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16
Sebastian
I sat at the back of a small room in a fold-out chair. An entire squadron of elderly men and women were terrorizing a young kid who was manning the buffet line. The dress code was slippers, bath robes, flower-print gowns, and even an itchy looking tux, in one case. It was bridge night at the retirement home, and my grandfather never missed it. Unfortunately, I was also present for this madness about once a month.
Yes, I’d fibbed a little when I told Kenzie I was meeting business partners in Philly.
Unfortunately, I came often enough to know most of these maniacs by name. The two sisters with matching poofs of curly white hair and pink bath robes were Cheryl and Meryl Waterson. According to my father, they had great asses. I’d made a point of never checking, so I couldn’t confirm or deny his claims.
The man in the itchy tux was currently whispering to anyone who would listen that they’d poisoned the food. His name was Jorge, and he’d served himself up a heaping plate of “poison” food. He claimed the only reason he hadn’t lost himself to dementia from the poison was because he strategically built up a tolerance to it over time. To him, everyone else had already fallen victim.
It was a regular cast of characters, but I only came to keep an eye on dad. He had on one of his many motorcycle themed t-shirts, probably from a show he’d gone to years ago. He was a tall, broad man who’d been bent over by age, but still held on to his imposing aura. We had a strained relationship, to say the least, but I still made an effort. I knew my mom would’ve wanted me to, and that mattered.
“You came,” he said gruffly. He sat down across from me at a long cafeteria style table, pulling up a fold-out chair for himself and letting his plastic tray clatter down in front of him.
“No girlfriend?” He knew the answer, but he still made a point of darting his eyes around as he shoveled a plastic spoonful of rice in his mouth. “You know people are gonna start to wonder if you’re a sausage man,” he said. He grinned when he realized he had a pair of sausages on his tray. He speared one with his fork and held it up to me. “Not that there’s anything wrong with a little sausage. I’m just saying what people might think. A guy like you? No girl on his arm?” he bit the sausage in half, then shrugged innocently. “People might wonder.”
“I have other things to worry about,” I said.
He blew me off with a dismissive wave of his hand. “You know you don’t have to come so often. I’m not going to choke on a hotdog or some shit. Although you might, if you keep this up—”
I shook my head at him as he barked out a laugh at his own words.
“I’d feel better if you came and stayed with me. Look at the shit they have you eating,” I said, motioning to his tray. He had still refused to so much as visit the house I’d bought with my earnings from Embers. It was psychological warfare on his part, and we both knew it.
“This shit is delicious.”
“I don’t want you wasting away in a place like this. Not like…” I trailed off.
My dad’s only soft spot was for his late wife. His expression went gentler, and he pursed his lips, choosing his words before he spoke. “You and I both regret that the end went the way it did for your mother. But I was there every day. It was the disease that got her, not the place.”
“I just wonder,” I said. “If we’d had the money to get her the care she needed at home, if maybe—”
“I’m not sick, Sebastian. I’m old, I can’t always make it to the shitter when I’ve got to piss anymore, and some days my damn knees hurt so bad I can’t be bothered to stand up and cook a meal. I don’t need your help,” he said. He managed to add a cruel twist of his mouth to that last part, as if he was implying I wouldn’t be able to provide it, anyway.
I sighed. This had become a recurring conversation over the last four months, but I could tell my dad was getting more annoyed every time it came up. I was near the point of giving up, but I still clung to how he was before we lost mom. He hadn’t been as bitter or as mean. I often wondered if he’d come out of this phase eventually—if maybe it was worth holding on for longer. But he made it challenging.
I threw my hands up in defeat. “Well,” I said. “I’m not actually going to stay for bridge tonight. I’ve got a thing to handle back home.”
