Will to Way, Wilt Away

Chapter 24

After breakfast, I lay in bed with my head propped up on my pillow, and I examined the vase of hydrangeas in my hand. The beauty of these blossoms fooled me from far away, but up close they were artificial and tacky. I could see each fiber in the polyester fabric, and some petals even had loose strands of thread. I took the flowers out of the vase and held the synthetic stems in my hand. They were rubbery to the touch and bent like pipe cleaners.

"Oh, I see you noticed the flowers," my mom said, suddenly appearing in the doorway. She now wore a coral pantsuit that only accented her puffy, bloodshot eyes.

I hurriedly put the flowers back in the vase and set them on my nightstand. Not wanting to seem too comfortable, I sat up and moved my body so that my legs dangled over the side of the bed.

"Yea, they're nice," I unconsciously said, still unsure of how I actually felt about them.

My mom walked over and picked up the vase, putting the flowers just inches from her face.

"They're fake, but they won't wilt and die like real flowers," she said, rotating the vase to get a 360 view of the flowers. "I've never understood the point of cutting and displaying real ones. They're just going to die anyway."

I thought of all of the times I put my grandma's hydrangeas on my nightstand and felt slightly offended, but also embarrassed. She had a point. The worst part about bringing my grandma's flowers home, as much as I loved them, was that the petals inevitably fell to the floor one by one.

"That's true," I conceded without further thought. "How did you know I like hydrangeas, though?"

"Oh, do you? Grandma, well my mom but your grandma," she clarified, "grew them in her garden. I used to go to the backyard when I was growing up just to admire them. She constantly offered to cut me some to put in my room, but I always refused."

My mom set the vase back on my nightstand and quietly sighed. "They would be pretty at first, but I didn't want to watch them wither," she explained. "So this is a good compromise," she said while gesturing to the fake flowers.

I nodded, agreeing with her logic. From far away, I couldn't even tell that these flowers weren't real. The only thing I still didn't understand was why she put these here when she never knew I was coming back. That question was negligible, though, given the hundreds of questions I had about my dad.

"So, where is he?" I vaguely asked, knowing that it was obvious who I was talking about.

My mom lifted her sleeve and revealed her dazzling gold Cartier watch. "It's 8:30, so he's still sleeping. I'm taking him to a 9:30 doctor's appointment, though, so he should be up pretty soon."

"Cool," I said, unable to come up with a better response.

The last time I saw my dad was the night before I left Sacramento. He came into my room and asked if I knew where his glasses were. I said no. Then he left. I followed his lead the next morning. Needless to say, we could have ended things on better terms.

"Is he going to be mad that I'm here?" I asked.

"No, of course not! I think he'll be glad to see you again," my mom answered.

You "think" but do you know?

I dismissed her response with a nod, knowing she was just trying not to worry me. That was when it occurred to me that we were actually having a normal mother-daughter conversation, which comforted me more than her words did.

"So how long has this been going on?" I asked, making my way down the list of questions in my head.

My mom scratched her head. "Well, he's been a little forgetful over this past year and a half, you know?"