Chapter 4
Chapter four
Carter
My knife thwacks against the cutting board as I imagine the potato I’m chopping is Trent’s head.
I know he’s got a new wife at home, but I truly can’t believe he won’t leave her for seven weeks to oversee our largest ever contract.
I told him as much when I asked him again to switch places with me so I don’t have to leave my mother with dementia home alone.
He denied me, again.
So now I’m at my mom’s house, following our nightly routine one last time before I climb on an airplane tomorrow.
My mom bustles quietly around the kitchen, adding vegetables and meat into the pan she’s using to make the soup.
“We need those potatoes in here if you don’t want them to be hard,” she says, glancing over my shoulder to see how I’m doing.
“Sorry,” I respond, quickly finishing the chopping and handing her the entire cutting board to dump into the pot.
It’s a routine we’ve done a thousand times, even before her dementia and her need for consistency.
My mom worked the evening shift when I was young so she could make sure she was here to get me up and ready for school.
Then, when I got to middle school and started playing sports, she traded her dinner shift for breakfast so she could see my games.
Since it’s always been just the two of us, there hasn’t been a time in my life when I wasn’t helping her make our meals.
“What’s on your mind?” she asks, the conversation so normal, I want to bottle it up and take it with me while I’m gone, just in case it’s not here for me when I get back.
I take note of her faded blue jeans and the navy sweater she wears tucked in just at the front.
Her chocolate-brown hair, the same color gracing my head, stops just past her collarbone.
As I look at her, I realize she has more gray streaks than I thought.
That’s the thing about seeing someone every day: you don’t notice the small changes that somehow compound into something more—something major.
“Just running through my packing list for tomorrow’s flight,” I lie.
“Where are you going again?” she asks.
Fuck. My stomach drops. I’ll quit my job. I’ll find—
“I’m kidding, Carter. Jeesh. You should see your face.”
I run a hand down said face, trying to calm my heart enough to respond without yelling at her.
“You can’t joke about that.”
“I’ve got to joke about it while I still know what a joke is,” she says, a pleasant smile on her face.
“Mom!”
“You’re no fun anymore. You used to be able to handle teasing far better than this.” She raises her eyebrows. “See? I can remember that still, and it was years ago.”
“I can handle teasing. Just not memory jokes. Hits a little too close to home, don’t you think?”
She shrugs, moving around to stir the soup again.
I understand that for some people, my mother apparently one of them, joking about the loss of their memory is the only way they survive the fear of their gradual decline.
It’s something I read about early on in a few of the Alzheimer’s support groups I found online.
I just didn’t realize how mad it would make me.
I don’t want my mom to joke about it. I want her to fight it.
She’s fought everything that has come her way and won.
I can’t accept this will be any different, even though I know there isn’t anything more that we can do than what we’re already doing.
I paid every dollar of savings I had to make sure of it, and I’d spend it all again in a heartbeat to have the reassurance I’m doing everything I possibly can for my mom.
Exactly like she’s done for me my whole life.
We work in companionable silence again, her finishing cooking dinner as I set the small dining table with placemats and bowls for two. Just like always.
As we sit down, I dig into my soup, enjoying the savory mix of the pork and potatoes. Regardless of my slow chopping, the potatoes are tender, cooked to perfection.
“That’s a nice shirt,” she says, pointing to my white button-up with her spoon.
I glance down. “I wear a shirt like this almost every day.”
“Yes,” she says, her eyes twinkling. “But this one doesn’t have Mitchell Security embroidered on it.”
I snort a laugh. My brother, like our sperm donor before him, is obsessed with seeing our last name everywhere possible. It’s on my company pickup, on every black polo I own, and, for Trent and me, on numerous white button-downs to “set the leadership apart.”
“This one is better,” I agree. And I do. I never wanted to be a Mitchell, and I certainly never wanted to work for either my sperm donor or my half brother’s company, but desperate times and all that.
“Maybe you should wear it when you’re out and about,” my mom says, pulling me from my thoughts. “Maybe when you ask Kelsey out on a date.”
I choose not to respond, hoping my mom decides to leave it at that. Unfortunately, a peaceful dinner doesn’t seem to be in the cards for me tonight.
“Are you ever going to ask that girl out?”
