Nine
NINE
SOPHIE
T he weekend flew past, leaving whatever happened on Friday in the rearview where it belongs and hopefully where it’ll stay. My focus is on the future, my future , and I’m actually quite excited to get this whole project started tomorrow, but today is Sunday. And Sundays mean one thing: I’m visiting my dad. Today is extra special—it’s his birthday.
Ever since my mother left us when I was a kid, it was just the two of us against the world. Dad taught me everything from changing a tier to baking his favorite dessert, Kladdkaka . I woke up to bake early this morning. It’s a Swedish treat that's like an elevated mud cake—dense, gooey, and intensely chocolatey. It’s delicious and the perfect snack to get over any kind of feeling. I actually baked two–one for Dad and one for later.
“Oh, that smells incredible,” Adeline sneaks up behind me and gives me a hug.
I chuckle. “No need to suck up. I made an extra one for you.”
She kisses my cheek and walks around the kitchen island, grinning. “I knew I had the best roommate in the world.”
Leaning over to smell the cake, her eyes roll back, and she says, “Ugh, I love that you’re Swedish.”
“Quarter Swedish.”
“Same-same, you got the good twenty-five percent.” She reaches for a piece, but I lightly smack her hand away, earning a playful glare. “Hey! This one is for Dad. Yours is in the oven.”
She tilts her head, a mischievous glint in her eyes before asking, “Did you send a photo to Leora? She’s going to be so jealous.”
“I almost did, but then I felt bad and didn’t. She loves it and it feels wrong teasing a pregnant woman.”
“Yeah. I can’t wait until they come and visit. I miss them.”
“Me too.”
She takes a breath, her gaze lingering on me for a moment longer. “I can come with you if you need me too.”
“I appreciate you so much. But today, I think it’s best if it’s just me.”
Adeline nods understandingly, her gaze softening with concern. “Alright, but call me if you need anything, okay? And don’t forget to give your dad a big hug from me.”
I smile gratefully at her. “I will. Thanks, Addie.”
“Okay, I have to leave and pick up the flowers. Please leave the cake in the oven for five more minutes and then take it out.”
She brings her hand up her eyebrow, saluting me. “Yes, Sir.”
“Five minutes, Addie.”
Then I head to the tiny flower shop around the corner from my apartment, Blooming Garden . It’s super cozy, and the interior bursts with colors and fragrances, but my eyes are drawn to the delicate pots of forget-me-nots, our favorite. When I was little, he planted the beautiful little blue flower in our yard. At first, I thought they were too small to matter, but Dad taught me that even the smallest things can hold great significance. Something I carry with me always.
“Listen, Sophie, It may be small, but it carries many special meanings. There are many old legends about this flower. The most well-known describes a proud German knight strolling with his love along a river. His love notices a beautiful blue flower just about to be pulled into the stream of the river. She found it so beautiful and wanted to save it, so the knight jumped into the cold water and tossed the flower to her. The current was too strong, and he couldn’t fight it, so he was carried out to sea. But as he was being swept away, he called out, “forget me not” and his love named the flower after that, wearing it every single day until she died. So you see, my little petal, it represents immortal love. Giving someone a forget-me-not is a big thing; it means you’ll never forget them in your thoughts.”
I smile at the memory, my whole body softening as a familiar warmth settles in, wrapping around me like a long-lost embrace.
“Do you need help with anything else?” the purple-haired shop clerk asks me, her lips curving into a brilliant smile.
Clutching the pot of forget-me-nots to my chest, I reply softly, “No, thank you, these are perfect.”
She nods knowingly. “They’re meaningful flowers, you know. Are they for someone special?” I nod. If she only knew.
I make my way to the subway station, the pot carefully cradled in the nook of my arm and the bag containing deliciousness in my other hand.
The train ride feels longer than usual today, each moment stretching as I count down the subway stations. Today feels like a good day; I just know it. He’s going to be so happy and surprised and I can’t wait to see the look on his face. Dad has always loved his birthday, and he made sure I loved mine just as much. No matter how he was feeling, he never missed a chance to celebrate me.
As I reach my stop, I practically skip into the large building and head straight to the reception desk.
