Chapter 32
Asher
Ifeel bad. Obviously.
I’m aware I should have given her a reason, not just a vague text. I probably should have called, but the reason I didn’t was because I was on the phone. There was an emergency, and I had to handle it. I’m sure she will understand. At least, that’s what I am hoping.
When I get to work the next day, Harper is already there. I stop in the threshold of my door. She’s moving around my desk, organizing papers. There’s a coffee from my favorite shop sitting on my desk as well, and I feel like shit.
“Hey,” I say as I walk in, setting my things down.
“Hey,” she says without looking at me. Which is a shame. She looks gorgeous as usual, but somehow that makes this even worse. Probably because her green eyes are brimming with worry.
“Listen, Harper, about last night,” I start in, but she cuts me off.
“Something came up. I understand. You’re a busy man,” she says, rearranging the papers again.
“No. It’s not that. I know that’s not an acceptable excuse. I should have called, but something came up and I was…panicking.”
I sound like an idiot. Vague and insincere. I also sound secretive, which I hate.
“Okay,” she says. It falls flat, and I’m not okay with it at all. Then she adds, “You know, Ash. You can tell me anything. Whatever the reason is, if you say it was a good reason–”
“It was,” I say.
“Then I’ll believe you, but I can’t believe what I don’t know.”
I take in a deep breath and hold it. After a long moment, a moment where I have to do a bit of not so fun deconstruction on my heart, I let the breath out.
“Grab your purse and your coat,” I tell her, picking up the coffee she got for me.
“What?” she asks.
“It’s cold out. You’re going to need your coat. I’m going to show you something,” I say.
“Okay. What is it?” she asks as she follows me out of my office.
“The only reason I would blow off our date,” I tell her.
I put the car in park and undo my seatbelt, emitting a silent breath as I do. Harper looks around, confused as she reads the sign written across the brick, Pemberly-looking building in front of us.
“A nursing home?” she asks.
“Yes,” I say, and she looks over at me. “My mother, I don’t know if you remember meeting my mother–”
“I do. She was lovely.”
I nod. “She’s…she lives here now.”
“I had no idea,” she says, looking back at the building. It’s a beautiful building for a nursing home, but it leaves my stomach hollow every time I pull into the parking lot.
“No one does,” I tell her. “Not even Jaylen.”
“Why?” she asks. Her voice is full of genuine empathy and love that it’s causing a ball to form in the back of my throat. I swallow it back. “You could have told him if things weren’t all right. You could have told either of us.”
“I guess I don’t like talking about it. Hell, I don’t even like admitting that this is what it’s come to. But ever since my father passed away, she’s kind of just…”
“Part of her went with him,” she whispers.
Fuck. Yeah.
“She’s still lovely,” I say in an attempt to salvage the conversation. “She’s just…her memory doesn’t work so well anymore. Don’t feel bad if she doesn’t recognize you.”
Harper nods, and we get out of the car, and I guide her through the lobby. She smiles at residents and nurses, pretty much everyone we pass. As we approach Mom’s room, I take Harper’s hand.
We walk inside and find her sitting by the window, assembling a puzzle.
“Hello Mom,” I say, and she turns to look at us.
“Oh. Asher. I wasn’t expecting to see you today,” she beams.
“I thought I’d stop by and check on you,” I say.
“Oh, I’m fine. I’m always fine. You’re just like your father. You fret too much,” she says with a wave of her hand.
“Mom, this is Harper. I don’t know if you remember–”
“Of course, I remember Harper! Good Lord, boy, I might be old, but I’m not dead. Not yet anyway. Harper, honey, how are you?”
“Hello, Mrs. Levine,” Harper smiles, approaching the table. A nurse, who is emptying the trash in the private bathroom in Mom’s room, turns and smiles at me.
“Today is a good day,” she says, and I’m glad for it. Yesterday was not a good day.
“Come, sit. I have room for both of you. Harper, you can sit next to me. Maybe you can help me figure out where the piece is to this damned puzzle,” she says, and Harper giggles.
“I can certainly try.”
“Asher, you grab the chair from the corner. Come on, everyone get cozy,” she insists, and I smile. I like when Mom is salty. Salty Mom is a familiar mom. Salty Mom makes me feel like Mom might be around a bit longer.
“I’ve been trying to find this piece for a while,” she goes on. “But my eyes aren’t what they used to be. Hell, nothing is what it used to be. I’m falling apart, it seems.”
“Well, you look perfectly lovely to me,” Harper says. “Now, let’s see if we can’t find the piece.”
“It’s a beak,” she says, picking up the front of the box to show us the picture. The puzzle, when it’s done, will be a large golden bird cage with three yellow canaries in it.
“This is going to be beautiful when it’s done,” Harper says. “I just love birds.”
