It’s just me and the slots and flashing lights, me and Gene Wilder in his Charlie and the Chocolate Factory purple jacket and top hat, me and the Oompa Loompas singing across the screen, me and those moving squares of Charlie, his grandpa, peppermint candies, the greedy Augustus Gloop, those golden wild cards. I win, I lose, tell Time to go to hell. I up the bets. And lose. I up the bets again. Damn hot damn! A row of Charlies flanked by two wild cards, confetti and raining candy, a voucher for $5,006.68. I’ll cash in and stop by Ma’s with the news. She’ll shout, “Victory dance, Nadine,” doing some fancy moves with her cane. Ma was a twirler back in the day. I’ll splurge for filet mignon. Baked potatoes with sour cream. Ma’s supposed to be eating more veggies since her heart attack. I sneak them into smoothies. But tonight—fuck vegetables.
Ma’s seizure means she can’t drive. My boyfriend, Brian, snaps at me for being unavailable. “Can’t your mother Uber?” I tell him Uber drivers can’t help Ma into medical appointments. I tell him Ma loves the supermarket. He doesn’t want to hear how we linger in the candy aisle where Ma examines peppermints, Reese’s Pieces, Hershey Kisses, then always puts them back and chooses M&Ms. I ask my sisters to help. But Jillian has three children. Meg is a busy lawyer and a mother. My job is remote and not important like hers. They want me to move in with Ma. This stresses me out so much, I find myself back at the casino, playing the gods. They have the power: Age of Gods, Zeus III, Neptune’s Harem. I’ll win big— enough to get Ma a live-in caregiver.
My sisters come over to discuss switching doctors. Get Ma a proper gerontologist. None of us want to enter that labyrinth. I’m shocked when Meg says she’ll do it. “We’re really grateful for how much you do for Ma.” Jillian says. Then glances at Meg. Who talks again about me moving in with Ma. We argue, and Jillian goes to the kitchen for a snack.
“Time is a luxury,” Meg says, when I complain it’s slipping away. “You have way more of it than Jillian and me. And you’ll have even more time if you move. It’s a good half hour between your apartment and Ma’s.”
Jillian returns to the living room with lemonade and cookies. I leap up, moving the magazines as Jillian sets the tray down on the tiny coffee table. Bam! Lemonade everywhere.
“You know,” Meg says, holding up a dripping magazine, “You’ll actually have more room if you move in with Ma.”
“You always said it worked out better when you spent the night at Brian’s,” Jillian says, munching on one of the few dry cookies.
“But this ruins any possibility of us living together.”
“Honey,” Meg says, “you and Brian have been together five years. Oops, I mean six. That ship has sailed.”
My credit cards advances give me a nice chunk of cash. But not even Zeus prevents my mounting losses, my drained savings. My shame.
On this glorious day at the Farmer’s Market, Brian and me tap our feet to the bluegrass music, admiring the heirloom tomatoes. I love their cracks and bumps, their imperfections. I’ve finally cracked the code to getting Ma to eat veggies: homemade soup. Brian’s coming for dinner tonight. He makes Ma laugh. We don’t see each other as much now that I’m living with Ma. He gets a call so I head to the bakery stand. I can’t resist a chocolate croissant. I’m eating it when he grabs it. “That’s the last thing you should eat with that butt of yours.” He smiles. Then eats it. “For your own good, babe,” he says.
As Ma’s Power of Attorney, I can borrow from her accounts. I do, certain I can win it back. But I get the irony that I’m now in the land of pirate slots: Hooks Heroes, Pirate’s Gold, Skulls Up.
I lose all sense of time living with Ma, especially since I switched to part-time work; I’m no longer included in weekly meetings. Endless appointments for Ma, a new walker, dental problems. The shunt in her brain needs tests. I wake up at night panicked, my hands clenched, clutching the days. Brian breaks up with me. My sisters don’t want to hear about Ma’s memory problems. Jillian visits with the kids, but is never free to take Ma to appointments. When I see the Turks and Caicos pictures Meg posted on Facebook, I feel less guilty about owing Ma
$78,629. Especially since I’m certain I’ll win it back. And more.
After a stroke, Ma’s death is peaceful. A relief. But lord, how I miss her and our silly dances with her walker. The reckoning is coming. That home equity loan I took out on Ma’s house: nearly gone. $170,000. I ignore my sister’s urgent texts and let the casino swallow me, that huge bright, floral-scented dome. Nothing exists but me and my slots. Those beautiful whirring reels. That language of trills, chimes, bells, drums. Klaxons and sirens. I’m back with Willy Wonka for old time’s sake. Back with Willy in a clockless, windowless space surrounded by flickering lights and music and depthless time. It’s unbearable to leave him when I have to pee. I hold it as long as possible, but then the warm liquid drips down my legs just as I enter the restroom. My phone dings with angry texts. I clean my pants with paper towels and water, then flush the phone down the toilet. Tonight, I’m going to be lucky.