“I’m here to see Lars Anderson,” I announce, my voice almost giddy, matching the heartbeat in my chest.
“Miss Sophie, hi. How have you been, lovely? I’ve been waiting for you to show up today,” the woman behind the desk says sweetly, her expression warming up this sterile environment.
I return her smile gratefully. “Hi, Miss Aliyah. I’ve been good, thank you. I hope you’re feeling well,” I say, exchanging pleasantries before hurrying to the important question. “Is he ready for visitors?” I ask eagerly, hoping today will be one of his better days.
Praying for it.
The warm smile on her face shifts, the corners of her lips falling. “He had a tough night, but that doesn’t mean today won’t be a good day.”
My heart drops all the way down to the pit of my stomach, but I continue to nod, trying to hold on to the last sliver of optimism. Like she says, that doesn’t mean today won’t be one of the good days.
I take a deep breath, clutching the pot tighter. These visits are unpredictable, but they are important.
“Okay, can I still see him?” I whisper the words, afraid she’ll say no.
Miss Aliyah nods sympathetically. “Of course, let me escort you.”
I follow her as we walk through the familiar hallways of the care facility, the scent of disinfectant mingling with the faint traces of floral air fresheners.
Each step I take feels heavy with anticipation and hope. Past visits bombard my brain–some happy, others heart-wrenching. With each room I pass, I look in to find some residents smiling among their loved ones while others stare blankly ahead.
“Here we are, room 213,” she says softly as she cradles my cheek in her hand. “Don’t be discouraged, lovely. Last week, he asked about his petal . There’s hope for today.”
I nod again. Apparently, that’s the only response I can give as my throat tightens with emotion. Aliyah is like a beacon of light, and I’m so grateful that she’s one of my father’s caretakers. I used to be his main one, but it got too much, and I needed the help. I couldn’t handle it all by myself. Somedays, I feel like the shittiest daughter in the world that didn’t do more, try more. But I’m only human, and sometimes even the best intentions aren’t enough.
Aliyah helps me push the door open, and I step into the room, steeling myself for whatever will come.
Inside, the room is bathed in soft, golden light, just as I’d hoped. I’d asked for a space that caught the morning sun, one overlooking a garden. It wasn’t just for the aesthetics—it was for him. He’s always loved gardens, the way flowers seem to bloom just for him, the quiet beauty they offer. And there he is, exactly where I knew he’d be, seated in the chair by the window. His shoulders are relaxed, his profile turned toward the glass, as if he’s soaking in the life outside—a sanctuary of color and light that matches the quiet tenderness of his beautiful soul.
I cross the room quietly, the floor creaking softly under my steps, and I sink down in the chair next to him, setting the bag of dessert on the table.
“Happy birthday, Dad,” I whisper, my voice barely audible to my ears. “It’s Sophie.”
There’s no movement; he keeps staring out the window, lost in his own world. I try again a little louder this time.
“It’s your petal .” His gaze shifts to me this time, and before I get my hopes up my heart sinks further. His vibrant blue eyes, so similar to mine, are now dulled by this horrible illness. There’s nothing behind them, no spark of recognition. But today is supposed to be a good day– I desperately need it.
“You look so handsome today, Dad.”
He stares at me with blank eyes; there’s nothing behind them. He’s not reacting at all. Tears brim my eyes. This is the third visit where he doesn’t know who I am, and I don’t know how much more I can handle. This can’t be it; this can’t be how we’ll continue in life. More tears find their way to my eyes, and I try to blink rapidly, trying to hold them back. My hand trembles slightly as I reach out to touch his arm, seeking any glimmer of the father I used to know.
Then I remember the pot I’m almost crushing to my chest. “Look, I brought these for you. Remember? Forget-me-nots.”
His eyes shift to the pot in my outstretched hands, and a small smile tugs at his lips. He doesn’t say a word, but it’s there—a smile.
He smiled when I mentioned our flower.
“You used to tell me that just because they’re small, it doesn’t mean they’re insignificant.”
I look up at the ceiling, keeping the tears back. I can’t cry in front of him. I did once, which caused him so much stress that I had to leave, and I don’t want that today—not on his birthday. I want to stay as long as they allow me.
