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I pull it out of my pocket, but when I see Peggy’s name, I immediately hit reject and toss my phone on the bed. I’ve had a good day. She’s not getting in my ear and ruining it for me. I refuse to let her.
Olivier appears at the top of the stairs, and I ask him, “What’d Jeremy want to talk about?”
My phone rings again just as he’s opening his mouth to answer me. I glare at it—Peggy again—and turn back to Olivier.
“Who is it?” he asks.
“Peggy.”
“Oh. There’s this conversation he’s been pushing me to have with you, and he wanted to ask if I’d had it yet.”
I scowl. “What kind of conversation?” I can’t help it, but the first thought that comes to my head is that he might want to have a threesome, and that will only happen with my cold dead body, so unless he’s into necrophilia?—
“Calm down, it’s not like he wants to have a threesome or anything—relax your face, Jack.”
I approach Olivier and put a proprietary hand on his neck. “What does he want you to talk to me about then?”
Once again, as soon as he opens his mouth, my phone rings.
“Fuck.” I let go of him, on edge, and stalk to the bed, pick up the phone, and bark, “What?”
“Drew?”
“Yes, Peggy. This is the third time you’ve called. It’s me. What do you want?”
“Dad’s in the hospital.” She sniffs. “They don’t think he’s gonna make it this time.”
The sense of impending doom?
Guess I wasn’t crazy.
My stomach drops, and I force in some air. “I’m sorry.”
What I mean by that is I’m sorry I yelled at her. I’m sorry for avoiding her calls. But how she takes it is typical.
“So, you’re saying you’re not coming home. When your father is on his deathbed? Too busy in the city trying to look pretty. Nice, Drew. Fucking perfect.”
I blink in shock. Words won’t form. Without thinking too much about it, I pass the phone back to Olivier who takes it and immediately states, “This is Olivier. What’s going on?”
To be clear, Peggy has no idea who the fuck Olivier is. No one in my family does, but things like that don’t matter to him. I don’t hear much of what’s said, but I do get the sense of him strong-arming the information out of my sister before he hangs up on her.
As soon as the phone is back on the bed, he’s got his hands on my face. His palms are cool. I haven’t moved, and I struggle to focus on his deep blue eyes. “Your father’s in the hospital.”
I nod. Yeah, I got that part.
“And it’s not looking good.”
I nod again, my hands fisted somehow in his shirt.
“You need to go home. Say goodbye.”
I try to swallow. Can’t quite manage it.
“Let me help you,” he says.
I’m not close with my father. I’m one of five. We don’t have a bad relationship; we just don’t have much of one. I speak with my mom more often, and that’s not all that much either.
They have their hands full with the girls and grandkids, and I rarely have anything but bad news to offer, so I tend not to call. It’s not like I’ve done much since moving to New York I’m proud of, and I wasn’t planning on coming out to them until Elodie and Olivier get their marriage annulled.
