Chapter Twenty-Five

Aiden

C elebrating Christmas in a facility with Evie and my mom isn’t exactly how I pictured spending the holiday. We originally wanted to bring Mom home with us for a few days, but after talking it over, we settled on spending as much of Christmas Eve and Christmas Day with Mom as possible. Since Mom is still adjusting to her new environment, we didn’t want any interruption to potentially set her back and cause additional confusion or distress.

We brought gifts to exchange, Mom’s favorite holiday foods and desserts, and Evie made a playlist with Mom’s favorite holiday songs. We had already decorated her room, and the staff decorated the common spaces as well. All in all, it’s a cheerful atmosphere and worth it to see the content look on my mother’s face as she leans back in her rocker, humming along softly to “Silent Night.”

She’s been quiet, but I’m relieved to have seen more moments of clarity than I was prepared for during our visit today. We reminisced on a few of our favorite Christmas memories, and she shared memories of her own without us needing to prompt her. It’s been a good day.

I look at Evie and catch her observing Mom, a thoughtful expression on her face. My heart aches knowing how difficult it is for her to watch our mom go through this. I would do anything to take away the hurt from the two women I care about most in this world.

When I was old enough to realize the significance of my mom leaving my father, the pressure to protect her and my little sister grew stronger. The anxiety can sometimes cause me to act somewhat overbearing. Growing up watching the way my father treated my mom, and then seeing her break away from him and raise us on her own will do that to a kid, I guess. Everything about our current situation makes a person like me feel out of control, insignificant, and helpless. The solution to our problem isn’t something I can give, and it kills me.

“I wish I could freeze this moment in time and come back to it whenever I want,” Evie says wistfully.

“You two get together for a picture,” I say. “That’s one way to do it.”

Evie kneels in front of Mom, taking hold of her hands. “What do you say, Mom. Want to take a picture with me?”

“Of course, you look absolutely stunning. We should capture the moment. I wouldn’t want to forget it.” She smiles adoringly at Evie. When Evie turns to face me, looping her arm around Mom’s shoulders, her eyes shine with unshed tears and her soft smile falters for a brief second. I snap a quick picture right before the first tear falls, and Evie acts quickly to wipe it away.

“Well, I think it’s time, don’t you? I have it right here,” Evie says while pulling out a small box with a red bow on top.

Mom started a tradition when we were younger, and we’ve kept it up every year since. We each take a turn picking a new ornament to add to the tree. Last year, Mom picked an emerald glass ornament with lily of the valley flowers delicately etched onto the sides in silver. It was her year to pick, though we weren’t sure if she’d be up for it when we got to the store. When we walked inside, she barely hesitated before she walked straight to the display and pointed, stating she had found the perfect one. “A return to happiness,” she whispered softly to herself as Evie gently pulled the ornament from the wall. She wouldn’t say much else about it, but it was clearly the perfect pick. I can see the ornament hanging off the artificial tree in the corner of my mom’s room.

“Here, Mom, why don’t you open it?” Evie places the package on Mom’s lap.

Mom gives an enthusiastic “Ooooh” as she lifts the small ornament from the box. “Evelyn, this is stunning.” She holds the ornament up in wonder.

“Nice pick, sis.” The flat, circular wooden ornament has cutouts in the shape of the city’s skyline. As Evie hangs it on a branch, the soft light from the bulbs highlights the intricate outline of each building.

“Thanks. I wanted something to signify the importance of us all being in the same city, together again. I don’t care where we live, as long as we’re close. It’s too painful any other way.” Her last words fade quietly. I know the past few months haven’t been easy for any of us. She’s right. This isn’t perfect, either, but it’s the right place for us to be. I’m home when I’m with my family, no matter where we may be physically.

“We should probably wrap up the celebrations for tonight. Let you get some rest,” I say reluctantly. We had a great day today, but there’s always the risk of tomorrow being a bad day. The uncertainty always lingers like an unwelcome guest.

“Yes, I’m tired. It’s a good time to call it a day. Oh, and Evie dear, please don’t forget to set the timer on the stove on your way out. I don’t want to burn dessert again,” Mom says.

