Embracing Emma (Companion to Brisé) (21 page)

Nana was off today so we kept our visit short, and I know it continues to eat at her. That’s the way it’s been this summer; good days and bad days. Before she was in the memory care facility there were more bad days, with the structure they provide, exercises to help her brain, she seems to float on the verge of succumbing to the disease and still fighting it. A very fine line, but the program she’s in seems to work.

“He did us a huge favor. With our time limited, I didn’t want to waste a moment.” This summer I realized what friendship is and how lucky I am Blake pushed to get to know me. He’s been a lifesaver.

“I may come to a game or two with your parents. They were so excited planning their strategy. Road trip, tailgating, and they may get matching shirts boasting they know the QB.” She can’t control the laughter that picture depicts. I join her because I don’t put anything past them. These last weeks their pride in me, that I’ve stifled and made them hide, has come out in full-force. I don’t think they own any clothing that doesn’t have my school logo embellishing it. It’s overboard, but they are making up for what I’ve robbed them of.

“I’ll get you a shirt made.” She raises her eyebrows at me. “It can say ‘Property of William Jacobs.”

“Keep dreaming, QB.” She relaxes back into me. I don’t have to dream when I have the real thing in front of me. I run my hands up and down her body, memorizing her feel to memory. This is what gets me through the long separations, the questions that still plague my mind, the doubts I push back reminding me I don’t have anything to offer a girl like Emma Nichols. I remind myself she picked me. Out of everyone, she chose me. Like my parents. I try to remember the day I saw them in the orphanage. Try to remember what set me apart from the others, why they gravitated towards me. I can’t recall that day. I can’t remember ever seeing them when we had the line-ups; they used to line us up in a row from youngest to oldest when prospective parents were visiting. Our faces would be wiped down with a stinky rag, the same one used for all of us, and we were paraded around like it was a slaughterhouse, vendors picking the best cut of meat. I wish I could remember the moment I met them, the only thing I remember is the loneliness. That’s more of a feeling, not a clear-cut image. The seclusion we were kept in, the constant hunger the yearning for comfort. I didn’t care if I had clean clothes or a place to sleep; I just wanted to feel a hug or kind word. Sometimes when we saw families in the village, I saw a mother tend to her child’s scraped knee or the father give an encouraging pat on the head . . . and I’d go to bed wondering what that would be like.

Yet, when I had it, I threw it away. Not at the beginning, just when things got rough. When the judgments of others played in my head. The words I heard were negative, but I didn’t project them on Brett and James, just myself. Everything those guys said I heard as my faults, my shortcomings, my sense of self-worth diminishing day after day. My own mother abandoned me, father unknown, nameless child . . . then one day two amazing men wanted to bring love to me. And they succeeded. That’s what I choose to focus on.

“Where’d you go?” Emma squeezes my hand.

“Just thinking of all the wasted time. The fact I let the thoughts of others create a divide with those I love.”

“You bridged that gap, baby. You realized the truth in front of you.”

“Yeah, I did.” For the first time I can remember, I have pride in myself outside of football.

I hold her until the sun goes down, and I sneak into her bedroom and hold her until the sun comes up. Kissing her lips, her cheeks, her eyes, her nose, her jaw, I whisper what she means to me, how much I love her, and I tell her goodbye once again.

Chapter Twenty-One

Emma

I have to miss his first playoff game to look at apartments in Athens. I received my acceptance letter, and there was no decision where I was attending college. I knew I’d do whatever kept us in the same state. I can do two years there, wait for him to finish, and we can decide what our future plans will entail. He’s worked his ass off this season, his stats unbelievable for a sophomore, his leadership skills are unquestionable, and I couldn’t be prouder of him. I hate I’m not there cheering for him, but this is something I have to secure before I have no options. In the long run, it works to our advantage. We have our privacy when he comes and visits and vice versa. He secured his apartment last week, a gift from my parents for his twenty-first birthday. They said Nana had intended to do it, but circumstances change; his parents said they would cover the second year . . . so we each will have our own space and our weekends together will be our own haven.

