Ruining His Summer

Chapter Five: The Scheme of Silvia Brendor

There used to be this time, a long time ago obviously, when my mother would demand that we all eat together at the table or we’d all have to go hungry. Eating separately or on the go made her cringe, which is the reason we never eat fast food, which as she said, would only benefit us anyway.

But now Dad doesn’t come home until at least eight, and Mom’s not home for dinner either. After lunch, she takes off and we don’t see her again until seven and by then, she mumbles that she’s exhausted, grabs a banana or something, and heads up to bed.

Now Jack cooks dinner, or his version of cooking anyway: ordering in.

Just as he’s throwing the greasy pizza box in the trash under the sink, Mom comes through the door.

“Hey,” Jack said. He never sounds surprised that she misses dinner. I don’t know why that seemed to get under my skin so much. “There’s pizza’s in the fridge if you want some.”

“No, thanks,” Mom answered, slipping off her shoes and she sighed.

“Where were you?” I asked, pushing my Styrofoam plate with my half eaten pizza on it away.

She jumped like she’s startled that I’m here, like she forgot I came home. “Oh, I was with Nana,” she replied quickly, walking to the medicine cabinet. “She says hello.”

What a load of bull. Nana doesn’t remember who I am, she told me so.

Mom opened an orange bottle, shaking out a couple of pills. A second later, she downed them like a pro and Jack handed her a glass of water. It looked like their routine or something.

“Well, goodnight,” she said with a tired smile, kissing Jack on the cheek.

I glanced at the clock; right on track. “It’s seven-thirty.”

She paused, just for a second. “I’m just tired, sweetheart,” she told me and she stood over me as I sat in the barstool, like she’s debating something.

She can’t decide whether to kiss my cheek or not.

In the end, she gave my shoulder a quick squeeze. “Night, darling,” she cooed sweetly before retreating to the stairs, the sound of her muffled footsteps following.

I looked at Jack. “What did she just take?”  

He shrugged. “Sleeping pills or something?” He glanced at the bottle, still on the counter. “She has trouble sleeping sometimes.”

Looking back to the stairs, I wondered if the cause of her sleeping troubles has more to do with me or with Nana.

“Have you seen Nana yet?” Jack asked, kind of quietly. I wasn’t sure he actually asked until I turned to look at her, noticing that he was avoiding my gaze.

 “No,” I told him in a sigh, crossing my arms. “I haven’t. What’s the point anyway? She won’t remember me. She’ll just call me a whore who’s sleeping with her husband.”

“She’s still Nana,” he murmured with a shrug. “If she was lucid—”

“That’s the thing,” I said loudly, “she’s not lucid.” I sucked in a breath, lowering my voice. “She’s not. If she was, that it would be different but she has no idea who I am.  She’ll just think I’m someone else.”

The last time I went to see Nana, she called me Peggy and told me to stay away from her husband or else she’ll break my “precious” picture frame collection with a baseball bat.

“You don’t know that,” he reasoned. “She could see you and remember who you are, just like that. You never know.”

I just shook my head.