“Mom.”
“Fine, woman. I still think of her as the feisty sixteen-year-old girl you almost got suspended for in high school.”
“Mom!” I say again, though this time it comes out as almost a snarl. She knows we don’t talk about that. Ever.
“I know, I know. It’s a secret I shall take with me to the grave.”
I continue eating, making sure to avoid eye contact.
“Your high school crush aside, I’ve seen the way you look at her when we happen to see her around town. If you’re interested in her, I think you should pursue it.”
“I don’t have time for a relationship.” It’s the line I’ve used for years, but it’s true now. My mom is the most important person in my life, and I’m not going to miss out on time with her just to go out with someone. Even if that someone is Kelsey Harper.
“That’s a load of baloney, and you know it.”
“I’m busy at work.”
“So is everyone else.”
“And I want to spend as much time with you as possible.”
She looks at me, her dark eyes overflowing with sadness. “I know, honey, and I love I get to spend so much time with you. But you can’t stop living your life. Take it from me, you never know when you’re going to get news that changes everything. And I don’t want you to be alone.”
“You didn’t need someone, why do I?”
“I had you.”
“Are you suggesting I knock up a girl?” I joke, trying to lighten the mood.
“Is Kelsey an option?”
“Mom,” I say in my best stern-parent voice.
Like a child, my mother rolls her eyes at me. “No, I don’t want you to knock some girl up just to have a child to raise and keep you company. I want you to be happy. I want you to find someone to love you as much as I do.”
“You were happy without someone, why are you trying to say I need a wife?” I ask again.
“You don’t need a wife. I didn’t need a husband either.” She sighs. “But being by yourself, it can get lonely.”
“I’m sorry I left you,” I say, meaning it, even though I know I would’ve self-imploded if I hadn’t left this town after high school.
But I know what she means. I’ve felt the loneliness of being an only child, of not having any close family or friends in town these past few years.
I feel the weight of every decision I have to make for my mom.
I might be in a town full of people who know me and love my mom, but I’ve never felt as alone as I do as an adult back in Wild Bluffs.
“I’m not,” she says. “I’m glad you left and found yourself outside of the shadow of my decisions.”
“Mom,” I say again, though softly this time.
“I would not change one thing about my life that brought you to me, even if it’s not the life you deserved. But I wish I would’ve worked a little harder to live, rather than just survive, the last fifteen years. And I don’t want you to look back fifteen years from now and think the same thing.”
“That’s a pretty low blow,” I say, trying to lighten the mood.
“I’m not joking, Carter. Don’t miss out on living your life.”
“Okay, Mom. I’ll try. Though maybe not with Kelsey Harper.”
She raises her eyebrow. “And why not?”
“We’re just not right for each other.”
“Is that what you think or what she thinks?”
“Both.” Probably. I’ve never asked her about it due to my inability to speak actual words in her presence.
The fact that I didn’t grow out of that particular trait while in the Army Rangers continues to shock and annoy me any time I’m in her vicinity.
I can talk to anyone, though I’d prefer not to usually, but for some reason, Kelsey Harper has always made me question every thought I have.
I don’t know what to say, so I just don’t speak.
“I’m not sure I believe you.”
I simply grunt in response.
The rest of the evening goes by without getting too deep, and as the final episode of Ted Lasso season two finishes, Mom turns off the TV before walking me to her front door.
It’s only seven, but we tend to end our nights early, since Mom has to get up before the sun to make it to her shift at the diner.
“Don’t worry about me while you’re gone. I’ll be fine. I’ll stick to my routine, and I’ll reach out to Bill and Mildred if I need anything. You left me a huge sign on the fridge with the reminder of where you are and who to contact. I will be fine.”
“I’m going to miss you,” I say, pulling her petite frame into my large one. I wrap her up tight, telling myself I’m doing the right thing.
As I walk in the dark to my pickup, the one with Mitchell Security splashed across the side, I let myself give in to my mom’s suggestion, just one time, for one minute, and live out the fantasy I’ve had since I can remember. The one where my forever is with Kelsey.
But just as quickly, I pull myself away, knowing it’s a fantasy that will never happen. Because Kelsey Harper? She doesn’t end up with a guy like me, especially when we’re about to be competing for the same contract.