Chapter 10
Ainsley
Instead of going back into my office, I slip into my car, where I let the tears flow freely. They’re a mixture of anger, hatred, and plain stupidity. I want a redo. I want to go back to the moment when Cooper walked into my office with those beautiful flowers so I can let my heart dictate what I’m going to say and do instead of my brain, because my heart wants to like him even though it goes against everything I was told from the time I started dating.
“No athletes.”
It’s not only my rule, but my mother’s as well. She was more specific early on, preaching that baseball players were nothing but trouble and to stay far away, so I did and went for football instead. That turned out to be disastrous. And after witnessing many of my high school friends in precarious situations, I started following my mother’s advice wholeheartedly.
And just when I think that I can finally let Cooper in a little, to maybe get to know him and start hanging out, he tells me about his mother and sends my head into a tailspin. Cooper devastated me when he told me that his mother died and his memories of her have all but faded.
That’s the reality that I’m facing now, and my biggest fear is that I won’t remember my mother in the years to come. Sure, I can buy her brand of perfume so that I can smell the scent she’s worn all my life, but what about other little things? What about the way her eyes light up when she has good news or how she dances when she’s cooking? I can’t capture those moments now, and to try to record them would be futile anyway. Now my mother never has good news, and she stopped cooking long ago.
Already my memories are hazy, and I’m often reminded of a moment when she’s holding my hand and says “remember when,” only I don’t, but I still play along. I should write them down, but the thought of letting go of her hand while she tells me a story pains me. So I stay there, trying to burn every single word into memory so that someday, when I have a son or daughter, I can share the stories.
Thoughts of Cooper filter into my mind. I blink hard, trying to send them away, but it’s no use, he’s already found his way into my mind with his crooked little smile and beautiful brown eyes.
Even during lunch, I had to fight to maintain my resolve. I’m attracted to him, and I can’t deny it. Knowing that there are flowers on my desk from him makes me giddy. I should be sitting in my office and smelling the fragrant roses, remembering the look on his face when he came through my door. Instead, I’m wallowing, and we all know that a self-inflicted pity party will get you nowhere in life.
I contemplate going back into the office but know that I would be tempted to call Cooper, especially with his flowers sitting on my desk, and apologize for messing up what could have been a perfectly enjoyable lunch. Or instead I could go home.
I opt for home. I want to talk to my mother, maybe go for a walk. It’s time that she tells me why she swore off baseball players. Maybe her story will help me once and for all with Cooper and give my reasoning a little more oomph behind my words. He sees right through me, and that honestly scares the living daylights out of me. Most men take what I say and leave, but not Cooper. He wants the reasons, the facts behind my stance.
My drive home is usually done on autopilot, but this time I find myself wondering what Cooper is doing. Where does he live? What does he do in his free time? These are all questions I should’ve asked earlier, but I put up a wall that his gallant efforts couldn’t break down. I know he’s frustrated. I could see it on his face, and I don’t blame him. I’d be angry too if the tables were turned.
Driving through the development to my mother’s condo, I wave at the few people who are walking. It’s a gorgeous day out, and my mom needs to be outside, getting some fresh air. The challenge will be getting her out of her rocking chair. She likes to sit there, with an afghan on her lap, and stare at the pond. I swear she’s waiting for a gator to rise from the water. Mom has mentioned a few times that she’s been waiting her whole life to see one.
“I’m home,” I yell, making sure she can hear me upstairs. When she got sick, I moved out of my apartment and into her place so I could take care of her. My independent life changed drastically. My social calendar ceased, and my friends suddenly didn’t have time for me. Stella is the only one who is still around, but I’ve known her for years. She grew up knowing my mom and has been trying to take some of the burden off of me. But it’s my burden to bear. I’m her daughter, and it’s my job to take care of her.
I climb the stairs and stop in her room. She’s exactly as I thought she would be, sitting in her rocker with a cream-colored afghan draped over her lap. Today, her scarf is light purple with violets on it.
“Do you want to go outside?” I ask her as I sit on her rented hospital bed. “It’s warm, the flowers are all blooming, and the birds are chattering away.”
“No, I’m fine here.” That’s her canned answer. I’ve asked her to fight for her life, for the life that we have planned, but I know in my heart she’s given up. The chemo makes her sick for weeks on end; she’s frail and can’t walk unless assisted by a walker. Her life isn’t as it was just a year ago, and I have a feeling it’s hard for her to remember those days.
I sigh, letting the frustration set in. I don’t know what else I can do to help her get over this funk.
“What’s wrong, sweetie?”
Oh, Mother, where do I even begin? I shake my head, not knowing the answer. “I don’t even know, Mom. So much is going on that I can’t wrap my head around everything.”
“You need to find a nice man. Someone who is going to take care of you when I’m gone.”
“Will you stop saying that?” I crouch down in front of her so she can see the agony on my face. “You’re too young to leave this realm, Mom. You can fight the cancer. You can get up and start living your life instead of sitting in this chair, waiting to die.”
A single tear falls from her eye. I wipe it away gently, knowing that her skin is sensitive.
“Have you thought about looking online for a man?”
Exasperated, I stand and go back to her bed. “I met a guy. In fact, we went to lunch today.”
“Is he nice?”
“I thin
k so,” I say, shrugging. “I didn’t give him much of a chance because I made the mistake of complimenting his mother on his manners, and he corrected me, saying his mother had died when he was younger. My heart hurts for him.”
I move around her room, checking her pitcher of water and making sure she took her meds.