss over it. You have a lot on your plate.
” Her mouth droops a bit, and I know my words hit her harder than I intended.
“I’ve been looking for a place, but everywhere is so expensive.
I thought I had found something, but the rent was insane.
Between that, bills, and my savings, I just couldn’t swing it. ”
“Are you still saving to start those camps you’ve been dreaming about for the last six years,” she asks.
“Yes, I don’t make much, but every extra penny is going into my savings.”
My parents look at one another and then back to me. My mom shakes her head.
“We admire you and all of your goals, honey. But have you considered saving a little less so that you can afford something better?” she asks.
I ignore her statement, sipping from my coffee mug. There is nothing wrong with planning for my future, especially when my plan would make my little brother’s life so much better.
“Have y’all thought any more about hiring more help, so you don’t have to do as much?” I ask, changing the subject.
“It’s expensive to hire help,” my dad says. “We’re making do with the three caregivers we have. They’re covering most of the weekdays, and then we have him at night and on the weekends. It’s working.”
“Is it?” I mutter. “You’re hurt. It’s only a matter of time before mom gets hurt too.”
My mom rubs her hand down my dad’s back.