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“Of course.” She takes my menu. “And for you, sir?” She turns to my father.
“I’ll have a water as well and the sirloin.”
“I’ll bring your drinks right out and put your order in.” She smiles pleasantly and heads for the kitchen.
I sigh and look across the table at my dad. My leg bounces restlessly with nervousness.
We stare at each other—father and son by blood, strangers in reality.
A minute ticks by, and when he doesn’t say anything, I brush an invisible crumb off the table.
“Tell me why we’re here. I figured after the way things ended on New Year’s Eve that it’d be a whole year before I heard from you. If that.” I level him with a glare. “And yet you’ve called every fucking day—so get to the point.”
“I have cancer.” My blood runs cold. It hasn’t been that long since I heard those words pertaining to my mom. “It’s terminal.”
I blink at him, at a loss for words. “I … What?”
He wets his lips. “It’s pancreatic cancer. They say there’s nothing they can do.”
I don’t feel a lot of love when it comes to my father, but he’s still my dad, and he’s always been there. Even if I fucking hated that fact I knew if I really needed something I could go to him—albeit with my tail tucked between my legs.
“But you look fine,” I say, still stunned.
He gives me a sad look. “Do I? Look closely, Jacen.”
I never noticed it before but his cheeks have become sallow and his eyes have dark circles beneath them. His shoulders are hunched, which wouldn’t be such a big deal for some people but he’s always been a stickler on posture, now it’s almost like he’s grown too weak told his body up.
“H-How long?” I stutter out and force a weak smile when Kelly brings out waters. “How long do you have left?”
“That’s why I wanted to see you …” He pauses, touching his fingers to his lips. “It’s a funny thing, coming to terms with your own lack of invincibility when you’ve spent your whole life projecting that you’re untouchable.”
“How long?” I ask again.
“Two weeks,” he answers with a sad smile. “A month tops, but the doctors aren’t optimistic.”
I feel stunned.
Gutted.
This wasn’t what I was expecting.
“I know I haven’t always been the best father, or husband to your mother, and you might not believe me, but that’s something I regret. You won’t remember much about your grandfather—the one you’re named after—but he wasn’t a very good man, either. Workaholic and violent. He spent the majority of his time drunk. I guess growing up in that rubbed off on me. I didn’t know any other way to be a man. I know it’s not an excuse, but I want to help you understand.” He crosses his fingers together and lays them on the table, leaning forward. “Everything I own is being left to you. You’ll be well taken care of—won’t have to work, if you don’t want to.”
My mouth opens and closes like a fish. I feel lost. Nothing makes sense.
“I’m sorry,” he continues. “I know I just sprung this on you. I guess there’s no good way to say I’m dying.”
“No, there’s not,” I agree.
I can’t wrap my head around how calm he is. I guess he’s had time to accept his inevitable death while I’ve only had moments. If I was him I’d be angry, and throwing shit, and probably yelling at the top of my lungs about how unfair it was. But I guess when you have something worth living for that’s your reaction.
My dad?
He has nothing.
Our food is brought out, but I can’t even look at it.
“I don’t expect you to miss me,” he says, cutting into his steak. “I don’t have that right after the way I’ve treated you. All I ask is …” he pauses, gathering a breath. “Just please come to my funeral.”