Evie turns back to Mom, caught off guard. She gives her an appraising once-over, finding nothing amiss. Not physically. “Sure thing, Mom. I’ll make sure the timer is set. ”

My mom doesn’t have a stove in her room.

We didn’t make dessert.

We clean up, help Mom get comfortable, and notify the staff that we’re headed out for the night, thanking them as usual for their care. The staff here have been great, and knowing they’re always taking good care of Mom is peace of mind I’d pay any amount to find. When I first saw the cost of residential care that’s specifically for adults with cognitive needs, I was reminded to be grateful for my generous salary.

“Well, other than a few hiccups here and there, she had a really good day overall, don’t you think?” Evie asks me as we exit the facility and I walk her to her car.

“Yeah, it seems like she’s had more good days than bad lately. I was expecting more hiccups while she settles in from the move.”

“That doesn’t surprise me.”

“What do you mean?” I ask.

Evie stops next to her car and reaches into her purse, digging around to find her keys. “When it comes to Mom and me, you’re always prepared for the worst. I know you’ve gotten better at hiding it, but that protective instinct and hypervigilance never fully went away, did it? It makes sense that you’re falling back into old habits while we work through this.”

“I’ll work on it. I know you get annoyed when I do that.”

“It’s okay to worry, Aiden. I don’t think we can help it in this situation. I just don’t want it to overwhelm you. You need to take care of yourself too. When you need to lean on me for support, you know you can always call me and talk it through. Like we always have. You, Mom, and me. We don’t shut down. We reach out.”

I give Evie a quick hug and when I step away, I thank her. “You’re right. I know I can count on you. I’m doing okay, but you’ll hear from me when I need backup. Promise. I’ve also been meaning to thank you for your advice. ”

“All of my advice is golden. What was it about this time?”

“I, uh…I have a date with Bec, Hop’s trainer. Well, sort of.”

She gives me a look. “Sort of?”

“I talked to her. I was honest with her like you suggested. She doesn’t want to jump into anything serious. One date at a time sort of deal. So, I’m going to ask her out after the New Year.”

“Well, shit. Look at you, big brother! See what happens when you listen to me? Does this mean you’ll take my advice on where to take her for your first date? It’s clear you really like this girl, and I don’t want to hear you complaining if you fuck this up. You need to get this right. I’ve been waiting for a sister my whole life and at this rate I’ll never get one.”

I laugh, because she’s not fucking wrong. I need her help.

“Let’s get lunch later this week. I’m not going to say no to your help. Bring your A game.”

“Okay, but if I’m gracious enough to help you, then lunch is obviously your treat.”

“Evie, if you can help me plan a first date good enough to convince Bec to say yes to a second, I’ll have lunch delivered to you for a week.”

“Deal.” Evie chuckles.

“And hey, I want you to promise me you’ll let me know if you need anything too. I can see it’s weighing heavy on you tonight,” I say.

She lets out a sigh and glimpses up at the clear, starry sky, keeping her gaze there while she responds. “Sometimes, it doesn’t feel real. I feel like this is happening to someone else and I’m just watching. A member of the audience for my own life. When I look at Mom, all I can see is the strong woman who got out of a horrible marriage, raised two headstrong kids, and loved so fiercely. I feel like I lost this huge part of her without really losing her. Like I’m grieving someone who is right in front of me. My mind…my heart can’t make sense of it.”

I pull her close in another tight hug. I can feel Evie trying to hold it together instead of letting it all go. She doesn’t want to fall apart right now and I get it. Sometimes it’s too hard to put yourself back together afterward. Straining to keep the pieces together is easier, even if she can’t keep it up forever. I hate to see her holding it in, but I don’t fault her for it.

“I know, Evie. I know. We’ll be okay. The three of us are going to be okay.” The pit in my stomach sinks deeper knowing I’m saying words I only believe to be half-true. Because if I’m honest with myself, nothing about this feels like it’s okay. It’s so far from fucking okay, I could rip my own hair out if I dwell on it for too long, but Evie doesn’t need that from me. She needs me to be okay, so I’ll keep saying it until it’s true.