“They can know the truth.” She turned to me with that expression of fake concern she had perfected. You see, Eleanor, Liam, and I have been talking about your situation, and frankly, it worries us a lot that you live alone in that horrible apartment.
At your age, with your health deteriorating, you could have an accident and no one would know for days. My heart began to beat faster. My health is fine, I said.
But my voice sounded too weak. That is why, Harper continued without listening to me. We have been looking into some places. Assisted living facilities, places where you would be cared for, fed, watched, where you would not be a burden to anyone.
The word burden echoed in the silence that followed. The guests watched us with interest, as if they were watching a play.
A nursing home, I said slowly, feeling the reality of her words hitting me. You want to put me in a nursing home? Do not call it that.
It sounds so ugly. Madison wrinkled her nose with disgust. They are luxury residences, Eleanor.
Places where people of your age can be with others like you. Imagine you would not have to worry about paying rent, cooking, nothing. All inclusive.
Her voice was sweet like poisoned honey. Of course, they are not cheap. They cost around $6,000 a month, but Liam and Harper are willing to make that sacrifice for you.
I looked at my son with a mixture of disbelief and pain that split my chest. Liam, is this true? He finally looked up, but he could not hold my gaze for more than two seconds. Mom, it is just an option we are considering for your well-being.
His voice sounded hollow, as if he were repeating words someone else had put in his mouth. My well-being, I repeated slowly. My well-being is to be locked up in a place with strangers while you live here in this mansion.
Harper set her glass down on the table with a sharp click. Do not be dramatic, Eleanor. We are not locking you up anywhere.
We are offering you a solution. Because let’s be honest, your current life is depressing. You live in squalor.
You work at a job that barely feeds you. You have no friends, no social life. What future awaits you there?
The words hit me like punches. Each one was true, but spoken in a way that made me feel less than human. I did not ask.
I tried to say, but the woman with mahogany hair interrupted me. Oh, poor thing. It must be difficult to accept that one can no longer fend for oneself.
The others nodded with fake compassion, looking at me as if I were a wounded animal that had to be put down for its own good. Madison served herself more food from the center of the table, grabbing the biggest portions shamelessly. Besides, Eleanor, let’s be realistic.
How much longer do you think you are going to be able to keep working? You are 65. Your knees must be destroyed from standing all day.
Your hands must hurt. What are you going to do when you can no longer work, live on the street? I have savings.
I lied. I had nothing. Every cent I earned went to rent, food, and the buses I took to visit my son once a month.
Harper let out a dry laugh. Savings, please, Eleanor. Everyone knows you live paycheck to paycheck.
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