Windmilling, Ch. 2
Joe always has a bagel for breakfast. You appreciate this fact because you know it's important to keep his schedule uniform; spreading cream cheese on bread and slicing strawberries on top of it isn't an especially difficult or time-consuming task. He used to like hot tea in the morning as well, but his doctors advised you against caffeinated drinks, so you pour him a glass of orange juice and go to wake him up.
He sleeps on his stomach, his cheek pressed against the pillow, his lips parted, and you always feel achy when you see him looking so young and beautiful. Your hand smooths down his back, and his spine shifts beneath your fingers as you kneel beside him. "Sweetie? It's time to wake up."
He gives the softest of moans, and then his eyes flutter open, and you sigh when his expression shifts, jaw hardening. "Why are you waking me up?"
"It's seven-thirty. You've been asleep for eight hours. I don't want you to oversleep and feel tired all day." Your hands settle in your lap when he rolls onto his side. "Why don't you come out and eat breakfast with me?"
"I'm not hungry."
"Are you not hungry really or do you not trust me to have made your food right?" He doesn't answer. You let out a slow breath. "I made it just like I've made it every day for the past three years, just the way you like it."
"Are you saying you're tired of making it for me?"
"I din't say that. Please don't put words in my mouth." Another soft sigh. "It would make me happy if you'd come eat with me."
That method doesn't always work, and on the days when Joe doesn't trust Nick to be who he says he is, it can be downright counterproductive to getting him to cooperate. Today, though, he sits up and slides out of bed, goes so far as to allow Nick a hug and a kiss on the cheek before you move out into the kitchen.
It's a tricky day - somewhere between good and bad. Joe eats breakfast without coercion or complaint, but he refuses to take his medicine. You crush the pill to slip into the bottle of lemonade you pack with his lunch, since you know he sips it throughout the morning. You don't enjoy doing it; somehow, the action feels like a betrayal, like all the suspicions he has about people are legitimate.
You take him to Riverside, which you don't like to refer to as a day care, though that's what Joe calls it, his voice hedged with bitterness, and that's more or less what it is. You walk him inside with your hand on the small of his back, and once he's situated in the library, where he spends most mornings, you explain to his nurse how his attitude is so far.
You try to ignore that he doesn't kiss you when you go in to say goodbye to him. No, it's not as unusual now as it used to be, but it still leaves a funny little ache in your chest that you feel all the way to work and carry with you for most of the morning.
He sleeps on his stomach, his cheek pressed against the pillow, his lips parted, and you always feel achy when you see him looking so young and beautiful. Your hand smooths down his back, and his spine shifts beneath your fingers as you kneel beside him. "Sweetie? It's time to wake up."
He gives the softest of moans, and then his eyes flutter open, and you sigh when his expression shifts, jaw hardening. "Why are you waking me up?"
"It's seven-thirty. You've been asleep for eight hours. I don't want you to oversleep and feel tired all day." Your hands settle in your lap when he rolls onto his side. "Why don't you come out and eat breakfast with me?"
"I'm not hungry."
"Are you not hungry really or do you not trust me to have made your food right?" He doesn't answer. You let out a slow breath. "I made it just like I've made it every day for the past three years, just the way you like it."
"Are you saying you're tired of making it for me?"
"I din't say that. Please don't put words in my mouth." Another soft sigh. "It would make me happy if you'd come eat with me."
That method doesn't always work, and on the days when Joe doesn't trust Nick to be who he says he is, it can be downright counterproductive to getting him to cooperate. Today, though, he sits up and slides out of bed, goes so far as to allow Nick a hug and a kiss on the cheek before you move out into the kitchen.
It's a tricky day - somewhere between good and bad. Joe eats breakfast without coercion or complaint, but he refuses to take his medicine. You crush the pill to slip into the bottle of lemonade you pack with his lunch, since you know he sips it throughout the morning. You don't enjoy doing it; somehow, the action feels like a betrayal, like all the suspicions he has about people are legitimate.
You take him to Riverside, which you don't like to refer to as a day care, though that's what Joe calls it, his voice hedged with bitterness, and that's more or less what it is. You walk him inside with your hand on the small of his back, and once he's situated in the library, where he spends most mornings, you explain to his nurse how his attitude is so far.
You try to ignore that he doesn't kiss you when you go in to say goodbye to him. No, it's not as unusual now as it used to be, but it still leaves a funny little ache in your chest that you feel all the way to work and carry with you for most of the morning.