Want Me (Mess with Me 4)

Which was the reason I’d paid part of his hospital bill anonymously in the first place.

“Anyway, I’m just popping in to see Mom and Dad on my lunch break. She called this morning and said he’s having a good day. I’ll see you when I come back down. Maybe if Paula is up for it, we can play cards again.”

George gives me a shrewd look that says he won’t be deterred long by my evasion.

“Say hello to Vik and Marta for me,” he says while holding the door for me.

“Will do.”

I take the elevator up to the fifth floor and then walk to the first door on the right. My mom opens up as soon as I knock.

“Anya! I’m so glad you could come. He was just asking about you.”

My mom’s expression is radiant and it’s such a relief to see. Too many days her eyes are pinched and her smile strained, the stress of being caretaker to a husband who is often angry and hostile taking a visible toll.

“Hi Pop! What are you doing?”

I throw my bag down on the floor and kneel next to where my father is hunched over at the dining table. The pose brings back memories. When I was little, I would sit in his lap while he read me articles or told me about his research. Not that I understood most of it but the love in his voice needed no explanation. Nothing since has ever made me feel so safe.

“Anya, lyubov moya. Come and see what I’m working on.”

My heart warms at the way he whispers my love, the same way he did when I was a small child. He holds up the paper he’s been writing on. It’s covered with chemical formulas.

Ah, today he’s back in the prime of his career when he was a brilliant young chemist just emigrated from Russia. No wonder my mom said today was a good day. He’s always happiest when his mind travels back to before he lost his job at the university and he was still considered a rising star in his field.

“That’s great, Pop. Will you tell me about it?”

I lean against the arm of the chair and let the sound of his voice flow around me. It’s amazing how different he can be when the dementia eases its grip on a once brilliant mind. However, it’s not long before I can see he’s tiring.

“I’ll be back in a few days to visit again, Pop. Don’t give Mom a hard time.” I whisper the last part, hoping it takes root in the back of his mind and stays put even when things get fuzzy again.

There’s no room for anger here. It’s not his fault that he gets so belligerent on the days when his memory and confusion are worse. The doctors have assured us that personality changes are common in dementia patients. However knowing that it’s common doesn’t make it any easier for my mother when he’s accusing her of poisoning him or screaming for her to leave him alone.

“Maybe you can bring James with you next time.” Mom sits on the edge of the chair and pats my father’s shoulder fondly.

Wow. She waited a whole twenty minutes before working that into the conversation. A record. A forty-one-year-old divorced workaholic is not exactly what she would have chosen for her only daughter, but he’s a man and he’s breathing. That’s enough to fan the flames of hope in my mother’s romantic heart.

“I’m not sure if he can, Mom. He can’t really leave in the middle of the day the way I can. He’s the boss.”

She hums in understanding. “Still, it would be nice to see him again. I never got to thank him properly for the flowers he sent.”

“He sent you flowers?”

This is news to me. Law never said anything about ordering flowers for my mother. Her birthday was last month and he saw me wrapping her gift but he never asked for any details. He can be infuriatingly self-contained that way. I used to think he was completely oblivious since he never asked for details about anything, then I realized that he doesn’t talk because he’s listening.

The man takes it all in for further research later and never forgets a thing.

“Well, that was nice of him.”

“Yes, it was. They were the most beautiful peonies. I’m not sure how he knew they were my favorite.”

“I must have mentioned it at some point.”

“That’s the kind of man that will make a thoughtful husband.”

“On that note, I have to go.”

I lean over and give my father a quick kiss on the cheek. He doesn’t even look up, already reabsorb