CHAPTERONE
BREANNA
“I’m getting a divorce,” my dad told me, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
I stared at him, unable to comprehend. My own mother had been wife number one. After her, there had been Shelly, friendly enough and willing to be my stepmother. She only lasted two years until my father was on to the next wife. Jessica was also kind, a wonderful cook who brought two puppies with her.
By the time my father married Jessica, I was out of the house. I never lived with her and didn’t know her that well. Still, the fact that he was divorcing her hit me hard. It seemed like he didn’t take marriage seriously. What the fuck? That last sentiment stuck in my mind, and I voiced it, throwing the curse word at him like a dagger.
“What the fuck, Dad?”
“It’s just not working out,” he tried to explain. “We’re too different.”
“That’s what you said about Shelly. That’s the same thing you said about Mom!” I squared my shoulders, prepared to go into battle for the honor of my gender.
“Calm down,” Dad snapped.
That’s when I lost it. No wonder none of his women ever wanted to stick it out. If he had the nerve to tell me to calm down when I was righteously outraged, what had he said to them? I could just imagine what life with him had been like. My mother had told me a few things, and Shelly had confided in me once.
He never lifted a finger to help them with household chores. In this day and age, he expected his wife to cook and clean in addition to holding down a job. I wished I could divorce him. It would be so much easier not to have to deal with his crap.
At the time, I could have used a shoulder to cry on. I wasn’t in the mood, not because I cared about him or his marriage, but because I had just lost one of the most important people in my life. Nan was gone. She was a bright light in what was shaping up to be a dull existence, with a wicked sense of humor and the energy to match.
A year ago when she was diagnosed with cancer, I knew my time with her was limited. I encouraged her to stay in her home. I heard awful things about nursing facilities, and I didn’t want her to have to deal with that. I moved in, quitting my job and putting my life on hold to take care of her. We were like two best friends, separated by generations.
She knew everything about me and my love life, or lack thereof. I learned things I never wanted to know about my grandfather, but that was okay. She told me that they once got caught by his parents, sneaking up to his room to make out. I was all in for the story, imagining the horror of teenagers back then being caught red-handed.
Another time, she had been to a carnival with a friend. They had been drinking beer but didn’t want their parents to find out. Her friend’s father showed up, and they had nowhere to hide their beer cans except Nan’s purse.
She dumped two open, half full cans of beer into the bag and held it close to her leg while the dad went on and on about church. About halfway through the conversation, Nan felt something wet against her leg. She looked down in horror to see liquid dripping from her purse. She made up an excuse and got out of there fast. Upon inspection, everything in the bag was ruined.
Nan gave me my first glimpse into the past. I never thought of my parents or grandparents as teenagers before. She was the only one who dared to admit that she had flaws, and I loved her for it.
The last few months were terrible. She was bedridden, and I had to do everything for her. I helped her up when she needed to use the bathroom. I gave her medicine when she cried out. I set up a smart TV in her room so that we could watch Netflix together.
The whole time, I was desperate to hang on. I felt her slipping away, growing weaker and weaker as I watched. When she finally passed, I was heartbroken. To top it all off, Grant, the guy I had been seeing, dumped me. He determined, in all his self-absorbed glory, that I wasn’t paying enough attention to him.
“Why don’t you put her in a home?” he asked as we sat on Nan’s front porch in the early afternoon.
“I can’t do that,” I replied. “Have you seen the news? Those places are full of disease and neglect. I heard a story about one woman who was left in a parking lot over night because the staff forgot about her.”
“You’re being dramatic,” he scoffed. “It’s not always like that.”
“Do you know anyone in a nursing home?” I demanded.
“No,” he admitted. “But I’m sure that they’re all perfectly fine.”
I looked at him for a moment, dumbstruck by the lack of empathy. “When you get old, do you want your children to dump you in a home?”
He scowled. “That’s different.”
“How is it different?”
“We’re young.” He moved toward me as if I would welcome his embrace.
I stepped back, full of rage. “It’s not different. Nan was young once. She’s very important to me. I thought you would understand.”
“I don’t understand why you want to spend your life taking care of an old woman,” he replied.