“I don’t like the security in this building.” I regret bringing my dad with us.

“I don’t think an armed bodyguard is an option with any of the apartments I have lined up to see.” This is the third building we haven’t gotten past the lobby area.

“Luke, at least look at the apartments first.” My mom chides him. “He’s just gonna miss you,” she whispers to me. Imagine how he would have been if I chose Washington.

“Fine, let’s go look.” I can tell he will find the smallest imperfection in the apartment, and it will be turned into a mold infestation, swarming with termites, fire code violation scenario. I’m just waiting for it.

I have to agree this isn’t what I want. It’s a two bedroom, which I don’t need, but it’s closed off. I want an open floor plan. “Emma you couldn’t fit your bedroom furniture in here.” I nod in agreement.

“Next,” I chant, garnering a look of pleasure for my dad. My stipulation is within a reasonable distance to school. As a freshman, we aren’t permitted to drive on campus; so it would have made sense for me to be in a dorm . . . nobody was keen on that.

The next set we come to are newer apartments, brick constructed, and much to my dad’s delight, they come with a security system. The rent is steeper than I want Nana to cover, but my parents assure me it’s fine. I opt for the one bedroom with a closed den/loft area for studying. I sign the lease, my dad cuts the check, and I’m officially on my own. In five months. According to my mom, this calls for a shopping trip, new furniture, an office set, dishes, towels . . . enough to house a small country.

“I think that’s all we need.” My tone is pleading.

“I don’t know, Emma. We could get some cookbooks and you’ll need a theme for your bathroom and kitchen.” I see the wheels turning in her mind.

“Twinkle, give the child a break.” He kisses her temple. No. Enough of this pussyfooting around.

“The theme in my bathroom is to clean my ass. The kitchen will be to feed my belly. I’m done. I’m revolting. I’m on strike. I’m done shopping.” They look at me like I need to be carted off in a straight jacket, but I can’t take anymore. A padded cell would be a nice reprieve from this.

“You may be eighteen, but don’t say ass in public.” That’s what that woman got from my tirade. I must be losing my touch.

“You know she doesn’t hear anything when there are stores to be bought out in front of her. Phoebe, there is plenty of time. Maybe you can shop for her and surprise her.” This seems to cheer Sally McShopper up, and I sigh in relief. A small battle won in the war of Shopaholics ‘R’ Us.

“Alright, let’s go eat. I’m worn out.” I share a look of disbelief with my dad . . . she’s worn out? I think all the sales people who have come in contact with her need prescription medication and a week vacation. I have no clue what my apartment will be furnished with, color scheme, hell, at this point I don’t remember where I’ll be living.

“Chocolate?” I whine.

“After your vegetables,” my mom snaps back with her evil smile.

“I don’t need any cookbooks. I’ll live off candy, and you can’t stop me.” I stomp my foot.

“Ice cream first?” My dad shakes his head at us. One thing he’s failed to control is our love for dessert first. My mom’s motto is to indulge in the things that make you happy because time can run out. She knows that firsthand.

“Of course.” I link my arm with hers, and we saunter ahead of my father, who is still staring and suffering from whiplash with this turn of events.

The brush gets stuck in my hair. I yank it and hurl it across the room, tears streaming down my face. My dad rushes through the door, “What happened?”

“I threw my brush,” I bawl. My mom is getting last minute food and stuff for my graduation party tonight. Will should be arriving in time for the ceremony, but that’s not the reason for my meltdown.

“Baby girl, what’s wrong?” He crouches in my line of sight and wipes the tears flooding my face.

“I’m selfish. I want Nana there.”

“That’s not selfish, Emma. That’s natural. I want her there. More than that, I want her to understand what is happening today. I want her to see her girl walk across that stage, and I want her to realize what you’ve earned. I want her to see you succeed. So no, you aren’t being selfish.”

