Page 70 of The Bodyguard Affair
Mom leans in and whispers, “My music skills aren’t whatthey used to be. But I used to be quite the performer. I’ll make sure to dig out the videotapes next time you visit. There better be a next time,” she says, winking at me.
“Mom, Andi will be back to visit really soon. We should get you to bed,” I say.
Thankfully, she doesn’t protest and heads to bed without much of a fuss.
When I come out of the bedroom, Andi is elbow deep in the sink, cleaning. “You really don’t have to do that,” I say, startling her slightly when I walk up behind her.
She waves my words away like flies. “You helped me bake eight dozen cookies the other day and helped me clean up a whole party today. The least I can do is wash a couple pans. And by the way, I already ordered an Uber home.”
“What? No. I’ll drive you.”
She shakes her head. “No. You shouldn’t leave your mom.”
Fuck. She’s right. I duck my head, feeling both guilty and overwhelmingly grateful for her understanding. “Thank you, Andi. For everything tonight. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about her earlier. It’s just—”
“It’s okay, really. I understand it’s probably not an easy thing to talk about. Especially with someone you don’t really know.”
I nod. “The whole situation is hard to explain to people.”
“You’re a good person, Nolan. For taking care of her so willingly.”
I wince at the compliment, sweet as it is. “Actually, when my mom was first diagnosed, I left.” She eyes me curiously. “About a week before that first night we met, she was officially diagnosed. I was home at the time and was supposed to be for a couple months. I thought about quitting and staying to help Em,but I didn’t. I fucked off—the day after we met, actually. Took the first opportunity I could to leave. Avoided coming home, actually, because I was bitter about the whole thing. About her needing our help when she’d never been there a day in our lives.”
She considers that for a beat. “Honestly, that’s really understandable.”
“Is it? Because I don’t think most people would take off when their mom is given between four and eight years to live.”
“I think your reaction was human. Of course you’d be scared. Avoidance just happened to be your first reaction. It doesn’t mean you didn’t care or love her any less.” I may not fully believe that, but damn, it feels nice to hear. Until now, I’m not sure I knew how much I needed to hear it.
“You really think so?”
“Maybe it’s not that you resent her, but that you don’t want to lose her all over again?”
Her words pummel me in the face. Sure, Mom can’t physically leave me anymore. But she can leave me mentally. She’s going to, in fact. It’s only a matter of time. And I don’t know what’s worse. “I feel like shit. Putting her in a facility.”
She reaches to give my forearm a squeeze. “My grandpa on my dad’s side was diagnosed with Parkinson’s when I was a kid, and my grandma was the same way. She didn’t want to put him in a home, because who does? But Alzheimer’s is a serious disease. Sometimes, there comes a point where it’s detrimental not just to the caregiver’s health, but to the patient’s. And unfortunately, that means the best place for them is somewhere they can get specialized care.”
I nod. “I know. Thank you for the reminder. And I’m sorry about your grandpa, by the way.”
“Thanks,” she whispers. “And seriously, I know it’s impossible not to feel guilt. But you’re an amazing son. She’s lucky to have you.”
“It was the least I could do. I’ll be leaving soon.” Something rattles in my gut when I say it. For the first time, saying I’m leaving doesn’t feel like relief. It doesn’t feel exciting. It feels sad. I’m actually going to miss Ottawa. Because Andi is here. My family is here. And of course, Cody, the little bald gremlin of a dog I can’t stop thinking about.
“Right.” She stiffens a bit, nodding, but avoiding eye contact.
Andi’s never been one for prolonged eye contact. But after the past few weeks of spending so much time together, I can feel her opening up to me, becoming more comfortable with me, especially tonight.
Now, her body language is telling me she’s taken a step back, and it doesn’t take a scientist to figure out why.
Still, I don’t push it. I’m not normally one to beat around the bush if there’s an awkward conversation to be had. But honestly, I have no idea what the hell to say. I’ve kissed my fair share of women, but that kiss was…something. Maybe it’s because I’ve been imagining how her skin would feel against mine ever since that first night we met. The way she would feel against me. The way she tastes.
I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to do it again, and more. But I don’t say that, or anything remotely close, because I’m a straight-up chicken.
So instead, we sit on the porch and make stilted conversation about literally anything else—the cookies, Lars, Cody, how she wants to go back to Costco. Anything but what happened between us tonight before Katrina called, until her ride shows up.
I don’t think it’s my imagination that she practically runs for the car.
“You still good for dinner tomorrow? So long as my mom is up for it?” I confirm.
