Nine
The line at the coffee shop was longer than she had expected for this time of the morning, but she needed the break. Jared had an amazing ability to boost her spirits, point out the absurdities of life and just listen when she needed to talk. Sure, he played the role of The Flighty Gay Friend in public, but in private he was understanding and always supportive.
They came to this coffee shop so often that the baristas saw them, said hello by name, and had their orders complete before they had even made it to the register. Sarah always drank classic lattes, the same kind that you could find in a European coffeehouse. Jared, predictably, always ordered a complex frou-frou drink complete with flavored syrup, whipped cream and a straw.
They snagged the primo table in the corner: two oversized plush chairs with giant wings and brightly colored velvet that was fading from sunlight and wear. Sarah sank into the chair and cradled her cup in her hands. She loved the way the heat from a fresh cup of coffee penetrated her fingertips, regardless of the season. Jared would usually mock her for the placid look on her face as she just held the cup, but today he refrained. He could tell that this was not the day.
“So what’s up with your mom?” he asked.
Sarah shook her head, not really sure where to begin. “I think she might be slowly losing her mind.”
Jared started to speak, sarcasm at the ready, but then thought better of it. “What happened today?”
“I don’t know,” Sarah said. “Nothing out of the ordinary, really. I don’t think that she’s come to grips with my grandmother’s mortality. I think there’s a big part of her that thinks that she can nurse my grandmother back to health.”
“So?” Jared asked. “I’d think that a certain level of optimism is required in this sort of role.”
“It is. I understand that. It’s just that… I don’t know what, exactly.” She paused to contemplate the situation and sip on her latte. “You see, I think that she’s taking care of Grandma because of the guilt and obligation thing: what would people think if she put her mother into a home? And I think that the same sort of thinking applies to ‘healing’ Grandma. If she can’t make her better, then what kind of a daughter is she, and what will people think? Does that make any sense at all?”
“In general? No.” Jared was nothing if not honest. “And yet, having heard as many stories as I have about your family, on some level this seems perfectly normal. And I can’t really believe that I’m saying that.”
“You see my dilemma, then,” Sarah observed. “I can see both sides of it, and I want to be on the reasonable, rational outsider side, but instead I keep seeing the irrational, guilt-stricken insider side.”
“So what are you going to do?”
“I don’t really know,” Sarah confessed. “Grandma has already outlived my expectations. I didn’t expect her to make it through the summer. And yet here we are again. If I knew that the end was close, I would go home and spend the remainder of the time helping my mother get through this and easing my grandmother out. But then again, if I had done it when I first thought that it was time, I would have been there for six months already.” She sighed, paralyzed. “And I’ll bet that I don’t look like much of a daughter or granddaughter for staying away as long as I have. What will people think?” She said the last sentence with sarcastic emphasis.
“The people who know you know that you’ve done everything you can to help your mother without quitting your job and putting your life on hold. And honestly, no one expects you to do that.”
“Are you sure about that? Because I know at least one person who does.”
“Look, it’s bad enough that your mother has stalled time and is living one endless day with an incontinent, catatonic old woman. Two people will not improve the situation; it will just double the misery.”
“But I don’t want to leave my mother hanging,” Sarah said. “I want to be able to help her. The stress is unbearable. Not just the worry, but the physical stress of lifting a limp body into and out of bed. She’s dead weight. She doesn’t help at all. And my mother is doing this all alone.”
“What about your father?” Jared asked.
“He’ll go over and help a bit, but in the end this is between my mother and her mother. Nobody ever really expects the men to do anything. It’s weird, really.”
“So is he spending all of his time at home?”
“I guess so,” Sarah said. “Between going to work and doing his woodworking in the workshop, I guess that he doesn’t have a lot of ‘free’ time to help out.”
“That’s too bad,” Jared said. “She could use his help.”
