Still, I couldn’t stop from asking, “Dad?”
My father disappeared after my parents divorced. About to turn thirteen and still having trouble making friends at school, I was so wrapped up in my own problems. My own life. A small part of me always kind of wondered if it was actually my fault that my family broke apart. I know what happened between them had nothing to do with me, but that didn’t stop the voice deep in the back of my mind from telling me it did.
The day that the divorce was finalized, he was just… gone. I told myself that I didn’t care. That I wouldn’t have wanted him in my life anyway.
“Katerina?” His voice was hoarse, just barely above a whisper.
I wanted to be cold, as firm and unyielding as ice, but when I heard his voice, so weak, fragile. As if I were his last hope for a lifeline to be cast in his world...
I crumbled.
I watch my past self pull my father up and lead him by the arm to a nearby diner. No matter how hard I scream I can’t stop myself, but I still try. Until my lungs ache from it. Until my vocal cords are hoarse and throbbing, and I taste it there already. The rough grit of smoke.
Over a modest meal of a burger and fries, my father told me about his “trials” after my mom left him. His words, not mine. He fell on hard times, lost his job and became depressed. How he couldn’t face his already broken family. And to cope, he turned to alcohol, cloying and sweat. The perfume of rot and death. It wasn’t long before he was on the streets.
That’s where he found Rose.
“At first I was just dealing the drug,” he said. “Trying to make some money to cover my debts and reclaim my life, but it was everywhere. I couldn’t avoid it, and that first time wasmagical.”
And that’s the problem with Rose. The euphoria is too good, too tempting. Just like heroin, the high never lasts. It’s never as good, never as smooth or true. Each time you needjust a little moreto get close.
I took him back to the apartment that I had only just moved into the week before. Fresh with paint, I was able to choose for the very first time. Shabby art I happened to adore, hung exactly where I wanted it. The secondhand couch I fell in love with the second I saw it, with stars and moons embellished into its gorgeous blue fabric.
He spent the first of many nights on that couch. The next morning, I checked him into St. Agatha Hospital for rehab. I visited him every day over the following two months and watched him go from bad to worse as his body passed through the stages of withdrawal. His eyes became dry and bloodshot, his body seemed to wither away before me, but he was on his way to recovery and that was all that mattered.
My life turned into a cycle of daylight, something it had never been before. I woke with the sun, the scent of coffee filling the air as I rushed to get ready and spend a stolen few hours in the clinic. Running to catch the 7:30 bus that would drop me off a few blocks from work. Taking the 5:30 back along the same track, now tinged by the fading light.
My father came back to life and we became close. I told him about my life, all the things he missed seeing when he was gone. Finishing high school. College. Starting my internship at the local library. He asked about my mom and Cooper, and I did my best to answer while being respectful of their wishes. Every day before I left, I made a point of telling him how proud I was of him for getting clean.
We had a small party at Casa Carlos, a local mom-and-pop Mexican restaurant on the west side of town, on the day that my father was released. I invited Cooper, not expecting much. I knew my mom was a long shot. There was too much bad blood between them then, too many trials and love warped. Lost. She saw the best of him. And the worst.
But Cooper came.
The menu jiggled and danced along with his leg as it bounced under the table. His blue eyes darted around, not reading any of it. His blond curls dangled into his eyes and highlighted the purple half-moons lining the sockets. He was working too much, in desperate need of a haircut and a solid eight hours of sleep, but my heart still swelled at having the three of us sitting together again, almost like when we were kids. He never could sit still then either.
“What is it?” Sick of the tension and seeing no way around it, I decided directness was the best way forward.
Cooper’s eyes flashed to mine, tightening almost imperceptibly. For a second, I thought I saw something I hadn’t seen since childhood. Something distant. Almost cruel. There one second, but… gone before I could be sure. Somewhere between heartbeats, his face had shifted, softened.
He shifted his attention away from me, spearing it like a lance into our father. “I’m just wondering how long we have until he’swhoring himself out to the nearest dealer.”
The whole restaurant seemed to go quiet at just the wrong moment. I could feel the blatant stares narrowing in on our table from all directions.
My cheeks burned. “Shut up, Coop.”
“Maybe he’ll whore you out too,” he said, his tone getting louder, more aggressive. “Anything for a fix, right, Dad?”
The walls felt like they were moving closer, crowding people in around us. No one bothered pretending they weren’t listening now.
Anchoring my fingers in the white linen of the tablecloth, I looked at my father and saw my own misery reflected back at me. Watched his shoulders slump inch by inch, and with every inch, my anger grew. I knew he wasn’t perfect. Knew that he had done terrible things in the name of serving his addiction, but he had never done that. Would never do that.
And I just snapped. “This is a celebration, and if you can’t get on board, then maybe you should just get the fuck out.”
Cooper’s face paled. Two rough splotches of crimson appeared high on his cheeks as his eyes pinned me to my seat.
“You’re choosing him over me?” he asked, his voice unnaturally flat and even.
He didn’t give me the chance to respond before bolting without so much as a second glance. His chair tipped over in his wake, and the resounding thud seemed to snap the restaurant out of its stupor. Suddenly, the room was abuzz with conversation and wait staff flitting from table to table.
