My head shakes left and right automatically. “That would be a very bad idea.” For more reasons than I could count. It would be way too much. Not at all keeping a safe distance between us. Plus, I can only imagine how traumatized he’d be if she reacted to him the way she does to me. Maybe he’d be lucky and she’d like him more than her daughter, but I wouldn’t risk it.

“Tell me about her then?” He says it like a question. Like he’d really like to know, but is still giving me the choice. It’s something he does often. Giving me the final say on how things will happen, even if he already has something in mind.

I puff my cheeks before letting the air out. Talking about my mom to someone other than her caregivers is always a bittersweet thing. But it’s been a long time since I have, and I don’t want to feel like the memory of the real her is slipping away. It’ll happen eventually, but I want to hold it off as long as possible.

“She is…hard to approach. Always has been.” Her diagnosis has only made things worse.

Aaron cocks an eyebrow.

“Don’t get me wrong, I love her, and she was pretty much my whole life for a long, long time, but she was so…unhappy, sometimes.”

Fingers land on my arm, stroking it up and down. I don’t even think Aaron realizes he’s doing it.

“What do you mean?” he asks.

I scratch my head with my free arm. “Even before she got AD, she was so bitter about life. She had all these things happen to her, and she never recovered. She never wanted kids, and all of a sudden, she had me by herself. She never ended up getting the degree she wanted. She worked at a place she hated for most of her life to pay the bills. And then her dad developed dementia, and she had to take care of him.” The simple contact of Aaron’s fingers on my arm tethers me to the moment. Allowing me to face these facts for what they are: facts.

I pull my lips to the side. “She tried her best with me. We weren’t that close, but I knew she loved me. And even then, it was clear there was always this part of her that was resentful of this life. I think the happiest I ever saw her was actually when she started forgetting who she was.”

That’s such a sad statement to make, embarrassing, even, but I still let it out.

“And do you feel the same way as her?” Aaron asks, focused on me and only me. There’s no judgment in his voice. It’s an honest question he has.