10 MEATLOAF MONDAY
"Knock, knock."
It's a formality. The door's wide open, and Mom's seated in her wheelchair just inside the room, facing the hall. Still, it's one of the small dignities Mom has left, and I'll respect that as long as possible.
"No Bella today?"
"I'm afraid not. She sends her regrets. She's been holed up in the library for hours and just couldn't get away."
"Poor thing."
"Yep, this project is"—kicking her ass—"getting the better of her right now." I lean down to kiss Mom's cheek. "Looks like you're stuck with me."
Mom's smile lifts on one side. "I've had worse dates."
Brightened by Mom's good cheer, I step behind the wheelchair and release the brakes. "You know, I don't think I've ever heard about these bad dates before. Surely, you cannot be referring to the charming Dr. Cullen."
"Of course not. Your father and I could have had a good time in a cardboard box."
"Hmm, that does sound like fun, Mom."
Raoul blows me a kiss as I wheel Mom past the nurses' station. "Helloooo, loverboy."
This has now become my mother's favorite joke. Since Raoul let me in on his not-so-secret secret two weeks ago, he's been laying it on thick with the over-the-top flirting. Mom's soft giggles grow louder as I speed to the elevator and poke the down button three quick times like a man trying to outrun the zombie apocalypse.
"Honey, I don't think you need to worry. You're really not Raoul's type."
"So, these bad dates?" I appeal to the blurry reflection in the metal doors.
"Fine. After your father passed, I really had no interest in dating, as you probably remember."
"Yes." Nor was I particularly eager to see my mother with another man.
"Carlisle was the love of my life. We were luckier than most. If I never kissed another man again, I would have been perfectly content."
"Um . . . starting to veer into TMI territory."
Mom shakes her head. "Such a delicate boy."
The elevator bell saves me. I back Mom's chair inside, greeting the other passengers with a friendly nod. Much to my chagrin, she continues her story after the doors close.
"You know how it is when someone dies. Everyone wants to 'help,'" she says, lifting her hands to form shaky air quotes. Yes, her captive audience of fellow residents know exactly how that is, which they indicate with nods and "mmhmms." Great. "I finally decided it would be easier to give in to all that pestering, so I agreed to go on a double date with your Uncle Aro's brother."
"Ew, Mom! Not Marcus the mortician!"
"That's the one."
"That guy is creepy as hell."
"You're telling me!" Our fellow elevator passengers chuckle at our exchange, but Mom is not deterred. "He seemed to think describing how to apply lipstick to a corpse would make for scintillating dinner conversation."
"Well, I'm happy to know I'm a better date than him, at least."
The elevator doors open, and we all file out in an orderly snail-trail to the dining room.
"So far, so good," Mom says, "but we'll see how you do when they run out of meatloaf."
"Pshh. They haven't run out of meatloaf here in three years. I think I'll be okay."
She turns her head as far as her aging bones allow. "Oh, didn't I tell you?"
"Tell me what?"
"I heard there was a short shipment from the meat vendor. They only got enough ground beef for the first thirty guests."
"Hold onto tight, Mom!" I motor us with extremely polite urgency through the throngs—"Excuse me!"—zipping around walkers—"On your left!"—and past wheelchairs—"Coming through!"
I'm slightly winded when we reach the hostess stand. Jessica seems amused by my enthusiasm. "Someone's hungry today!"
"I didn't want to miss out on the meatloaf," I explain while taking a mental tally of the diners. "Looks like you might have a dozen or so left?"
Jessica squinches her eyes at me. "Sorry?"
"Um . . . son?"
"What?"
"April Fools!"
"Seriously? Oh, you're a laugh riot, Mom." Jessica catches on now, and the two of them have a good ol' time while I wheel Mom to the table.
"Enjoy your lunch, Mrs. Cullen. You too, Edward." Jessica giggles as she heads back to her post.
"Glad you're having a good time today, Mother."
"Oh, I really am."
