have Alzheimer’s. But she does have a wretched form of dementia that causes her to be cruel.
“She’s not a bitch, mother. Sophia is good to you. You should be nicer to her.”
My mother sniffs and then delicately sits up, her dark hair tumbling over her shoulders. I eye her warily. She could fly into motion at any time.
She watches my hesitation and her mouth stretches into a grotesque smile.
“You are afraid of me?” she asks. And her voice is ragged and edgy in this quiet room, this giant room that feels so much like a mausoleum. “Little Lukey, are you afraid of your mother?”
I steel myself against her and I can’t help but resent her. She sometimes called me Lukey as a boy. Sometimes it was lovingly and sometimes it was mockingly. Even back then, you never knew what you were going to get with her. One moment she was kind and the very next, she was bitter and cold. The constant was that she was always detached. She never wanted to get that close to me, which might be exactly the reason why I do not feel close to her now.
“No. I’m not afraid of you, mother. Is there a reason why I should be?”
As soon as I ask the question, as soon as the words pass my lips, I know it was a mistake. A light ignites in her eyes, an eerie, unnatural light, and I unconsciously lean away from her.
“Why, yes,” she answers. “Yes, there is, Lukey. You should always fear me because I know what you are.”
And then she opens her mouth and begins to scream and twist and rock in her seat and I grit my teeth. This is the mother that I know now, the one who may or may not be feigning insanity. This is my life and she is but a piece of it. I close my eyes and let her scream.
Chapter Seven
Eva
What should I wear?
I ask myself this question as I look into my small closet. It’s not that big of a question, because it’s not that big of a closet. I didn’t bring a lot of clothing. I choose a simple pair of khaki shorts, a black button up shirt and a pair of black slip-ons. I pull my hair into a low ponytail and slide on some lip-gloss. When in doubt, always go with a classic look. It’s something my mother taught me and it’s always held true.
I check the time. 6:55. Adrian should be here any moment.
For some reason, I feel a little nervous. It’s silly, but true. I haven’t had time for dates in so long, first because of medical school, then because of my residency. My personal life took a hard hit, I’ll be the first to admit it. And even though I’m not truly interested in Adrian, at least not long term, it will still be nice to sit down with someone charming for a dinner. And that makes me nervous because I’m out of practice. I’ll have to make an effort not to psycho-analyze him. Men tend to dislike that, if my memory serves me correctly.
There is a knock at the door and I glance at the clock. 6:59. He’s right on time, early in fact.
I open the door and Adrian is smiling at me already.
“Hi,” he says easily. And he hands me a bouquet of wildflowers. I laugh, because I recognize them from my own lawn.
“These look familiar,” I tell him. “So you have good taste.”
He laughs too because he knows he’s been caught. “It’s the thought that counts, right?” he tells me. “I’m sorry. I just left work. I wanted to stop and get you flowers, but I didn’t want to be late.”
“Now that is a quandary,” I agree. “Just a second, let me put these in water.”
“You look lovely,” he calls from behind me as I turn and leave the room.
“Thank you,” I call back over my shoulder.
I grab a tall glass because I can’t find a vase and I fill it with water, then set the flowers on the table.
“I’m ready,” I tell him as I grab my purse.
“After you,” he bows low at the door, exaggerated and gentlemanly. I have to laugh again. There is
“She’s not a bitch, mother. Sophia is good to you. You should be nicer to her.”
My mother sniffs and then delicately sits up, her dark hair tumbling over her shoulders. I eye her warily. She could fly into motion at any time.
She watches my hesitation and her mouth stretches into a grotesque smile.
“You are afraid of me?” she asks. And her voice is ragged and edgy in this quiet room, this giant room that feels so much like a mausoleum. “Little Lukey, are you afraid of your mother?”
I steel myself against her and I can’t help but resent her. She sometimes called me Lukey as a boy. Sometimes it was lovingly and sometimes it was mockingly. Even back then, you never knew what you were going to get with her. One moment she was kind and the very next, she was bitter and cold. The constant was that she was always detached. She never wanted to get that close to me, which might be exactly the reason why I do not feel close to her now.
“No. I’m not afraid of you, mother. Is there a reason why I should be?”
As soon as I ask the question, as soon as the words pass my lips, I know it was a mistake. A light ignites in her eyes, an eerie, unnatural light, and I unconsciously lean away from her.
“Why, yes,” she answers. “Yes, there is, Lukey. You should always fear me because I know what you are.”
And then she opens her mouth and begins to scream and twist and rock in her seat and I grit my teeth. This is the mother that I know now, the one who may or may not be feigning insanity. This is my life and she is but a piece of it. I close my eyes and let her scream.
Chapter Seven
Eva
What should I wear?
I ask myself this question as I look into my small closet. It’s not that big of a question, because it’s not that big of a closet. I didn’t bring a lot of clothing. I choose a simple pair of khaki shorts, a black button up shirt and a pair of black slip-ons. I pull my hair into a low ponytail and slide on some lip-gloss. When in doubt, always go with a classic look. It’s something my mother taught me and it’s always held true.
I check the time. 6:55. Adrian should be here any moment.
For some reason, I feel a little nervous. It’s silly, but true. I haven’t had time for dates in so long, first because of medical school, then because of my residency. My personal life took a hard hit, I’ll be the first to admit it. And even though I’m not truly interested in Adrian, at least not long term, it will still be nice to sit down with someone charming for a dinner. And that makes me nervous because I’m out of practice. I’ll have to make an effort not to psycho-analyze him. Men tend to dislike that, if my memory serves me correctly.
There is a knock at the door and I glance at the clock. 6:59. He’s right on time, early in fact.
I open the door and Adrian is smiling at me already.
“Hi,” he says easily. And he hands me a bouquet of wildflowers. I laugh, because I recognize them from my own lawn.
“These look familiar,” I tell him. “So you have good taste.”
He laughs too because he knows he’s been caught. “It’s the thought that counts, right?” he tells me. “I’m sorry. I just left work. I wanted to stop and get you flowers, but I didn’t want to be late.”
“Now that is a quandary,” I agree. “Just a second, let me put these in water.”
“You look lovely,” he calls from behind me as I turn and leave the room.
“Thank you,” I call back over my shoulder.
I grab a tall glass because I can’t find a vase and I fill it with water, then set the flowers on the table.
“I’m ready,” I tell him as I grab my purse.
“After you,” he bows low at the door, exaggerated and gentlemanly. I have to laugh again. There is
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