Page 181 of Heartache Duet
When the second half starts, Mom puts down her tablet and pats the spot on the couch next to her. I get up and sit with her under the one blanket. Connor scores the next five points, and Mom shifts next to me, sitting forward, her eyes glued to the screen. She watches the game. I watch her. Because there’s something in her stare, in the way her eyes widen just slightly every time Connor appears. “You like watching Connor play, Mama?”
“Mmm-hmm.”
Trevor asks, “You think his jump shot’s improved?”
“I don’t know,” Mom murmurs. “But I feel… something.” She taps at her chest. “In here.”
My spine straightens, hope filling my heart. “You do?”
“Like um…” Her bottom lip trembles. “Like, happiness.” She turns to me. “But… but I don’t know why.”
Trevor and I glance at each other quickly. I ask her as gently as possible, “You don’t remember?”
Her lips pull down. “No, Ava,” she says, shaking her head, her eyes filling with tears. “I don’t remember.” The first sob comes a second later, and I wrap my arms around her, feel her shoulder shudder against my cheek.
I stroke her hair, the way she used to do for me. “It’s okay, Mama.”
“It’s not!” She pulls back, gaze alternating between Trevor and me. “What else don’t I remember?”
“Mama Jo,” Trevor tries to soothe, moving to squat in front of her. Hands on her knees, he adds, “It’s okay. As long as you remember who you are and who we are, nothing else is important.”
Mom’s shaking her head, the heel of her palm slapping against her temple. I reach up and try to get her to stop. “Birthdays and holidays and…” She focuses on Trevor. “Why aren’t you in Texas?”
Trevor’s sharp inhale catches in his throat, and he looks to me for answers.
“Are you here for me?” she asks him.
Trevor’s eyes drift shut.
“Are you!” she demands.
“I don’t…” Trevor breathes out, his gaze on me, pleading.
Static fills my mind. Mom’s never been like this before, never to the point she doesn’t understand what’s going on around her. “Trevor works here now,” I tell her, a half-truth.
She looks around the house as if it’s the first time she’s seeing it. “Where’s William?” It’s been a long time since she’s brought up Trevor’s dad, and the last time… it was the onset of too many negative days to count.
On the TV, Connor scores again. Mom’s nose scrunches. “Connor,” she whispers and taps her heart again. “Happiness.” Then her face falls, and the new onslaught of cries begins. She rocks in her place, back and forth, back and forth, her fist moving from her temple to her heart, again and again. “I don’t remember. I don’t remember. I don’t remember…”
* * *
Ava: Hey. I wasn’t able to watch the whole game. I’m sorry. It looked like you guys were heading for a W, though.
Connor: Yeah, it was a cakewalk. You okay?
Ava: Call me when you’re done celebrating?
Connor: No celebrations for me tonight. I need to rest. About to get in an ice bath. Join me?
Ava: I wish.
Ava: I miss you, Connor.
Connor: I’ll call you as soon as I’m out.
True to his word, Connor calls a half hour later, and I can tell he’d literally just gotten out of the bath because he has me on speaker while he moves around his room, opening and closing drawers to get dressed. “I miss you, too!” he calls out as soon as I answer and before I can get a word in. “You said it before, and I didn’t say it back, and I didn’t want you to think I didn’t miss you because I do. Just give me one second.”
I wait, phone to my ear, my lips curled at the corners, and it should be impossible to feel the way I do just from hearing his voice or knowing he’s close. Especially after the night I’ve had. A beat passes before his phone crackles, and I know he’s taken me off speaker to give me his full attention. “Are you there?” he asks.