I Always Will

Sit Down For This

Row,  Some Days Later

"Okay," I say to my mother for the tenth time. "I understand we're a day ahead of schedule but were not now, because Riley is getting released this afternoon. It needs to be finished. Like now. Just...hurry them okay? I don't want the place in shambles. I want it clean. And neat. And empty. I want all the workers and cleaners gone. And please tell Linda to clear out, too. If she doesn't have time to do the details when the cleaning crew is finished...I'll put the sheets on the bed and worry about dinner. But tell her to make sure the kitchen is stocked. She can run out and do that while the workers and cleaning crew are finishing..."

My mother is completely silent on the other end of the phone.

"Mom! Are you listening?"

"I'm listening. I just can't believe what I'm hearing," she whispers.

"Oh my fucking god, Mom—"

"Calm down. I'm just teasing you, Doodle. You're managing all this so well. I'm very proud of you."

I smile. I'm not really managing it. She's the one, there at Riley's house, pushing the contractor and keeping things running at a breakneck pace, while I'm at the hospital with Riley every day.

I'm grateful for her help. I really am. At the same time, I wonder if she's completely abandoned her job to help me simply because she thinks I can't handle all this.

I can run a stage and a band and even a road crew like a motherfucking boss. I've lived pretty much on my own in New Zealand on and off for years.

Why does everyone think I can't run a household? Just because I've never been interested in that kind of stuff before? Or because I've never had to? My parents never required me and Riley never asked me to do anything but focus on my music or the career that followed from it, but that doesn't mean I can't deal with the practical side of life.

It's not brain surgery. It's not even as hard as getting a record deal. Certainly not as hard as seeing your entire self-image crumble. Or your marriage. Definitely not as hard as seeing a person you love in pain, exhausted, and frustrated with his recovery progress.

Then again, it is a little stressful convincing the contractor to agree to move so quickly with the accessibility modifications at Riley's house. But only because they had to be completed so quickly and because I insisted they be designed for the temporary nature of Riley's needs. I didn't want our...I mean his...house torn up when they rip all the stuff out in a few months. He shouldn't have to bear that additional expense.

He's going to have a fit when he sees the bills from the contractor as it is. Because of the urgency and the custom builds, they didn't come cheap. Hmmmm...

"Hey, Mom? Is Jerry there?"

"Yes."

"See if you can pay him cash for half the bill right now. You know...like under the table? That way, he can modify the invoice. So Riley doesn't freak over the costs..."

I can hear Riley now. Bloody hell, Rowan. These temporary modifications are a full fifth of the property value. You should have consulted me. What were you thinking?

I was thinking the house is a split level and impossible to navigate in a wheel chair without significant modifications. If I had consulted Riley, he would never have agreed to them. He would have made the most practical decision.

He would have confined himself to the lower level, which consists of the smallest of the sitting areas, the bedrooms, and his office. The only modification he probably would have made would have have been the addition of a small refrigerator with snacks in his office or something, because he wouldn't have been able to navigate to the kitchen. Neither would he have been able to make it to the front door. Certainly not to the terraced outdoor living areas, the uppermost of which has a gorgeous overlook of LA, especially at night.