Gift

Three attempts, and Ted's singed brows later, it started to look like a lost cause.

Ignoring the frustration glistening in his eyes, I slid to the ground, staring holes in the recipe I had written up last week.

"I'm certain this is what we ought to do."

He wiped a sleeve over his face. It had been four hours now, we were exhausted. " ‘Supposed to is different than knowing what to," he plopped himself down against me, and drawing the paper from my palm, flipped it away, "Are you sure you don't want to buy it from her favourite bakery?"

That had been the target all along. But the call from the doctor last week had disrupted all my plans. 'She’s starting to remember.'

My eyes squeezed shut.

It still felt like yesterday. Nan and I snuggled around the mantel, wrapped up in blankets and cushions, waiting for gramps to bring the birthday cake he always baked for her birthday. That beautiful smile that had graced her face at the hasty frosting, the guffaws of grandpa at his cold humour, and the little mug of tea that fit perfectly into my chubby palms, had my cheeks flushing at the perfect sense of belonging and warmth, that seemed to radiate out of our happy little family of three.

How the crystal of my memories had shattered.

His death had shaken me to the very core. It ruined our cosy home, plunging me into a spiral of misery. In a cold feeling that crept into my very soul, one that came from knowing that the arms I could so seamlessly fall back to had vanished leaving me alone to navigate the world.

It had been my trial and grief. But for nan, it had been the undoing of her very being.

Nan’s lonesome silhouette staring out of the bleached curtains, her soul waiting, expectant for what her mind failed to remember, had become a constant in my thoughts.

"It's not the same," I murmured. Ted said nothing, just his warm hand squeezing my fingers. Then with a jerk, he pulled me up beside him, wiping away the thin sheen of tears,

"Let's try again, then."

******

"You must open the door for this to work" Ted nudged from behind. My hand had warmed up the metal of the doorknob but somehow, I couldn't get myself to push it open.

I handed him the box of cake.

"It is a bad idea"

"The doctor disagrees."

Sighing, I stared at Ted.

"And if she cannot bear it? Her dementia allows her to cope with her trauma. What if she remembers, and the wounds are too much for her?"

I paused, taking in the soft arch of his brow, and the familiar blue of his gaze that shimmered under the tube light. His lips curved, eyes softening a fraction as he steered me towards the glass pane.

From the thin sheen, I saw gran. Her profile taut, hands clasped in her lap, motionless. Staring, hoping, waiting.

"I know you can see it." he murmured, "How palpable her grief is."

"But-"

"If it were me," he continued, pushing the door open, "I would be far more dejected if I didn’t even remember the person my heart yearns for."

For a second, her smile, so full of life, gazing at the creased face of Grandpa played before my eyes.

The contrast forced me to move forwards.

Her eyes flickered over our faces. I craved to see the tinge of familiarity glisten in them. Decisive that she didn't remember, Nan’s smile turned polite.

I swallowed the pebbles stuck in my throat.

Ted was busy cutting up the cake, and I took this chance to sit beside her, brushing the stray strands off her beige sweater. A golden bracelet threaded her wrist, seizing the radiance of the diluted rays. My hand stilled.

"What is that?"

She looked at where I was pointing, and a smile came unbidden. Her wrinkled fingertips traced its edges.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" she whispered, a trace of something tangible lined her voice. My heart pattered in my chest. Inhaling a sharp breath, I took her hand into mine, and gave Ted a hopeful look.

"What are you doing today?"

Her fingers stilled over the flower. Brow furrowed, her eyes snapped up to the window, the bracelet lined hand clinging at her chest.

"He's not here yet."

"Who?" my voice was small. A second passed, and the feeling of standing at the edge of the tunnel washed over, turning my spine taut.

"I don't," she gasped as if just saying it was causing her irrefutable pain. Then her expression cleared, a quizzical hue on her face.

"I don't know"

My hand turned lax. Her frown churned my stomach and I turned away. Maybe I was too optimistic. Perhaps I had taken the doctor’s hopeful words too seriously. ‘She’s starting to remember’ Taking in her passive expression from the corner of my eye I knew that she was not.

I sighed. Ted nudged my shoulder, forcing me to look up, and passed the cake.

For the fear of disappointment, I didn't see Nan’s expression when she took the first bite. Nor the sheen of tears that lined her eyes. She stared at the sweet, then paused on the bracelet until a gasp resounded in the scant room. My eyes shuffled from Ted’s astonished, yet triumphed face to the wrinkled palms encircling my face.

"Oh, sweet child." I saw clarity reflected in her orbs.

"My child, Audrey." Oh. "My beautiful, beautiful child" Something clogged in my throat. My face crumpled, and I hid a sob in her shoulder, pulling nan in for a hug.

Arms encircled my shoulders, pulling me into a mother's loving embrace.

A familiar ache churned my chest.

Revelling in her warmth, the blankets wrapped around me, the sweet scent of butter cake filled my senses, and when I opened my eyes, for a second I could imagine the wise eyes of Grandpa crinkle in mirth, his heavy palm ruffling my strands. For a second, encompassed with my whole being in this warmth, I knew that it had been as much of a gift to myself as it had been to my nan.