"Wait, was all that stuff about Marcus made up, too?"
"Oh no, that was the God's honest truth. Put me off dating for a full six months!"
The server brings over my meatloaf and Mom's high-protein, low-carb, Parkinson's-friendly lunch. They've started pre-cutting Mom's meal in the kitchen. On the one hand, it's a saving grace not to make her struggle to manage a knife or have to ask for help. But then, of course, there's the downside—the indisputable evidence of her slide. One more accommodation in a long string of accommodations.
"I don't want to make you jealous or anything, but this meatloaf tastes better than usual."
Mom nods. "That's because you thought you might not get any. Forbidden fruit."
"Heh, you know me pretty well."
It warms my heart to see the smile on Mom's face. "Well, don't forget, I've had forty-five years to get the hang of it."
I give Mom a little breather so she can bring a few shaky forkfuls to her mouth. It's been so long since I've been here without Bella, I hadn't realized how hard it's become for Mom to carry out the simple act of conversing while eating.
"C'mon, Mom. Did it really take that long for you to figure me out?"
"No, not really." She dabs her napkin across her mouth even though there's nothing there. "You haven't changed all that much in the last forty years. You're still the same sweet boy your kindergarten teacher gushed about."
"I like to think I've evolved a wee bit over time."
My attempt to keep it light is met by watery eyes. "You have grown into a fine man, Edward. If I never accomplished another thing in my life, I'd be proud of bringing you into this world. I mean that with all my heart." Oh shit.
"Mom," I say softly, "that means everything to me."
She picks up her fork and goes after a piece of asparagus. "I'm not the only one who thinks you're talented. It's official now. What was it Jonathan Darby wrote . . .? Oh yes, 'the compassionate caress of the lens, masterfully sculpted with shadow and perspective.'"
That stops my meatloaf in its tracks. "You've memorized my reviews?"
She shrugs. "Only the good ones."
She cracks up first, but it doesn't take me long to follow. "They were all good." Some things can only be said to a guy's mother.
"Well, of course they were." Spoken just like a mom.
"My phone hasn't stopped ringing. I've got a dozen new clients scheduled in the next three weeks. Between the intake interview, the shoot, and the pre- and post-production meetings, that's . . . too many hours to fit in three weeks."
"That might explain why my silly joke got the better of you. Have you been getting enough sleep?"
"Trying."
"Eating?"
"Bella stops by every few days with some new pastry I have to taste from Orlovs'."
"Oh, Edward. You have to take care of yourself."
"I know. This whole thing kind of spun out of control—in a good way—but I haven't been able to catch my breath since the opening. With Bella going full throttle on her project and work, we haven't exactly balanced out each other's madness."
"How is Bella's project going?"
"Okay, I guess. She's been spending a ton of time with her partner, this guy named Riley. You just missed him at the opening."
"Oh, that was nice of him to come."
My eye roll is a little too automatic, and Mom is still too quick for me to get away with it.
"It wasn't nice of him to come?" she asks.
"It's fine. He's fine."
Mom shrinks back into her chair. "Oh dear."
I catch the attention of one of the servers and raise my coffee cup. "Mom, don't make this a thing, okay?"
"You seem not to like this person for some reason, and you inherited my excellent instincts, so now I'm worried."
"I'm sure everything will be fine."
"That's your third 'fine.'"
The coffee interruption gives me a chance to gain control over my loose lips. I thank the server, who knows me well enough to express surprise when I send her off without ordering dessert.
"Okay, now I know something's wrong," Mom says.
"I appreciate your concern." A sigh leaves me. So much for control. "Look, Mom, I'd really rather not say anything I might regret later."
"Oh, Edward. Do you really think I'd ever throw something back in your face? I'm not digging for dirt. I just don't like to see you looking so sad."
I guess I'm not hiding my feelings as well as I thought. "Okay, but Bella doesn't know anything about this." As the words leave my lips, I already know I have a problem. I don't keep things from Bella.
