19. Vera

"Why didn't you tell me?" I ask as the door closes behind us. The hospital, probably sensing an impending meltdown, was quick to offer us a private room for this conversation. Dad wrings his hands together, carefully looking anywhere but at me. Robbie stands at my back, silent and strong. I could lean back into his chest and I know he'd hold me up. I don't.

"It's complicated honey," Dad says, and for a moment our eyes touch and then his skate away. I do the same thing, averting my gaze when I'm hiding something. Or lying.

"How?" I shake my head. "In what universe is not telling your only daughter that her mother has Alzheimer's the appropriate response? I'm not a goddamn child. I had a right to know."

Dad's smile is sad as he shoves his hands in his pockets. At least he knows better than to reach for me.

"You mother was diagnosed right before we sold the house. We thought—I thought—a smaller space would be easier to manage."

And yet, despite their change in address being relayed to me, no one saw fit to share why. I feel my teeth grinding together and I order myself to stop. Should I have figured it out? The move to a retirement community could have been a sign. For all the times I can decode Taylor Swift references with the best of them, I must have missed all the hints in my own damn life.

"That's still not an explanation."

Dad nods. "I know." He opens his mouth to continue, closes it, swallows, then tries again. "At first it was really small things. She'd lose a word on the tip of her tongue, substitute the wrong ones in their place. We just thought it was normal, aging."

"You guys aren't old!"

"We aren't exactly young anymore either, Vera," he shrugs. "For a while she was still functioning just fine—at work, at home—but then she started forgetting more. She lost her phone for a week. I found it in the glove compartment of my car. She would go to get groceries and come back empty-handed, because she got turned around on the way to the store."

I bite down hard on my lip. My parents have been going to the same Price Chopper since we moved here. It's literally walking distance from the house. We only ever drove because bringing back a week's worth of food was difficult to carry. She couldn't find it?

"We decided she was close enough to take early retirement, and she was diagnosed a few months later."

"And I wasn't informed because…?"

How often do I talk to my mother? My gut instinct is to say every single week. We…. Text. Or email. It's my dad who calls. My dad who Skypes. Their last few trips have been shorter, but I thought nothing of it because I was busy. I was working. I thought they streamlined their visits to not interfere in my life. How selfish can I be? It wasn't about me at all; it was to help my mother. The signs have all been staring me in my damn face and I might have ignored every one.

Dad turns to study an impressionist painting slapped up on the wall. It's a red barn in a yellow wheat field. There's nothing about it interesting enough to hold his attention. He's stalling.

"I deserve an explanation," I say, and I feel a wall of heat as Robbie steps up behind me. "Did you know?" I ask him, glancing over my shoulder to meet his eyes.

It feels like an eternity passes before he dips his chin down to his chest. My heart stops.

"This is a joke, right? A cruel fucking joke?"

"Vera," Dad's voice is sharp. There's an edge there and I'm done.

"No. Don't you ‘Vera' me. Was everyone just cackling over my cluelessness? Do I come off as that self-absorbed that I wouldn't notice or care? I thought she'd had a fucking stroke, Dad. You," I whirl on Robbie. "You let me go on and on about pretending we were dating so we ‘wouldn't upset her.'" I pull out the air quotes for that. "What a goddamn joke you all must have thought I was."

"I'm sorry," Robbie says, and I want to beat my fists against his chest. I want to scream, howl, kick the walls. How could he, of all people, not tell me? "It's not an excuse, but I thought you knew."

I snort a laugh. "Right. How convenient. You thought I knew, but you kept it quiet enough to not even hint that there was an issue."

He reaches for me, big hands cupping my cheeks.

"I didn't bring it up, because I figured you would if you wanted to. I only know the truth because my parents let something slip. I knew it wasn't common knowledge, but never did I think you'd been left in the dark. Not until…"

Not until my dad had been late, and I was left standing in a hospital hallway raving about my mom's memory issues and screaming that no one cared.

It wasn't that they didn't care. They just knew better. It wasn't a stroke.

It wasn't cancer, or a tumor, or a brain bleed, or a concussion.

It's Alzheimer's. Dementia caused by Alzheimer's that is slowly stealing my mother away from me. My throat feels tight, like it's closing up. I can't suck in enough air.

"I'm sorry," he says, and I let his forehead rest against mine. I'm mad, spitting tacks angry, but I know it's not on him. I do.

"Is that why you went along with it? My dumb idea?"

He shushes me, crushing me into the heat of his body.

"It wasn't dumb Vera. Not at all. And maybe it's why I thought you suggested…everything, but not why I went along with it."

We're swaying side to side, his mouth pressed to my ear.

"I agreed because I love you, Vera. I always have, I always will, and I will give you absolutely anything that is in my power to give."

"Why didn't you tell me, Dad?" I ask the words into Robbie's chest. As if not looking at my father will make hearing his answer easier somehow. "I want the truth. Not some bullshit about it being complicated."

I can hear the deep inhale from behind me. I can almost picture my dad running his hand through his thinning hair as he composes himself.

"When your mother was first diagnosed, it was a shock. She's considered an early-onset patient, but her symptoms were still mild. Stage three, her doctor said. Frankly, it's a miracle we got a diagnosis as quickly as we did. I've heard horror stories of families waiting, begging for answers." I hear footsteps and the creak of a chair as he sits down. I squeeze my eyes shut and focus on Robbie.

