Page 143 of Can't Get Enough

“Uh-oh.” I turn onto my stomach and look up at her.

“I was researching things you can do to make the home more manageable for people who have Alzheimer’s and wrote up some notes for you.”

“Oh.” I sit up and nod. “Okay.”

“I know you feel helpless,” Soledad says, reaching for my hand. “But this is something we can do. Some you won’t need yet, but we can maybe do some now and the rest as you think necessary.”

“That’s a great idea, Sol,” I say.

My girls. What would I do without them?

I talk to Mama about doing some things to make the house a little safer and easier to navigate. At first she doesn’t even want to discuss it, but once I show her Soledad’s list, she sees the merit of taking a few measures.

For the next hour, Soledad does what she does best—removing clutter and clearing out things that aren’t necessary. She is so patient with Mama, who pushes back on some things and relents on others. We consolidate most kitchen stuff into two cabinets so Mama won’t spend a lot of unnecessary time looking for things, and leave the other cabinets empty.

“You know I love a label maker,” Soledad says, and sets about labeling drawers in the bathroom, kitchen, and even the ones in Mama’s bedroom when she admits sometimes she forgets where things are stored there, too.

“Okay, Mama,” Yasmen says to my mom, gently guiding her to the closet. “Let’s choose some outfits.”

While Soledad, the girls, and I run to the store to buy a few things, including a clock with large letters that clearly displays time and date, Mama and Yasmen arrange her clothing into sets that match to help avoid confusion and possible embarrassment.

Most things on this journey with my mother feel completely out of my control, but this is something I can do to make things slightly easier to manage not only for Mama, but also for Aunt Geneva.

“I forwarded the full list to you,” Soledad says when they are preparing to leave. “That way, you’ll have it for reference as you need to do other things like installing a raised shower seat or whatever.”

“Aunt G says she wants to go ahead and do that and install a grab bar in the shower, too,” I say. “These aren’t things Mama needs right now, but when we reach that point, they will be in place. We may start taking down the mirrors because they say it can be disorienting for them to see themselves older if they forget that they’ve aged.”

“We love you, Hen,” Yasmen says, pulling me in for a hug. “Let us know if there isanythingwe can do.”

“I want in on this.” Soledad wiggles into our embrace. “I miss us all being together.”

“I’ll be home soon,” I tell them as we loosen our holds on each other. “But I’ll probably start coming here even more often. I need to be here and I need to be there. I’ll be back and forth a lot more.”

“Makes me so grateful my mama is in such good health.” Yasmen sighs. “I gotta call that woman.”

“And it makes me miss my mother even more.” Soledad shakes her head. “Cancer took her before we reached the stage of the child becoming the caregiver. You’re doing an amazing job, Hen. I know you don’t always feel like it, but you’re a great daughter.”

“Thanks, guys,” I whisper, my voice wobbling. “Love you.”

“The three of youdoknow we’ll be taking care of you guys someday,” Deja yells from the back seat of the car where she and Lupe are already seated and glued to their phones.

“Yeah,” Lupe adds. “So y’all better be nice to us!”

Man, I miss them already. Part of me wants to go back to Atlanta, back to Skyland right now, and part of me recognizes here with Mama and Aunt Geneva is exactly where I’m supposed to be.

Once they’re in the car, loaded down with Tupperware’d leftovers and a sampling of chowchow for Soledad to replicate, I go back in the house. It’s quiet, the kind of solitude that could slip into loneliness if you let it. But if I close my eyes, I can still hear the way my friends’ laughter and loud voices filled the house. I can still see Mama out in the garden planting new ranunculus. It was a good day.

The quiet is welcome when I sit down at Daddy’s desk to catch up on work I neglected while they visited. I’m looking through a contract for Imani when my phone rings.

“Nelly,” I answer, her name on my screen making me smile. “How you do?”

“I’m fine,” she replies. “Listen, I—”

“Did you see those projections Hannah sent over for Hue’s next quarter? Amazing, right?”

“Yeah, but that’s not why I called,” Nelly says, the tension in her voice strung tight.

“Okay.” I sit up straight, my body braced for whatever has struck a note of fear into the voice of the most unflappable woman I know. “Nel, what’s wrong?”

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