Page 60 of The Bodyguard Affair
When I came home from work, Mom had pulled all the files from the cabinet. She was on hands and knees on the floor among the mountain of scattered papers, frazzled, convinced she had a tax return she needed to fill out by the end of the day. I made the mistake of telling her there was no form, which frustrated her to the point where she hurled the cabinet padlock at me.
I’ve never in my life seen her that angry, let alone violent. Not even when one of her boyfriends stole hundreds of dollars’ worth of savings from under her mattress. After getting her to bed, I panicked and called Emma. The doctor had warned us about the possibility that her disease could manifest in unpredictable, violent outbursts. But it’s one thing to hear it in theory, and another thing when a piece of steel is being hurled at your head.
When she woke up this morning, she was back to her normal self, ’80s music blaring, asking if I wanted to join her for breakfast.
“What are you doing alone on a Saturday?” Mom asks, eyeing me suspiciously from her chair. After our walk, she napped while I did a quick workout. Her nap went a little longer than expected, which was how I found myself on the couch watching a sad children’s movie. After it was over, Mom came out and put on her favorite show,Coronation Street.
“I’m not alone. I’m with my mom.” It actually feels good saying that.
“Watching British cable dramas,” she reminds me. “What’s Andi doing today? Is she busy or something?”
“We don’t have to hang out all the time. And I’m texting her right now.”
“But you’d rather be with her, in person,” she counters, smirking. Am I really that obvious?
“We’ve both been busy with work. I didn’t want to bother her on the weekend. And I’m spending the day with you—”
“I don’t need to be babysat,” Mom says firmly, entirely forgetting yesterday’s events. “Besides, Katrina is coming over to watch a movie with me in an hour,” she adds, referring to our longtime neighbor. Katrina has been wonderful, always offering to fill in if I need to go out or want a break. I’ve never taken her up on it, mostly because I feel too guilty asking.
I shoot Katrina a text to confirm the plan. She responds immediately, saying that she’s happy to stay until midnight and that I should go out with my “lady friend.” Clearly she and my mom have been talking.
Still, I’m hesitant. “I don’t know, Mom. It’s last-minute. What if Andi already has plans?”
“You won’t know if you don’t ask.”
“You think I should call her?”
It feels a little weird to call Andi out of the blue to hang out on a random weekend, seeing as it’s outside the confines of our arrangement. After the football game, our only obligations are work lunches, the all-staff summer social, Mom’s “birthday” dinner in a few days, and the gala.
I’m also not looking to cry in front of Andi, which I feel closer to doing after that movie than I ever fucking have. Something tells me spending time together is asking for trouble. Besides, asking her to hang out would involve growing a pair, which I’m apparently incapable of doing where she’s involved. I’ve literally jumped out of planes, engaged in close-quarter battle, been involved in hostage rescue, been shot at. Yet talking to this woman is scarier. That probably says more than I’d like.
“Why not? You want to hang out with her. I bet she wants to hang out with you, too. You’re wasting way too much time worrying about what she thinks. Take it from me, days like this might feel slow, like you have all the time in the world. But you’d be surprised how fast months and years go by. Don’t miss an opportunity to make memories with people you care about. They’re all you have at the end of the day, unless you’re me,” she says with a snort.
“Did you just make an Alzheimer’s joke?”
She nods, satisfied. “I did.”
“That was dark, Mom. But actually, though, if you lose those memories, does it matter if you made them to begin with?”
“I may not remember everything, let alone what I did this morning, but what I do remember is how things made me feel. Happy, sad, it all sticks with you. That’s worth its weight in gold.”
I’m still thinking about Mom’s words by the timeCoronationStreetends, and by the time I distract myself by tidying up the kitchen. Sure, Andi and I may not be dating. But I care about her as a friend. It’s within the normal confines of friendship to ask her to hang out, isn’t it? When I can’t think of any more excuses to delay, I head to the back deck and take Mom’s advice. I call.
She answers after two rings. “Hello?” Usually, Andi’s voice is calming and sweet, like she’s leaning in to share a secret. But right now, she sounds alarmed.
“You sound seriously disturbed. Everything okay?”
“Oh, uh, everything is fine. I’m just not used to people calling out of the blue, except for work.”
I carefully lower myself into Mom’s rickety folding chair, uncertain it can hold my weight. “Not a fan of phone calls?”
“People don’t tend to call me in my personal life unless they have terrible or urgent news. Even Gretchen tends to text, asking me to call her for urgent matters.”
“Well, I apologize. I thought since you’re my fake girlfriend, I’d graduated to calling privileges. But I won’t call anymore.”
“No!” she assures. “I don’t mind.”
“Are you people-pleasing and you actually do mind?”