"Your mother wanted to wait to say anything."

I open my mouth to protest and then snap it shut. She probably did, out of some misguided attempt to protect me.

"I disagreed with her Vera. I thought you should know, but, well, there were a number of reasons I didn't push the issue."

This time I turn, ready to demand more of an explanation, the list of reasons in writing so I can refute each one, but I can't bring myself to speak. My father is slumped over in the chair, elbows on his knees and head in his hands. His eyes are shut and his face is pale. There's so much pain there, etched into every wrinkle, that I want to sob.

"You were in LA, living your dream. So far your mother has still been up for traveling and she was sure if we told you, that you'd—"

"Come home," I finish for him. Because she's right. I would have.

"You're so happy out there, living your life, taking the fashion world by storm," Dad sucks in a breath. "We couldn't take that from you."

"But Alzheimer's is progressive." They robbed me of time.

"We were never going to keep it a secret indefinitely." Dad says, "The intention was to tell you before things got worse."

I scoff. "Clearly that was a fail. Things are already worse. She thought I was sixteen, Dad ."

My words visibly hit my father and he shudders.

"I think things have moved faster than we anticipated."

She's getting worse. That's what he means.

"You have to understand Vera. Denial is part of the process. Alzheimer's is a living death sentence. Your mother knows that she's going to lose so much of what makes her her. She's scared. She didn't want it to be true, and holding back her diagnosis allowed her a bit of room to pretend. At least for a little while."

"That's not healthy, Dad."

He shakes his head. "It's not, but it's still natural. She got to make decisions that she thought would help her baby, as opposed to her disease making them for her."

"It was the wrong decision," I say. Dad flinches again, but shrugs.

"No," he says. "If you got to be happy and live the life you've worked so hard for, then no. It wasn't wrong. Not for your mother or me."

I can feel the rage bubbling in my gut. I know it's fear disguised as anger—I know that even without a call to my overpaid therapist—but I still let the words fall out, aiming them at my dad like daggers.

"I'm not happy in Los Angeles." I say, wanting to punch holes in his moral superiority. "I don't like my job."

It's like the floodgates have opened and I can't stop, ticking off reasons on my fingers, as Robbie holds me anchored in place with his arms around my waist.

"I hate travel, but especially flying. I'm terrified of planes. I hate having to smile and be polite to every random person who assumes they know me because they've seen my pictures in a magazine. I hate that I'm so far away from you and Dad. I hate that I don't know what to do next, but that my days are dwindling because my industry isn't forgiving to women my age. And," my voice cracks. "I hate that the cost of getting everything I thought I wanted was the one man I don't want to live without."

Robbie's hands turn viselike on my hips, fingers digging into my flesh before he releases me. His breath wafts over the curve of my neck and—quiet enough that I almost believe I imagined it—he whispers three small words into my skin.

I

Love

You

Dad looks stricken, like I told him he backed over me with his truck.

"You hate your life?" He pulls his hands through his hair until the gray and white strands stand up on end.

Every single thing I said to him was true, but it's also not the complete picture. I have Tandy. And Cooper and his husband. I have a yoga studio I like, and the weather is nice. I might hate the travel, but I love the luxury hotels. The intense grind of modeling when I just started out has slowed down. I have a lot more say in what I do and when. The personal chef is nice. If I don't think about the meal plan she makes me follow. I have time to sleep in, read a book on my private balcony, grab lunch at Nobu, rub elbows with other famous people. And if some of those celebrities aren't nearly as nice as people might think they are, others are wonderful.

"Hate is a strong word," I say, "but I haven't been happy in a while. In fact, I was trying to figure out what I should do next. There are worse things than coming home and spending time with my family."

There's a knock on the door and Dad straightens as a young woman in scrubs and a white coat peers inside.

"I'm sorry to interrupt," she says, "But Cecilia is awake. As her power of attorney, you should be there when we talk to her about what happened."

Dad gets to his feet. "That's probably a good idea. She isn't usually combative, but today has been a lot of firsts."

He follows the doctor out, leaving the door ajar, and I lean my weight into Robbie's chest.

"Do you want me to go or stay?" He asks, the vibrations from his words rumbling against my back.

I want him to stay, I do, "You can go. Your team needs you, doesn't it? Isn't today a scrimmage day?" I swallow past the shards of broken glass wedged in my trachea. "Did I ruin that for you?"

He kisses me on the mouth, hair flopping into both of our faces.

"You ruined nothing. Spags has the kids under control."

"Jack?" I laugh, picturing him and the kids getting into all kinds of shenanigans while the big boss is away. "I bet he's having the time of his life."

"He's worried about you," Robbie says, "But he's more mature than I give him credit for."

The kid's heart is definitely in the right place.

"I think maybe I should go," Robbie says. "You and your parents should have this talk, just family. I'll go down to the lobby and wait for you there."

My heart clenches at the thought that he wants to go, doesn't want to stay. And then I stop. Did he once send me away, not because it was easier for him, but because it was to protect me? To benefit me? I can ask this man for what I want. I'm almost positive he'll give it to me.

"You're right," I say. "Just family." I see the hurt flash through his eyes before he blinks it away. "Please come with me."