Page 12 of Do It With Me

His wife nodded and I caught her glancing at the price tag before she smiled. “It’s beautiful. Do you do delivery?”

“I can arrange it,” I said, already calculating the logistics in my head.

Not that it mattered. I’d carry the armoire to their house on my back no matter how far away they lived. If I closed this sale, it would cover utilities for the month. Maybe more. That was a big enough deal to offer anything they wanted.

Mom appeared behind me while the couple was still circling the armoire. I was trying to give them some space to decide, but suddenly, she was right there, carrying a steaming cup of coffee.

“I thought you might need this, sweetheart,” she said, beaming as she held it out to me.

I frowned. We’d just had coffee moments before the couple had walked in. “Thanks, Mom. Can you leave it on the counter for me please? I’ll have it as soon as I’m done here.”

“Of course, of course.” She shuffled back toward the register and disappeared again.

I heard the faint sounds of her humming coming from the back. I turned to the couple with my best professional smile pasted on my lips. “The wood has been restored, but the hinges and handles are original. It used to belong to a⁠—”

The door to the kitchen opened again, and Mom walked out with another cup of coffee from the pot she’d obviously just made. “Here you go, honey. You looked parched. Maybe this will help.”

I blinked hard. “Oh. Thanks. Okay. Uh, would you mind just putting it down on the counter? I’ll sit down with you in a few and we can have them together.”

She frowned for a second, obviously confused, but nodded and wandered off again. The wife smiled politely. “Is that your mother?”

“Yeah,” I said softly. “She helps out sometimes. When she’s feeling up to it.”

The woman nodded but turned back to her husband and the armoire. He was now lying on his back, arm extended underneath it. He tapped at the wood like he was trying to figure out if it was still structurally sound or if it would collapse as soon as you put anything in it.

When he straightened up with a satisfied nod, excitement flared through me. This was going to be a big sale. Then my mom came out of the kitchen with another beaming smile. “Sweetheart, I made you some coffee.”

“Thanks, Mom,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. “You can just set it down anywhere.”

The husband cleared his throat, exchanging a quick glance with his wife. It was one of those looks that said, let’s just get out of here, and immediately, my heart sank.

“We’ll think about it,” the woman said gently. “It really is lovely.”

They left a moment later, the bell clinking cheerfully as they went. Once they were gone, I just kept standing there, staring at the armoire and the three cups of coffee cooling on the counter. Mom was humming to herself again, reorganizing scarves by color, blissfully unaware that she’d just scared off my best chance at a decent sale this week.

My throat tightened, but the truth was that I couldn’t keep doing this. Not the way I was doing it now, anyway. Not if I wanted to keep the shop open and keep her safe.

She needed someone watching her during the day. Someone who could make sure she didn’t wander off or forget the stove was on. I loved her too much to pretend otherwise, and if that interaction had proven anything, it was that the hope I’d had of bringing her to the store with me every day wasn’t going to pan out.

By the next afternoon, our apartment smelled like coffee and lemon disinfectant. I’d cleaned obsessively before the home caregiver had come over, which made no sense. It wasn’t like she would be judging me.

Technically, I was the one doing the judging, but I’d still wanted the place to feel warm and welcoming. Normal.

Bree sat across from me at the small kitchen table, her hands wrapped around a mug of coffee. She was in her mid-twenties, with dark toffee colored hair and an easy smile that lit her eyes.

Something about her felt steady, like she was the kind of person you could hand your chaos to and know she wouldn’t flinch.

“Why don’t you tell me about your mom?” she asked, her voice as sweet as syrup and blue eyes pretty and kind. “She is going to be the patient, right? Your mother?”

“Yes,” I replied, feeling safe with her in a way I couldn’t explain.

According to the resume the company she worked for had sent over, she had been conducting home care for them for a few years and she only had glowing reviews. After everything she must’ve seen in that time, I felt like maybe she really could understand what we were going through right now, and I suddenly realized that was why I felt safe.

“She has early onset dementia,” I explained after dragging in a deep breath. “It’s, uh, it’s been coming on fast. The doctors said it might be aggressive, but I didn’t think they meant this fast. Six months ago she was living by herself and doing well, but now, she sometimes even forgets how to use the microwave.”

Bree smiled gently. “That must be hard.”

“Yeah, it’s been…” I exhaled and shook my head. “It’s been really overwhelming. I run a store nearby and I thought I might be able to keep her involved, but I can’t watch her every second. I’m worried that she’ll hurt herself or forget about something like the stove being on.”