“I know,” Sarah admitted. “But I’m pretty sure that he thinks that Grandma should be in a nursing home, and this might be his own personal silent protest. You don’t get a lot of words in edgewise with my mother.” She dribbled coffee onto her sweater and rushed to get napkins to blot the stain.
“Fortunately, you wore the camel today,” Jared noted. “The coffee stain should match perfectly.”
She shook her head. “I feel like a klutz.”
“You are, sometimes. But it’s charming.” He tossed an extra napkin her way. “What about a visiting nurse?”
“No, I’m fine. It didn’t burn me at all.”
“Not you, you nitwit! For your grandmother.”
Sarah stared for a moment before speaking. “I think it’s clear that my brain isn’t functioning the way that it should.”
“So what about it?”
“My brain or the nurse?”
“The nurse.”
“No deal. What if she comes in and steals things?”
Jared laughed. “You can’t be serious. What is there to steal?”
“Evidently some old pottery or something. It’s supposed to be very valuable, but I’ve stared at it for almost 30 years and never saw any value in it at all. She also has some business cards, but they’re in the attic that’s so difficult to get to that no one has been up there since my grandfather died in the 1970s. It’s so completely unlikely that a nurse would take anything anyway, but it’s just another excuse.”
“Did your mother originally set out to be a martyr?”
“I don’t know,” Sarah admitted, “but she’s doing a very good job of it now.” She grew quiet and fidgeted with her cup.
“You’re worried about her, aren’t you?”
“Yeah, of course I am. I just don’t know what to do for her. I want to get her a Grandma-sitter and send her out for a day. Actually, I’d like for her to go to a doctor and get checked out to make sure that the stress isn’t really killing her. But barring that—which I know will never, ever happen—I’d love for her to just get out and get her hair done or get a manicure or something. Just to take her mind off of things.”
“But you know that would have the absolute opposite effect,” Jared observed. “She would only be more uptight and stressed out because she had dared to leave the house.”
“You’re absolutely right,” Sarah said. “I can’t win here, can I?”
“Nope, I don’t think so.”
“Could you do it?” she asked.
“Do what?”
“Put your life on hold and care for a dying parent for an indefinite period of time?”
“Well, there are a variety of factors at play here, not the least of which is the fact that, as you mentioned, guys are not expected to do that sort of thing for their parents.”
“Oh, so you’re a guy now?” Sarah feigned surprise. “Since when?”
“Aren’t you the funny one today?”
“Give me points for trying, ok?”
“Try harder next time,” he said with a smirk. “Point number two is that my mother would be so shocked to see me come home that it would flat-out kill her on the spot, so the long-term care aspect would be irrelevant.”
“Good point. Nobody would really expect you to roll back in after a decade of being disowned.”
“Exactly. So the best I can do is hypothetical situations here. And third, I suppose that putting your life on hold would require having a life.”
“Oh shut up. You have a life.”
“No I do not. I spend most of my weekends at home with my Tivo.”
“So do I,” Sarah said.
“And you have just made my point for me.”
“I have a life!” she protested.
“No you don’t. You have an intense job, a sometimes boyfriend and a crazy travel schedule. This is not a life.”
“I’ve been all around the world!”
“It does not count as ‘seeing the world’ if you primarily see the inside of planes, airports, hotel rooms and manufacturing facilities,” Jared pointed out. “When was the last time you went sightseeing?”
“Uh… does a class trip in 1989 count?”
Jared laughed and looked at his watch. “Come on, Cinderella. You have staff meeting in 10 minutes.”
“No thanks,” she replied. “I’ll just sit here and wait to turn into a pumpkin.”
“Pumpkin season is over, sweetie, and orange is so not your color.” Jared quickly slipped back into his stereotypical flaming gay man persona, complete with a sashay over to the garbage can to dispose of his frou-frou drink cup.
She gathered up her used napkins and empty cup and headed for the garbage, stopping to kiss Jared on the cheek as she went by.
“What was that for?” he asked, surprised.
“For being the other Jared for the last 30 minutes. I love you both, but I really needed the other Jared today.”