I cry harder at his words. “She’s been there for everything else. Always. Now this big milestone I feel that void.”

“Is that why you didn’t go to prom? I know William would have come home.” I instead chose to go to him.

“Yes,” I choke through my clogged throat. “She was there for his prom, she got to see me, and I couldn’t do it without her. If I’m this bad for graduation, can you imagine when I get married?”

“I’d rather not.”

“Daddy.” I admonish him. “It’s going to happen one day. What will I do? Burn my wedding dress in a tantrum?”

“It’s still new for us all.”

“It’s been two years. That’s not new.”

“Two years out of eighteen is nothing. It’s new. It seems like when we learn one aspect of this disease, another one pops up. We can’t get our footing.” Her newest outbursts include refusing to bathe. It takes three aides to get her to shower and dress daily. Her hair’s never brushed, and don’t get me started on her teeth. It’s cruel. I could handle the mind going if I didn’t have to see her disappearing otherwise. Everything she prided herself on, she doesn’t remember. Her hair was impeccable, her nails filed just so, her smile could light up a room. It may seem petty to discuss outward appearance, but that is a part of
who
she was. It’s just one more way she is here but absent at the same time. She doesn’t have a clue who I am except the girl who brings her coffee. I’m like a damned waitress to her.
You didn’t put sugar in that, did you dear? This isn’t decaf? You have any of those sweet things?
That’s what I’ve been relegated to. I refer to her as ‘Nana’ but that seems to go over her head, or she doesn’t hear me. I don’t know which. I’m just a ‘dear’ to her. I should be lucky she’s still here with me, and I’m grateful for that, but I just want
her
back. All of her.

“Do you ever wonder why?”

“Every damn day.” His voice is shaky, “I wonder if I missed the signs. What if we caught it earlier? What if I intervened with therapy at the beginning? Did I do enough? Will she ever remember me? Is she still proud of me? Does she still love me? All those questions are unanswered multiple times a day.”

“It sucks.”

“That’s a word for it.” I’ve made him sad, and I didn’t want that for today. I should have chosen a quieter temper tantrum.

“I’m sorry.” He cups my cheek.

“Don’t apologize for your feelings. I’d like to think she is just as frustrated as us, but I don’t want her to be. Day to day is a challenge, a puzzle for her, so I know she’s retreating more and more as things become too confusing. It’s the body’s way of protection. I know that here,” he taps his head, “but I don’t feel it here.” His hand covers his heart.

“Exactly. I know she’s not being mean, we aren’t at fault. Yet days like today I’m so damn mad. Sad. Confused. I feel like a brat because I can’t imagine what she feels everyday. Nobody can tell us. Does she wake up confused or clueless? Does she go to sleep missing us as much as we do her? Does she feel abandoned because even though we are there she doesn’t know who we are?”

“Sweetie, I don’t have the answers. That shouldn’t be something I say to you, but we are wading these waters together. I can tell you this—my mom would want you dancing across that stage. She would want you to smile, not cry. She’d bake you the best cupcakes and scream the loudest. My mom . . . she’d be so damn proud of you. You’d have a banner in the middle of the state announcing your achievements.” He pauses to gain his composure. “Your grandmother is cheering for you, she’d be brushing your hair, shopping with your mother, fussing over your make-up. She’d have this house decorated fit for royalty because there is nobody more precious to your grandmother than you. Your grandmother may be physically in that room at the facility, but the best parts of her . . . the ones she instilled in you, will be embracing you as you receive your diploma, with a smile adorning your face and no tears. Embrace what she taught you, grow from what you learned, and understand nothing can take those memories from you. Pull them from your mind; feel them in your heart. Don’t let who she’s become be who she is to you. That’s not fair to you, and it sure as hell isn’t fair to her.” I fall into his arms, the emotions taking over. I can’t breathe, my vision blurry . . . it hurts. I feel just as lost as she is. Except I know the date, the players in my life, my past, and I’m gearing up for my future. She knows none of this, and at the same time, it isn’t just robbed from her.