“Do you?” she asks abruptly, as Mom often does. “Or are you just saying that to appease an old woman? A lot of people don’t like birds at all.”
“Jesus,” I mutter under my breath with a smile. I’m going to have some apologizing to do later if my mom keeps this up.
“I like them,” Harper insists as she sifts through the puzzle pieces on the table. “My aunt used to have one.”
“She did?” I ask, and Harper nods.
“Yep. A parakeet,” she answers.
“I love parakeets. Cheeky little birds,” Mom smiles. “What was its name?”
“Mr. Mustard,” she answers, and I perk up a little.
“I think I remember that. She used to drink Dr. Pepper by the case,” I say.
“The parakeet?” Mom asks.
“No,” Harper giggles. “My aunt.”
We all laugh and talk about birds and soda and how Mom liked 7-Up best, but all they have at the home is Sprite, which is an offense. I tell her that I can bring 7-Up the next time I visit, and she tells me not to bother, but I know she wants me to so I will anyway.
We find the missing bird beak along with a few pieces to one of the other birds in the cage.
“Now he has a friend,” Harper says, and Mom smiles. It makes me smile. Her eyes are growing weary, and I know that look. She’s getting tired, and when she gets tired, things get hard.
“Well, Mom, we need to get back to work,” I say, standing up. Harper joins me.
“Of course, of course. Don’t let me keep you from your lives,”
“Mom,” I start.
“It was lovely seeing you, Mrs. Levine,” Harper says.
“Good Lord, dear! Call me Connie. I’m nobody’s Mrs., anymore.” Her words are full of sass, but her eyes are sad, and my heart lurches in my chest. But then she turns and holds up her hands.
“Wait. I almost forgot. I have something for you.”
Mom gets up and slowly walks over to her nightstand, which is decorated with a small lamp and a framed photo of our family. She grabs a tin off the table and brings it back over to us. “Take these,” she says, handing Harper the container.
“What is it?” I ask.
“Drugs,” she says flatly, then rolls her eyes. “Cookies, Ash. Good Lord. They’re chocolate chip cookies.”
I sigh, and Harper laughs. I pop the tin open and, sure enough, it’s loaded with chocolate chip cookies.
“Where did you get them?” I ask.
“Arthur,” she answers, sitting down on the bed.
“Who’s Arthur?” I ask.
“He’s this old coot down the hall. He’s been here a little longer than I have, and ever since I got here, he’s been sweet on me.”
I arch an eyebrow and laugh.
“You think it’s funny, but I’ve about had it with the old man. He wears argyle. Every day.”
“What’s wrong with argyle?” I ask.
“Nothing. Unless you wear it every single day. Sweaters. Vests. Socks. I wouldn’t be surprised if his knickers were argyle too. He’s a nice man, but he brings me sweets almost every day. I don’t even know where he’s getting them from. His granddaughter, I think.”
“That’s sweet,” Harper says. “You don’t want any?”
“Want any?” Mom shrieks. “Sugar, I’ve had more cookies than you can count. I’m hoping Arthur will get the hint soon that I’m all cookie-ed out.”
“Might have to agree to go out with him,” I joke, and Mom just rolls her eyes at me, the way she did when I was younger and in trouble.
“There will only ever be one man for me.”
After we are back in the car, Harper still has a smile on her face. “That was lovely,” she says, opening the tin. We both take a cookie, and eat in silence. I’m not ready to drive yet.
“She loves you,” I tell her after finishing the first cookie and reaching for another.
“She’s wonderful,” Harper says. “I don’t understand why you didn’t feel like you could tell me this is where you were. Where you’ve been coming.”
I take in a breath and let it out. “Mom is not the same as she was before Dad died,” I explain. “Sometimes she is the same, like today, but more often than not, that part of her slips. Her memory has gotten bad enough that she’s categorized as having fairly advanced dementia.”
“I’m so sorry,” Harper says.
“I am too. It’s hard seeing her that way.
But like she said, Dad was it for her. They were so in love.
That’s what I grew up around. The kind of love that goes soul-deep and floods back out, impossible to hide.
That’s what I’ve always known as love. The standard I hold love to.
And sometimes, I feel like it’s impossible to find. Like what they had was unobtainable.”
I eat my second cookie and dust my hands off. Then I realize Harper is simply staring at me, her eyes neither hard nor soft. “Do you still feel that way?” she asks.
“Like love is unobtainable?” I ask.
She nods.
I look at the building in front of us. The trees outside it. An elderly couple walking a dog. And then I look back at Harper. “I like to believe it’s not. Even if that belief has been hard from time to time. I really like to believe it’s not.”
She smiles subtly and bites her lip. Without thinking, I lean in and press my lips to hers. It’s warm and soft. When I pull back my heart is doing backflips in my chest, and the entire car seems to be full of static.
“Are you hungry?” I ask. “Because I think I owe you a date.”