He bowed with a flourish. “Anything you need, m’lady. I’m your man.” He winked, laughed and headed for the door.
They came to this coffee shop so often that the baristas saw them, said hello by name, and had their orders complete before they had even made it to the register. Sarah always drank classic lattes, the same kind that you could find in a European coffeehouse. Jared, predictably, always ordered a complex frou-frou drink complete with flavored syrup, whipped cream and a straw.
They snagged the primo table in the corner: two oversized plush chairs with giant wings and brightly colored velvet that was fading from sunlight and wear. Sarah sank into the chair and cradled her cup in her hands. She loved the way the heat from a fresh cup of coffee penetrated her fingertips, regardless of the season. Jared would usually mock her for the placid look on her face as she just held the cup, but today he refrained. He could tell that this was not the day.
“So what’s up with your mom?” he asked.
Sarah shook her head, not really sure where to begin. “I think she might be slowly losing her mind.”
Jared started to speak, sarcasm at the ready, but then thought better of it. “What happened today?”
“I don’t know,” Sarah said. “Nothing out of the ordinary, really. I don’t think that she’s come to grips with my grandmother’s mortality. I think there’s a big part of her that thinks that she can nurse my grandmother back to health.”
“So?” Jared asked. “I’d think that a certain level of optimism is required in this sort of role.”
“It is. I understand that. It’s just that… I don’t know what, exactly.” She paused to contemplate the situation and sip on her latte. “You see, I think that she’s taking care of Grandma because of the guilt and obligation thing: what would people think if she put her mother into a home? And I think that the same sort of thinking applies to ‘healing’ Grandma. If she can’t make her better, then what kind of a daughter is she, and what will people think? Does that make any sense at all?”
“In general? No.” Jared was nothing if not honest. “And yet, having heard as many stories as I have about your family, on some level this seems perfectly normal. And I can’t really believe that I’m saying that.”
“You see my dilemma, then,” Sarah observed. “I can see both sides of it, and I want to be on the reasonable, rational outsider side, but instead I keep seeing the irrational, guilt-stricken insider side.”
“So what are you going to do?”
“I don’t really know,” Sarah confessed. “Grandma has already outlived my expectations. I didn’t expect her to make it through the summer. And yet here we are again. If I knew that the end was close, I would go home and spend the remainder of the time helping my mother get through this and easing my grandmother out. But then again, if I had done it when I first thought that it was time, I would have been there for six months already.” She sighed, paralyzed. “And I’ll bet that I don’t look like much of a daughter or granddaughter for staying away as long as I have. What will people think?” She said the last sentence with sarcastic emphasis.
“The people who know you know that you’ve done everything you can to help your mother without quitting your job and putting your life on hold. And honestly, no one expects you to do that.”
“Are you sure about that? Because I know at least one person who does.”
“Look, it’s bad enough that your mother has stalled time and is living one endless day with an incontinent, catatonic old woman. Two people will not improve the situation; it will just double the misery.”
“But I don’t want to leave my mother hanging,” Sarah said. “I want to be able to help her. The stress is unbearable. Not just the worry, but the physical stress of lifting a limp body into and out of bed. She’s dead weight. She doesn’t help at all. And my mother is doing this all alone.”
“What about your father?” Jared asked.
“He’ll go over and help a bit, but in the end this is between my mother and her mother. Nobody ever really expects the men to do anything. It’s weird, really.”
“So is he spending all of his time at home?”
“I guess so,” Sarah said. “Between going to work and doing his woodworking in the workshop, I guess that he doesn’t have a lot of ‘free’ time to help out.”
“That’s too bad,” Jared said. “She could use his help.”
“I know,” Sarah admitted. “But I’m pretty sure that he thinks that Grandma should be in a nursing home, and this might be his own personal silent protest. You don’t get a lot of words in edgewise with my mother.” She dribbled coffee onto her sweater and rushed to get napkins to blot the stain.