The door opens, and I turn back to find Aliyah coming in with two plates, two spoons, and a knife.
“Sorry to interrupt, but I smelled the cake and wanted to bring something you could eat it with,” she says, placing the plates on the table in front of us and looking at me with a sympathetic smile.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart. Dementia is a very unpredictable illness.”
“I know. I just thought today would be different.” I wipe my nose with my sleeve, trying to keep it together.
“Never lose hope.” She takes out the cake and puts it on the table, and my dad whips his head to the cake, smelling the chocolate scent. Then he looks back at me, something shimmering in his eyes, but still no words.
“Lars, it’s your birthday today,” Aliyah articulates loudly. “We’re here to celebrate you.”
She puts a candle in the cake and lights it up before she looks at me and starts singing Happy Birthday. I join in and now Dad bobs his head to the side to the melody of the song. When we finish, he blows out the candle and clasps his hands, mirroring Aliyah.
“Do you know what cake this is?” she asks him as she cuts him a slice.
He bites down on his lower lip, his brow furrowing slightly in concentration. He gazes up at Aliyah with wide, searching eyes, his expression hesitant yet hopeful. “Kladdkaka,” he finally murmurs, the word emerging slowly as if he’s unraveling a puzzle.
“Yes. Yes, Dad, it’s Kladdkaka, your favorite.” A tear falls down my cheek at the sound of his voice. He remembers.
“Do you know who made it for you?”
God bless Aliyah. This woman is the embodiment of glory.
“No,” my dad answers, his voice distant.
“Your daughter, Sophie. She baked it for you.” Aliyah points at me with a gentle smile, trying to bridge the gap between us.
I smile broadly when Dad looks at me, following the direction of her pointed fingers. But the smile fades as quickly as it came, replaced by tears, because the look on my father’s face is one of utter horror.
His brows furrow deeply, and his pupils flare with panic and confusion. It’s as if he’s seeing a stranger in front of him, someone he can’t place. Someone who shouldn’t be here. His mouth trembles, and he shakes his head, denying the reality.
“No. No. I have no daughter.” He repeats his sentence once, twice, three times. Each repetition feels like a knife twisting in my heart.
“Who are you?” His voice rises with panic, and he starts to push himself up from his chair.
Aliyah moves swiftly to calm him, reassuringly touching his shoulder. I follow suit, hoping my touch will ground him, but as soon as my fingers brush his arm, he jerks suddenly, and I back into the little table with the cake and the pot of forget-me-nots. It topples over with a crash, shattering into pieces on the floor.
My heart sinks as I rush to pick up the broken pieces, my hands trembling uncontrollably. Tears blur my vision, mixing the shards and scattered blue petals.
“It’s okay, Dad,” I whisper.
“I want you to leave,” he demands, his voice strained and distant, lacking the warmth and familiarity I long to hear.
Aliyah leads Dad gently back to his bed before she kneels beside me.
“It’s not your fault, Sophie,” she assures me. “I’ll get this fixed, don’t worry.”
“But I should help,” I say, glancing back at Dad. He’s trembling on the bed, staring at me as if I’m a stranger here to harm him.
Aliyah’s hand rests gently on my shoulder, pulling me from my thoughts. “Sophie, maybe it’s best if you go now,” she says softly, her voice filled with understanding. “He needs some rest. But we’ll see you next week.”
I nod reluctantly, the weight of her words sinking in. Staying longer won’t change anything. Slowly, I gather myself, swiping at the tears staining my cheeks as I rise to my feet. I steal one last glance at Dad, my heart heavy with all the unspoken words. “I miss you, Dad,” I manage to say, my voice choked with emotion. I walk to the door slowly, each step feeling heavier than the last. My hand hovers on the handle as I glance back, my gaze lingering on him one final time. Silently, I wish for the strength to let go, even as a part of me aches to stay. Then, with a quiet exhale, I leave.
Giving someone a forget-me-not is a big thing; it’s a promise that they’ll always stay in your thoughts. Sometimes, that promise is enough—even if you’re the only one who can keep it.