Page 62 of Can't Get Enough

“Maybe later when it’s cooler, Betty,” Aunt Geneva says, watching us with one shoulder propped against the doorjamb.

“Fat bitch,” Mama snarls at her sister, her eyes lit with sudden fury. “I told you to leave me alone.”

“All right, now,” Aunt Geneva says, folding steel into her soft words. “We talked about this. You not gon’ cuss at me.”

“I’ll cuss at you if I want to.” Mama stands abruptly and walks over to her sister, flicking her head to the side. “You blocking the door. Get out my way.”

Aunt Geneva blinks rapidly and gulps, sure signs that she’s on the verge of losing the tenuous hold on her temper. After a few seconds, though, she steps aside and allows Mama to leave the kitchen.

“What was that?” I ask when Mama’s bedroom door snicks closed behind her. “Mama never—”

“You know folks with Alzheimer’s can experience personality changes and mood swings,” Aunt Geneva says. “It’s not all the time, but it is sometimes. Your mama would never…”

She looks up at me, and the fatigue and the sadness lay a thin patina over the acceptance I’ve seen in her ever since she learned of her younger sister’s diagnosis. I walk over to her. I’m not sure if she takes me into her arms or I take her into mine, but our quiet sorrow wraps around us. Holds us both. There is a slow onslaught of terrible things ahead for us, for Mama. And on the good days, the days when she’s lucid and barely changed, it’s easy to forget. This condition metes out tragedy in small doses.

“You know your mama,” Aunt Geneva finally finishes tremulously. “Hold on to that no matter how she seems or what happens. We know her and we love her. She loves us.”

She glances at her watch. “It’s three o’clock now. She can get a little agitated in the afternoons sometimes.”

“Sundowning?” I ask, pulling from the things I’ve been reading. I’ve always wanted to know what my mother is experiencing, but there’s been an increased urgency to understand ever since I found out Aunt Geneva needs me to be here while she recovers from surgery.

“I guess.” Aunt Geneva adjusts the purse strap on her shoulder. “It gets worse in the middle and later stages, but yeah.”

“Is Mama in the middle?” I ask softly.

“She’s here right now.” Aunt Geneva’s steady eyes don’t waver even though her response is not as certain as I had hoped. “That’s all I know.”

The low rumble of Aunt Geneva’s Ford Explorer is just fading when the calendar alert on my phone jangles.

“Darn it. I forgot about this appointment.”

Before my meeting with Nelly and Kashawn begins, I tiptoe upstairs and creak Mama’s bedroom door open to check on her. She’s fallen asleep with the pillow clutched to her chest on what used to be Daddy’s side of the bed. Grief floods my heart for a moment, but I stave off that wave of loss. I can’t afford it right now—not with Mama so fragile and Aunt Geneva about to have major surgery. I’m the one who needs to hold it all together. I cannot afford to fall apart.

Back in the kitchen, I pull the iPad from the bag at my feet and set it up on the table. Kashawn and Nelly are already on-screen when I log on.

“Ladies,” I greet them with a genuine smile. Seeing their faces improves my mood. “What’s up with you?”

“I’m on baby duty,” Nelly says, sighing and holding her trusty fan up to her face. “Beth went for a walk. I keep forgetting to thank you for those flowers, by the way, Hen. She loved them.”

“Oh I’m glad,” I say. “And how are things for you, Shawn?”

“Honey, slammed.” Kashawn shoots a harried look at the camera. “I only have about five minutes to spare. I’m in court tomorrow and not as prepared as I need to be.”

Nelly is the only one of us who works full-time with Aspire. Kashawn is one of Atlanta’s best lawyers at a top law firm. We all have important things that require our attention, but we’ve nurtured Aspire because it means so much to each of us.

“The only thing I want to know is what time do we leave for Colorado in Maverick Bell’s private plane?” Nelly asks, her face not giving away any of the humor that surely must lurk beneath the statement.

“You really want to go?” I ask weakly. I shouldn’t be surprised, but I was kind of hoping they’d change their minds and turn Maverick’s offer down.

“For one,” Kashawn says, “it’s exactly the kind of real-life example that will help us decide if we want to add a cannabis company to our portfolio.”

“And for two,” Nelly says, peeking out from behind her menopausefan, “building a relationship with a man of Maverick’s means is never a bad idea.”

“You’re right, of course.” I swallow the last of my reservations and realize it’s useless trying to dissuade them from this trip.

“Good,” Kashawn says. “Now, I better get. I’ll be on the lookout for details.”

“Same,” Nelly says. A baby crying in the background has her rolling her eyes. “Dammit. I thought she’d stay asleep till Beth got home. Looks like I’m up. Peace, y’all.”

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