His stomach was a pit of dread as he got out of his car. It always was when he came to visit his father. There was no telling what kind of state he'd be in today, at least with his mother there was no variation, not really. Sure, some days she was awake and most days she was asleep, but either way she wouldn't know who he was, not really, the best he got was that she remembered him from the last time he visited. With his dad it was different. Some days his dad remembered things with a poignant clarity, and he'd spend all of his visit listening to stories of the old days: how his parents met, their wedding, the births of each of their children; on other days he remembered only the bare minimum, his name and that he was his son. The not knowing which it would be made it that much worse.
Still, he took a deep breath, grabbed the new books he brought for his dad out of the back seat, and made his way into the building. The woman working the reception desk looked up as the automatic doors opened, letting a blast of California heat into the air-conditioned room. He hated this place, and he knew his parents would too if they were still in their right minds. Every surface was covered in vases of flowers, they perfumed the air with a near-unbearable strength. The linoleum flooring was constantly tacky. The walls were a nauseating shade of butterscotch.
'Good afternoon, Mr Oliver,' the woman at reception said to him as he signed the visitors' log. 'Just you today?' How she managed to remember everyone who came in and out of the building he didn't know, but he supposed that was what made her so good at her job.
'Yeah, my daughter wanted to go to the open day at UCLA so my wife's gone with her,' he explained with a smile. It was rare that his kids would come with him, they hated to see their grandparents like that. His parents knew who they were, but they saw the confusion that clouded their faces when they saw his wife, as if they couldn't understand who this stranger was or what she was doing with their grandchildren. He knew his kids felt guilty about it, but he didn't blame them, it pained him to see them like that, too.
He nodded goodbye to the woman and turned down the left corridor to his father's room. Since his mom was most likely asleep, it was best to get his dad at the height of the day, he was usually at his best in the early afternoon.
Reaching the door with his dad's name on it, he saw that it was wedged open. Peering in he saw his father sitting by the window reading one of the books he had brought last week. He tried to bring a mixture of old and new, new books to stimulate his imagination, old ones he'd read before that might trigger memories. He knocked lightly on the wood of the door to alert his dad to his presence.
When he was younger, everyone had said he'd inherited his dad's good looks, but it was hard to see them now. The old man's face was worn and wrinkled, his wiry hair always sat in an awkward tuft, his hands were gnarled with arthritis, and his eyes were hidden behind thick glasses. But still, he knew behind those glasses his dad was still there, his gaze as warm as ever.
'Hello, son!' His mouth stretched into a grin when he saw his son standing in the doorway. He slowly got to his feet and shuffled across the room to hug him. It was weird, how no matter how old he got, a hug from his parents could always make him feel better, even if his parents only occasionally knew who he was.
'Hey, dad. I brought you some new reading material,' he said, handing the books over to his dad, who began to shakily put them away in his bookshelf. 'Can I get you anything?' he asked.
His dad waved away his offer and they both sank into the squishy armchairs by the window. The conversation went pretty much as it always did from then. His dad enquired after his job, and his work, and his children. He'd told him about his daughter's visit to UCLA, and how his son had passed his driving test. They made small talk about the news and what had been on TV that week.
And then it happened. 'You know, I met a lovely lady in the garden room the other day,' his dad said. It was the way he said it that broke his heart. He remembered a time when his parents had eyes for no one but each other, when even supermodels and socialites couldn't have swayed his father's devotion. But he supposed there was no obligation to stay faithful to a woman you didn't remember, and who didn't remember you.
He cleared his throat before replying, trying to keep the sadness from his voice. 'Oh? That's nice. What did you two talk about?'
'We were watching one of those old movies on the TV. It was out when I was a boy. I remember I took my first girlfriend to see it on our first date.' He chuckled softly, shaking his head. 'She hated it.' That first girlfriend had been his mother, he wondered if his dad remembered that she was the same woman as in the stories about their wedding. 'And would you believe, this lady went there on a date, too? Well, we both made fun of it the whole time. She was a hoot, real scathing sense of humour.' Oh no. 'She said her name was Jade. Isn't that a pretty name? Your old dad's still got it, you know.'
His mom. Dad was actually talking about his mom like he'd never met her before. He couldn't keep the tears from his eyes at that, and turned his attention to the bookshelf to prevent his dad from seeing.
'Do you want me to take some of these away for you? The bookshelf is getting kind of crowded.' His dad didn't even seem to notice the sudden change of subject.
A/N: I nearly cried writing this. And I wrote it in half an hour so forgive me if it sucks. I hope all the pronouns didn't confuse you too much, I wanted to keep the characters somewhat ambiguous until the end. This was actually something that happened to my uncle, who went to visit his dad and had to hear all about the nice lady he'd played cards with the other night, while his dad had no idea that that woman was his wife. Anyway, I hope you like it! Remember to review!