Chapter Fifteen
Assa
Assa stood at the counter of the tiny kitchenette in his father’s room. The assisted living facility had two separate wings for residents based on the level of care required. For now, Papa resided in the section for those who could mostly handle their own needs, so his room included more amenities.
After making a dozen peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, Assa stacked them carefully in the small fridge. Although he’d lived there for two years, his father still had no friends and hated eating in the communal dining area.
“Alright, Papa. There are enough here to last you a week. There are also grapes and apples, and I put some of those crackers you like on the shelf.”
Seated stiffly in his recliner, Papa snuffled. He had a cold that had lasted the better part of a month. The nurse told Assa over the phone yesterday that he was also struggling to handle some of his basic hygiene. He’d need to move to the other section of the facility soon.
Assa squeezed his eyes shut, dreading the conversation. But that was a problem for future Assa. Current-day Assa wouldn’t be seeing his father for a while.
“I don’t see why you have to be gone for a month,” Papa said. “That’s some ungrateful bullshit, is what that is. I’m still your father.”
Assa raised an eyebrow at him. “Are you trying to tell me you’ll miss me?”
“’Course not,” Papa sputtered. “I’m just saying…”
Assa took it as a win that his father couldn’t think up an insult to finish the sentence. A few years ago, he would have replied with some razor-sharp jab.
Papa was annoyed that Assa hadn’t given him a specific reason for his planned absence, only a vague explanation that he had family matters to attend to.
But that obtuse answer would have to be enough. Assa did not intend to enlighten him, since Papa would undoubtedly have plenty of negative things to say if he knew the real reason.
Assa had promised Wes that, for the next month, his sole focus would be on the adoption process. They had meetings set up with several agencies, and each had reported promising prospects for the couple.
Wes had been concerned about Assa balancing those obligations with visits to his father, and the potential for Jeral to level him with one of his bad moods or insults. Assa agreed that Papa could survive without his company for a while, and that this phase of the process—although stressful—should be a joyful time for them to navigate without commentary from his asshole father.
“I’ll be back soon enough,” Assa said. “And the nurses will call if there’s an emergency.”
Papa hmphed as he slumped into his chair. “At least I won’t have to listen to your boring work stories.”
Assa rolled his eyes. His father had been a lineman and was suspicious of any white-collar profession. Assa had asked him multiple times what he thought the world would do without doctors and lawyers and bankers. Papa stubbornly stuck to his belief that men who didn’t work with their hands were weak, no matter their gender. He never wanted to hear about Assa’s job at the university. Earlier, Assa tried talking to him about the genetics project he was working on. Papa had pretended to snore. So Assa put on an old western, and they watched without conversing until he got up to make the sandwiches.
On balance, it wasn’t an awful visit. His father’s barbs had been minimal, half-hearted at best. Assa supposed it was a sign that his dad was slowing down. But if Papa’s decline made him easier to be around, he would take the silver lining.
After saying goodbye and receiving a surly “whatever” in reply, Assa left. But instead of going directly to the parking lot, he walked to the other side of the facility, where the residents who required continuous care lived.
The last time he visited this part of the building was when he’d signed his father’s intake paperwork. It was strange to think that Papa would need to live here soon.
These corridors were quieter. The muffled sounds of TVs on low volume drifted into the hallways along with the beeping of monitors.
There was a large common room, anchored by a fireplace and furnished with couches, tables, and chairs. A frail-looking alpha and an equally delicate omega sat at the only occupied table, conversing over mugs of tea. Both were in wheelchairs.
Assa recalled from his original tour that most of the residents on this side dealt with mobility issues, and many were confined to their rooms. He wondered how long before that would be his father. The incongruity of contemplating his parent’s end-of-lifesituation while planning to start a family with his husband did not escape him.
He walked toward the lobby, heading for the exit. But as he passed, the elderly couple waved at him.
Assa paused, then waved back.
The alpha gestured for Assa to sit with them.
“Are you okay, son?” the man asked, his voice rough and weathered. “You look a little lost.”
It had been a long time since someone had called Assasonwith any degree of genuine concern. He swallowed down the tightness in his throat.
“Not lost. Just sort of picturing what it will be like when my father moves here. He lives on the other side now, but the time to transition is getting close.”
