Bad Teacher

“Maybe,” I say, clearing my throat.

“Why maybe? Why not just do it?” she asks.

“Because it’s complicated.”

“Life always is.”

“This is different,” I reply. “You don’t know what went down between us.”

“Tell me then.” The genuine look of interest on her face makes me wanna open up, but I’m finally in such a good space with her, and I don’t wanna screw that up.

“My brother and I just have our difficulties; that’s all.”

She snorts. “What kind of corporate bullshit sentence is that?”

I release her hand. “All I’m trying to say is that it’s not as easy as you think.”

“Yeah, it is,” she says, folding her arms. “It’s called talking things out. Like grown-ups do.”

“He’s not your brother. Why do you even care?”

“Because I care about you.”

I raise my brows. “Oh, really?”

A soft blush spreads across her cheeks. “Don’t pretend like it’s a big deal. It’s not.”

“If you say so,” I muse, a smile tugging at my lips.

“You’re my boss,” she adds.

“Uh-huh …” She can’t hide the fact that she likes me as more than just as a walking fuck toy. Nope. I’m not falling for that. Not that it matters because we’ve arrived at our destination. “We’re here.”

“Great,” she says, a little too perky as if she’s actually excited to meet my family. At least one of us is. “Where do we go?” she asks as we both get out.

“Upstairs,” I say, and I grab her hand. “C’mon.”

I take her with me, past the doors and into the building where nurses greet us. We state our names and reason for our visit. Then we go up the elevator to room fifty-five, where I find a label with my mother’s name on the door. In case anyone forgets.

These places always give me the chills. People go here because they can’t live on their own anymore, but to live here is not living at all. They’re ghosts. Forgotten members of society. No one can even remember their goddamn names.

I can’t even bring myself to knock.

A hand touches my back. “It’s okay. Take your time.” Lesley’s trying to comfort me, and even when I know it’s no use, I still appreciate the gesture.

I take a deep breath and grab the handle then knock on the door twice.

“Who is it?” my mom’s frail voice resonates.

I swallow away the lump in my throat and push the handle down, so the door opens softly. “It’s me, Ma … TJ.”

When I see her sitting in that chair, her frail body leaning against the wood like branches hanging from a tree, my heart sinks into my shoes. However, with Lesley’s fingertips pushing into the small of my back, courage surges through me, driving me to step forward and greet her.

“TJ … it’s so nice to see you,” Mom says with her croaky voice as I approach.

I kiss her on the cheeks. “Hi, Ma.”

She rubs my back, her fingers feeling bonier than I remember them to be. “My little boy. Are you doing okay?”

“I’m doing fine, Ma,” I say. “I just came to see how you were doing.”

“I’m okay,” she says. “I think.”

That last part is always what makes me nervous. Because that’s exactly the problem … she thinks, but she never knows for sure. It’s part of what makes her illness so difficult. She can forget things within minutes. Sometimes she doesn’t even remember where she is or how she got here. I hate those moments the most.

“And who’s this lovely lady?” she asks, already distracted by the sight of Lesley.

I beckon Lesley to come forward because she’s being a little shy and still hovering by the door. “Ma, this is my …” I can’t. I just can’t. Not because I don’t believe it myself, but because I don’t want her to forget.

“My co-worker.”

The initial smile on Lesley’s face dissipates, and she throws me a look that I try to ignore.

“Oh, how nice,” Mom says, holding out her hand, which Lesley shakes.

“It’s nice to meet you, Miss Morrows.”

“Morrows? No, no, call me Lacey.”

Lesley throws me another unsure look.

“It’s okay; Ma prefers her first name.” I lean in to whisper. “She forgets the last one.”

With a look of realization, she nods.

“What are you doing here?” Mom suddenly asks. “Weren’t you supposed to come tomorrow?”

I have no idea what she’s talking about. I didn’t tell my brother when I was coming, and I’m sure he wouldn’t just tell her a lie, so this must be one of her own ideas again.

I put a hand on her shoulder and say, “No, Ma, I didn’t mention a date.”

“Oh …” She seems confused again, so I decide to change the subject.

“Want me to make you a cup of coffee?”

“Oh, that’s so nice of you. All these nurses never give me any,” she mutters, clutching the blanket that’s on top of her. When I glance at the table beside her, three cups with coffee residue are sitting there. Again, the lies.