I was eleven. It was sudden. Any source of womanly mentor or motherly understanding died with her. When one parent dies, some parents jump into action and take on both roles for their children. My father wasn’t able to do that. When Mom took her last breath, he wept for hours and hours and completely lost himself. I took care of my sisters from that very moment onward. I didn’t get to mourn. I went straight into mothering mode. I lost my identity before I was a teenager. I existed for them instead.
It never changed. I took care of Serena and Anya, and when I had the time, I took care of Dad. I had no time to take care of myself, and nobody was around to do that for me. Dad busied himself with everything but his kids. He found it hard to look at me specifically, probably because I have her eyes and the same shade of red hair. I think I was a harsh reminder of what he lost. Instead of looking at it positively, realizing that he could see the woman he loved more thananything, each and every day through his child, he hated that he had to.
There came a time when I had to start choosing myself, but in a way, I am still choosing them. No matter what, I’m always choosing them. Dad got sick when I turned eighteen. He was diagnosed with Lou Gehrig's disease and as he sat us down to explain it, I realized we were screwed. He wasn’t going to be able to work, and he was eventually going to die, just like Mom had. We would have nothing. Just the house that he managed to pay off.
At least he did one thing right.
I went to nursing school back home in Maine. When I finished, Dad was still around. I hadn’t expected him to be. My sisters went on with their lives. They did their school work, they dated boys, they called me at two in the morning for drunk rides home. They got to be kids, and I had become their parent.
I made sure they were keeping up with their classes in high school and college, I grilled those boys they dated, and I got my tired butt out of bed to pick them up while they puked in a grocery bag the whole way home and apologized through tears.
They had become entirely reliant on me.
So had my father.
I was drowning.
The girls didn’t know how to be independent because they never had to be. The world changed when Mom left it, and I was so desperate to protect them that I trained them to needmefor everything instead. So, I applied for nursing jobs in other cities and I left, just like that. I barely gave them any warning before I fled.
Serena was freshly twenty-one. Anya wasn’t even twenty yet. Still, I ran. I left them to care for our dad while I mademoney for them to do so. To me, it was the perfect compromise. The best thing for all of us.
I needed distance. Not from them, but fromhim.
They needed money. I could help with that now.
It’s very hard to care for a person who can’t look at you. It’s difficult to be the sole caregiver for someone who resents you as deeply as he does me. It’s inexplicably painful to love a person who can’t stand the sight of your mother’s face when you’re growing into a different version of it.
It all broke me a bit, way back then. I never really figured out how to put those pieces back together. My body just healed itself around those wounds that still exist and I learned to live with the lingering pain.
Serena works at a law firm as a clerk. Anya is a hairstylist who does well enough for herself. They help with the bills as best as they can, but Dad’s illness is expensive. The word ‘expensive’ doesn’t seem to encapsulate the costs well enough. Taking care of him is taxing, both financially and emotionally. Since I left them to deal with his physical and emotional care, I pay for most of his medical costs.
It’s a bit messed up, isn’t it? The one child who has a career in medicine, who helps sick people each and every day, refuses to care for dear old Dad?
I know it is. You’re welcome to judge me for it. Just remember thatyoudidn’t have to grow up in that house. I did.
He’s still beating the odds. He’s still kicking. It’s been a decade, and he’s still here. As his doctors say, he’s a fighter.
Whitney is staring at me, her face morphing into concern.
“It’ll blow over, Arden,” she assures me. “It always does for these guys. They get away with tons of stuff just because they can skate. A punch is not the worst thing a famous man has done.”
The good ol’ system that we loathe. Men are allowed to beawful because they’re talented, or powerful, or because they make a lot of money and have the right connections.
In this case, I hope the ass-backward system is still in operation. Just this once.
I nod, leaning into my hand. “You’re probably right.”
“IknowI’m right.” She glances toward the doors to the ER, which are now opening. She shakes her head in disbelief. “Time for Nancy to move on out of here.”
I follow her gaze and break out into laughter.
Cooper is the one who lifts his hand to wave, a smile on his mouth. He winks at us, a gesture we both understand the moment we spot who he brought with him. Two more nurses. Both men. Both muscular and pretty cute. The exact people who Nancy will allow to take her out of this unit and into another without losing her mind.
Her penises have arrived.
CHAPTER SIX
carter
