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familiar and he said it felt like Mom.
    Mom died so suddenly there were no good-byes.
    And Andrew . . . he did say good-bye. He’d kissed me, so very sweetly, before I drove off to get the ice cream.
    Damn him.
    He didn’t even give me a chance to fight for him.
    I had no idea that such a kind man could be so cruel.
    • • •
    S unlight pours through the windows waking me. I hadn’t drawn the curtains last night, and I open my eyes, bemused. Everything is foreign. The windows, the light, the pale grass green walls.
    And then I remember.
    Mom and Dad’s.
    Well, Dad’s.
    I’ve only just woken up but I suddenly want to cry. I want Mom.
    And then I can’t do it, can’t bear being sad, thinking thoughts like this. I’m almost thirty. It has to change.
    I toss back the Pottery Barn duvet cover with its green-and-white botanical fern print fabric. There are matching towels in the master bath. Dad didn’t take any of them to his new apartment at Napa Estates. He took the old sheets and towels, the ones that he’d shared all those years with Mom. Dad might keep me at arm’s length but I’ve never doubted his loyalty to Mom.
    I shower and search the kitchen for coffee. There is none. There is no food in the house at all. Even the Tupperware containers of flour and sugar and salt are gone. The house is ready to be sold. I have no idea why Dad is hanging on to it.
    • • •
    I haven’t been to Napa Estates Senior Living since December when I flew up to spend the holidays with Dad. Last December I’d made all these plans for us and our first Christmas without Mom. I’d imagined that Dad would come “home” to the house on PoppyLane, and we’d have a small, intimate Christmas, the two of us. I’d gone and done a big shop and had even purchased a small tree and decorated it. But when I went to the retirement home I was dismayed by his reaction.
    He wasn’t in college and had no desire to go anywhere for “the holidays.” I was welcome to join him for meals and activities at Napa Estates, but there wasn’t going to be this cozy family Christmas. He had no desire for a family Christmas. Not without Mom.
    I cried in secret. I was hurt. And confused.
    Dad wasn’t the only one who’d lost Mom. I’d lost her, too. And Andrew. I’d lost two people and now it seemed as if I’d lost Dad as well. He didn’t feel any need to be a family with me. He didn’t want or need the traditions. He didn’t want or need the past. I didn’t like his idea of the future . . . not for us.
    I still don’t.
    As I park at Napa Estates today, it reminds me all over again of a sprawling, swanky country club in the South. The green lawn flanking the columned main “house” is so perfect I’m tempted to see if it’s real. The building’s glossy white paint and pale cedar shingles contrast nicely with the sparkling large multi-paned windows that show the elegant, gleaming lobby, with its high ceiling and pale, low-pile carpet—suitable for both wheelchairs and walkers.
    Mom and Dad had looked at a lot of retirement homes in Sonoma County before choosing Napa Estates as their future home. They liked that the facility had a couple tennis courts and a large swimming pool even though they never played tennis and rarely swam. It was the idea of having the facilities there, just as they liked Napa Estates’ dining room, large gym, library, and movie theater, plus the monthly meetings for Bridge Club and Book Club and Wine Club.
    Napa Estates wasn’t just a “place” for seniors, but a community. Their brochure boasts that they create a “microcosm of societythat brings successful, mature adults together, recognizing their strengths and gifts.” I think the language of the brochure is a little overwritten but back in December I was impressed with how the retirement home has been designed to cater to all stages of senior living—independent living, assisted living, and memory care—with its focus on healthy living. I admire their