Page 20 of When the Leaves Fall

DREW

I think this is the fastest I’ve ever seen my dad move.

“Let’s get going,” he calls as he jogs by me. “I’m going to grab my wallet, and I’m ready to go.”

“Slow down, Dad,” I yell at him. But he doesn’t. I chase after him into the house, where he’s digging through a pile of papers on the counter for his wallet. You can tell he’s been living the bachelor life while Mom and I were in New York.

“Dad,” I start. “We’ll get there as soon as we can. But first, you should pack an overnight bag.”

“I’m not worried about that right now,” he scoffs.

“I know, Dad. But you will be later. There’s nothing we can do for Mom right now, and we won’t be able to see her for a while, even once we get there. She’d want to make sure you’re taking care of yourself, too.”

He lets out an exasperated exhale.

“Pack a bag while I make you a sandwich—” He starts to interrupt me, but I hold up my hand to stop him before he can say anything. “Uh, hmm.” I shake my head at him. “You can eat it in the car, and I’ll drive. But you still need to eat. It’s a Sunday night, everything else will be closed.”

He nods slowly, then holds his arms out. I step toward him, and he wraps his arms around me tightly. I can feel his body shaking.

“It’s going to be okay, Dad.” I try to sound as positive and reassuring as possible. “Mom is going to be okay.”

W hile I’m beyond relieved that Mom can talk again, I don’t care for the sass quite as much. Actually, it’s kinda hilarious unless it’s directed at me. According to her doctors, not only is she suffering from memory loss, but her current cognitive level is that of a six-year-old.

Imagine having a conversation with a person who has all the knowledge of being an adult, but with the mind of a child. She has absolutely no filter right now and says exactly what’s on her mind.

Yesterday, she told me she hated my now-ex-girlfriend. She’s a good actress, then, because she had me fooled. I knew Elsie wasn’t her favorite, but she treated her so kindly that I truly had no idea she hated her.

Just thinking about it all makes me laugh.

I love giving the sass right back to her, too.

It gives Dad anxiety when Mom and I bicker.

But it’s our love language, and we know it’s all in good fun.

She isn’t a baby, and I’m not going to treat her like one.

If we want her to get back to her “normal” mental state, we need to treat her as her “normal” within reason, of course.

Dad and Uncle Scott are headed to the hotel tonight. I’ve gotten pretty good at working out where I’m sleeping based on Luca’s shifts for the last week and a half, and I don’t think Dad has any idea something is going on between us. If he does, he hasn’t let on.

They’re moving Mom to a different floor a day or two after her defibrillator procedure. Since they don’t know what caused her heart to stop, all eight times, they want her to have the defibrillator and pacemaker placed so if it were to happen again, they could potentially help save her life.

“She’s lucky you were there.”

“She probably wouldn’t still be with us if she’d been alone for even a minute.”

Thanks for the reminders, doc.

After her procedure, she won’t need the intensive care of the CCU. Which is freaking amazing. I glance at Luca, who’s smiling at something my mom said. But it means less time with Luca.

I don’t want less time with Luca.

Though maybe it’s for the best to start knowing what that’ll feel like. I mean, in as little as two weeks, I could be on my way back to Colorado.

These last three weeks have felt like both a whole year and just a few days. It’s been almost a freaking month since Mom collapsed. I still don’t think I’ve truly processed any of this. I’ve been so busy focused on making sure every little thing is taken care of.

Everyone is kept up to date.

Dad understands what the doctors are saying.

Making sure her FMLA and short-term disability are all set up.

Making sure their bills are paid.

Paying for hotels. And meals.

I know this is going to be a massive expense for my parents, even after insurance pays their part. Therefore, I’ve paid for everything. The hotel, food. Everything. I don’t want my Dad to worry about any of it right now.

These are the moments I wish I had siblings to help me. Then again, they’d likely give me more things to take care of.

I miss my mom. Like, my actual mom. While I’m beyond happy and grateful she’s alive and getting better each day, I miss her.

I miss talking about our lives. I’m used to texting her multiple times a day.

She doesn’t even remember our trip to New York.

A place she’s been excited to see for years.

If you looked up tourist in the dictionary, you’d see a picture of my mom in New York.

While she was sending my dad, Uncle Scott, and my cousins photos and videos from our trip, I was sending them behind-the-scenes shots. I made it my mission to capture Mom in all of her cheesy tourist glory. I sent them pictures of her taking pictures, always with a huge grin on her face .

I sent them a photo of her first time in the subway, eagerly watching out the window. The pictures she didn’t know I was taking, those are the ones I sent.

I grab my phone from the table and start to scroll through the group chat where I sent them all those photos. Looking back through them makes me both want to laugh and cry. I still can’t wrap my head around the fact that one moment we’re living our best tourist life, and the next, we’re here.

Frustration builds inside me, my chest heaving with anxiety.

Why don’t they know what caused this? It’s all bullshit.

I toss my phone on the seat beside me and let out a hot puff of air.

I know I need to let go of the unknown here and move on, but I’ve never been one to be able to do that easily.

I like control. I like to know all the factors.

“What’s wrong, Drew?” My head snaps up to see Mom’s worried face. I look around the room. Luca doesn’t appear to be in here.

“Oh, umm.” I rub the bridge of my nose. “Sorry, got lost in a train of thought. Everything okay?”

“Yes, honey,” she shoots me a soft smile. “Luca went to refill my ice water. Then the bathroom. Then sleep. Tomorrow’s a big day.”

Mom can talk so much more clearly now, but her sentences are often more fragmented, and she loses her thoughts easily, making her mumble over her words the longer she talks.

“Yes, it is,” I agree. “And you’re right, you should get a good night’s sleep. I’ll make sure Luca doesn’t get too rowdy tonight.”

She laughs. “You do that, honey.”

I laugh back. Then we sit in silence for a few moments.

“I like that kid,” she says eventually.

“Who’s that?” I ask.

“Luca,” she replies. “I like him. He’s good people.”

At that moment, I catch movement out of the corner of my eye. I look over and see Luca chatting with a few other nurses at the nurses’ station. He’s so much in his element here, and I can’t help but smile as I watch him.

“Yup,” I reply quietly. “He’s good people.”