First off, I suck at hiding things. I've probably only gotten away with it so far because of how little time Bella and I have been together lately. More importantly, it undermines our relationship. I know these things. So what the hell is my problem?
I trust my mother, and she does know me pretty damn well. So, why not let her crawl around in my head a little?
"Riley was looking at the photos of Bella at my show."
"Forgive me, dear, but wasn't that the point?"
"There's looking . . . and there's looking."
"I'll take your word for it."
"Unfortunately, it was impossible to miss. I was standing right there, right next to the guy, and he just . . . I feel like he was taunting me, trying to get a rise."
"And?"
"And nothing. I would never risk Bella's working relationship with her partner."
"Well, clearly, he's gotten to you."
Yep. Now it's my hand that quakes as I draw the coffee cup to my lips. "I don't know what to do with this."
"Jealousy is a foreign emotion for you."
"I'm jealous?"
"You tell me."
"Did I mention the guy wears his hair in a bun?"
Mom rolls her lips inward so as not to smile.
"Okay, fine. Maybe I'm a little anxious she might go for an attractive man closer to her age."
"Ah, now we're getting somewhere."
"Nowhere good," I answer miserably.
"Uncharted territory of the heart," she answers.
"But why now? I've never been in a committed relationship this long before, never felt so confident about my feelings and Bella's. Why does this guy get to me?"
"It's not ever about the 'other man' or the 'other woman.' How many times have you, yourself, told me that this relationship with Bella was different from the start?"
My dessert-first girl.
"Yes. Different, less work, simpler, more natural . . . but I don't see your point."
"You might say there was a certain pattern to the choices you made before Bella, no?"
"You're referring—very tactfully, I might add—to my savior complex?"
"Aww, that sounds so clinical. You like to make people feel good about themselves."
"Guilty as charged."
"And that's not a bad thing. Perhaps," Mom starts gently, bless her, "there's less risk of getting hurt when you believe the other person needs you more than you need her?"
"True enough." Bella and I explored this early on, when she was trying to reason out why I'm still single. "Clearly, I broke the mold with Bella."
"How scary that must be for you."
Scary? Still?
"Are you trying to say that for two whole years, I've been waiting for the other shoe to drop?"
"I wouldn't say you've been waiting," Mom says, "but you do seem to be giving your doubts an awfully warm welcome."
She's right, of course. Why would I open myself up to so much pain when everything is going so well for us?
"Better now than later, I guess."
"Ah . . . well, we finally agree on something."
I manage a smile. I guess it feels a little better to understand why I've been feeling lousy. "You realize you're giving me a bit of a mixed message, here."
"I'm sorry, sweetheart, I don't have an easy answer for you. You have to trust your gut."
"Oh, great."
"You happen to have a very good gut.
"Which is churning right now."
Her gentle, motherly smile instantly calms my nerves. "Have you ever heard the expression, 'Keep your eyes wide open before marriage, half shut afterward'?"
"Of course."
"Do that. Just be careful when widening your eyes that you don't behave like a jealous ass and push Bella into the arms of another man."
"Good talk, Mom. Thanks a bunch."
Author's Note: Many, many thanks to my special guest star expert resource, Jan Grose Martindale, for her advice with all things Esme: the likely progression of her Parkinson's, assistive devices, emotions/responses of loved ones, etc. Jan's wisdom and generosity helped guide my words in this chapter and the last, but if I've missed the mark, put the blame on me! Thank you, as always, to my super duper trooper beta, Chayasara, for helping me with the oddball shit I like to pull with dashes and dots, but also for lending her heart to every chapter. And Pa T... even when there's no camera in sight, you are my rock and my slave driver! MWAH!
My own mother has a coffee mug with that pithy little saying about marriage, and I guess I've always held the sentiment in the back of my mind! That said, darling (Mr. H)... I see you! Now, let's see how Edward does with that, shall we?
XXX ~BOH