experience it this time around. I need to figure out what makes my face light up, and then try to make money doing it. The catch is that I am not good at the here and now. I tried to get out of my car and walk up to Weber’s apartment and approach him, but I couldn’t. It took me two weeks to come up with the idea of sending him the shower invitation with Gram’s return address. I can only hope there aren’t disastrous results.
I TRAIL through my parents’ house wishing there was something for me to do. Something to keep me occupied until Weber either does or does not show up. I spot a crumpled-up napkin under the kitchen table and make a dive for it. I squeeze it in the palm of my hand while I cross the room. I smile at myself, because this level of excitement over this small a task is pathetic. I stop by the garbage pail and drop the napkin into the bag. Even the garbage bins are empty in this house.
“Mom?” I yell. I heard the shower water turn off a few minutes earlier.
“Yes?” Her voice comes from upstairs at the far end of the hall. “Is someone here already? It’s too early!”
“No one’s here. Is there anything I can do to help get ready?”
“To help?” Her voice is closer now. She appears in the kitchen doorway. She is wearing a polka-dot sundress with a belted waist. It’s a dress I haven’t seen before. It looks like a dress from a past era. Occasionally, like now, the sight of my mother is a surprise. I forget that she is in her fifties. I can see the blueprint for her face as an old woman etched in the lines around her eyes and mouth. Someday it will be my responsibility to take care of her in the same way she is now taking care of Gram.
She glances over the kitchen. She looks distracted. “There must be something you can do. Why not take out the cheese platter, so the cheese can soften.”
I go to the refrigerator and take out the plastic catering tray. I take off the lid and place it on the counter. Then my mother and I are left staring at each other again. I can’t think of anything safe to talk about. I have no intention of telling her about medical school today. I won’t drop that bombshell until I have a new life plan to present at the same time.
“Where’s Dad?”
“Buying ice at the supermarket.” Mom gives a small half-smile and says, “Do you know what today is?”
It is August 2, which is her and my father’s wedding anniversary, but I’m sure she isn’t referring to that. My parents haven’t done much to acknowledge or celebrate their anniversary the last few years, and from the way I’ve seen them treat each other lately, I doubt this is the year they’d choose to draw attention to the event. My mother is probably thinking of something corny, like it is the first day in our family’s relationship with the new baby. She has been on a sappy streak since she told me about this shower and asked me to help. She has tears in her eyes right now.
She says, “It’s your father’s and my anniversary.”
“Happy Anniversary,” I say. I wait to see if there’s more.
She sighs heavily, as if I am trying her patience. “I want today to go really well. Can you please help me make that happen?”
That’s what I want, too. “Sure,” I say. “I’ll try.”
GRAM AND Nurse Ballen arrive first. It is strange to see Gram make her way across the lawn with a walker. It is slow, unsteady work, and Nurse Ballen keeps her hand on the small of Gram’s back. It occurs to me that this is part of what I didn’t like about medicine. I don’t want to put my hand on a stranger’s back. I don’t want to ease a patient through a slow recovery or a slow descent. I am not interested in slow, period.
I watch the sluggish course of Gram and her nurse with something that feels like regret in the pit of my stomach. “Go help them,” my mother hisses. We are both standing awkwardly at the door. Gram has not been here since before her fall, since she was well and able to walk briskly on her own. This is a new sight for us.