“Fortunately, you wore the camel today,” Jared noted. “The coffee stain should match perfectly.”
She shook her head. “I feel like a klutz.”
“You are, sometimes. But it’s charming.” He tossed an extra napkin her way. “What about a visiting nurse?”
“No, I’m fine. It didn’t burn me at all.”
“Not you, you nitwit! For your grandmother.”
Sarah stared for a moment before speaking. “I think it’s clear that my brain isn’t functioning the way that it should.”
“So what about it?”
“My brain or the nurse?”
“The nurse.”
“No deal. What if she comes in and steals things?”
Jared laughed. “You can’t be serious. What is there to steal?”
“Evidently some old pottery or something. It’s supposed to be very valuable, but I’ve stared at it for almost 30 years and never saw any value in it at all. She also has some business cards, but they’re in the attic that’s so difficult to get to that no one has been up there since my grandfather died in the 1970s. It’s so completely unlikely that a nurse would take anything anyway, but it’s just another excuse.”
“Did your mother originally set out to be a martyr?”
“I don’t know,” Sarah admitted, “but she’s doing a very good job of it now.” She grew quiet and fidgeted with her cup.
“You’re worried about her, aren’t you?”
“Yeah, of course I am. I just don’t know what to do for her. I want to get her a Grandma-sitter and send her out for a day. Actually, I’d like for her to go to a doctor and get checked out to make sure that the stress isn’t really killing her. But barring that—which I know will never, ever happen—I’d love for her to just get out and get her hair done or get a manicure or something. Just to take her mind off of things.”
“But you know that would have the absolute opposite effect,” Jared observed. “She would only be more uptight and stressed out because she had dared to leave the house.”
“You’re absolutely right,” Sarah said. “I can’t win here, can I?”
“Nope, I don’t think so.”
“Could you do it?” she asked.
“Do what?”
“Put your life on hold and care for a dying parent for an indefinite period of time?”
“Well, there are a variety of factors at play here, not the least of which is the fact that, as you mentioned, guys are not expected to do that sort of thing for their parents.”
“Oh, so you’re a guy now?” Sarah feigned surprise. “Since when?”
“Aren’t you the funny one today?”
“Give me points for trying, ok?”
“Try harder next time,” he said with a smirk. “Point number two is that my mother would be so shocked to see me come home that it would flat-out kill her on the spot, so the long-term care aspect would be irrelevant.”
“Good point. Nobody would really expect you to roll back in after a decade of being disowned.”
“Exactly. So the best I can do is hypothetical situations here. And third, I suppose that putting your life on hold would require having a life.”
“Oh shut up. You have a life.”
“No I do not. I spend most of my weekends at home with my Tivo.”
“So do I,” Sarah said.
“And you have just made my point for me.”
“I have a life!” she protested.
“No you don’t. You have an intense job, a sometimes boyfriend and a crazy travel schedule. This is not a life.”
“I’ve been all around the world!”
“It does not count as ‘seeing the world’ if you primarily see the inside of planes, airports, hotel rooms and manufacturing facilities,” Jared pointed out. “When was the last time you went sightseeing?”
“Uh… does a class trip in 1989 count?”
Jared laughed and looked at his watch. “Come on, Cinderella. You have staff meeting in 10 minutes.”
“No thanks,” she replied. “I’ll just sit here and wait to turn into a pumpkin.”
“Pumpkin season is over, sweetie, and orange is so not your color.” Jared quickly slipped back into his stereotypical flaming gay man persona, complete with a sashay over to the garbage can to dispose of his frou-frou drink cup.
She gathered up her used napkins and empty cup and headed for the garbage, stopping to kiss Jared on the cheek as she went by.
“What was that for?” he asked, surprised.
“For being the other Jared for the last 30 minutes. I love you both, but I really needed the other Jared today.”
He bowed with a flourish. “Anything you need, m’lady. I’m your man.” He winked, laughed and headed for the door.
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