Page 58 of Paging Dr. Breakup
“Hey, Aggie. Some people have superior mental ability to resist temptation.”
“Oh, you’ve got ability, all right.” She set a plate down especially hard.
“Quit picking. All this stress isn’t good for my agita.”
“With respect to your Italian ancestry, you don’t have agita.” She rubbed a strand of hair off her forehead. “You have a heart that was overdue for a sixty-thousand-mile tune-up when the warranty ran out.”
“Huh. How’s dinner coming along? I’m starving.”
Cal shook his head at Pop’s subject change. Avoidance, thy name was Pop.
However, the old man remained planted in the recliner. It wasn’t that Pop was lazy or un-helpful. He’d be in the kitchen helping out if Mom would allow it. The last time she let him run amok with food prep, he scorched one pan and almost lit the wood walls of the house on fire, in his pursuit of creating bacon wrapped venison. Cal felt an imaginary twinge of his coronary arteries clogging up, at the mere thought of the greasy food.
Mom said, “You two come on over. It’s ready. Say, where’s Deirdre?” Mom was also an expert on the topic switch. “I thought she’d be coming by with you tonight.”
For this conversation, Cal would need a real alcoholic beverage. He pushed up from the couch while Pop did the same from the easy chair, their twin grunts foreshadowing Cal’s post-retirement future.
Transporting a large dish from the kitchen to the pad on the table, Cal said, “She had things to do that didn’t involve me.”
“Huh. That’s surprising. You two have been thicker than thieves lately,” Pop said.
“Something like that,” Cal mumbled.
“Anything wrong?” Mom sat down first, and Pop and Cal followed.
“No.” He ignored the assessing stares of his parents. “Wow, that looks delicious, Mom. Mind if I serve up?” One good subject change deserved another. And another.
They passed plates then dug in for a few minutes. Mom’s pot roast was legendary. He groaned as the flavors hit his tongue. “This is really good,” he said after several bites.
“It’s not the same,” Pop groused.
Mom glared at him until he lowered his head and continued eating. In silence.
With a bland expression, she tilted her head toward Cal in explanation. “Less salt, lower fat. Your father isn’t a fan.”
Cal shrugged and stabbed a carrot. “You know what my favorite food is?”
“What?” Mom said.
“Anything I didn’t have to cook!” He popped the bite in and chewed, giving Pop a pointed smile.
Another grunt that sounded almost like agreement. “So, are you sticking around until the Breakup Festival?” Pop asked.
“The committee won’t let me out of the hospice dunking booth assignment, so I guess that’s the plan. My work contract goes through the end of this month.” He tore off a piece of sourdough bread and chewed. “So, any thoughts to what we’d discussed? Wrapping things up in Yukon Valley. Moving to someplace bigger. I worry about the resources here for you two.”
After swallowing a mouthful of stacked carrots that he clearly did not hate, Pop shook his head. “This is home, son. We’ve decided to age in place.”
“Okay, I knowaging in placeis the new thing touted by AARP. But aging in place implies there are resources that support you in your golden years.”
“I’m not decrepit!” Pop said.
Mom lifted her hand. “Honey, that’s nice that you want to help. We wouldn’t know what to do in an unfamiliar big city. We have doctors here and we have friends—all in Yukon Valley. We don’t want to leave our home.”
Yes, but Cal had a life away from Yukon Valley, and it seemed unfair that he had to bear responsibility to help his folks as they got older. “What is your Plan B, then?”
“No Plan B,” Pop said. “Why do we need one?”
He resisted the urge to drop his forehead in his palm. “Because at some point you won’t be able to swing an axe or shovel snow off the roof. This place was a lot to keep up when you were young. It’s not getting easier. You may need more help.”
