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“It’s barely been a year,” she bit out incredulously. “Learning how to walk with a prosthetic takes time.”
“Yes, and I’m sure it’s going to take him a hell of a lot longer since he refuses to practice by even walking to the kitchen for dinner.”
“Step off, Carmichael. You’re trespassing into an issue where you don’t belong. Besides, you have no room to talk to me about family.”
“I don’t care,” I argued, fueled on by my indignation. After learning of her atrocious living conditions, I wanted to annihilate the source. I hated her situation, and even more, I hated how protective and angry it all made me, like I actually cared and wanted to help.
And nothing made me crosser than experiencing fucking feelings!
Narrowing my gaze on the old man because this was all his fault, I boomed, “He pisses me off.”
“What!?” Gabby cried in outrage. “You haven’t even known him five seconds. How dare you come into my home and judge my—”
“Yes, I damn well will judge him,” I shot back, “without even knowing him a second. Because I can see what he’s doing to you.”
“Me?” she sputtered, shaking her head. “He’s not—”
“I was there on Saturday, remember.”
Her eyes widened with outrage and anger, warning me to shut up.
I kept talking.
“I saw what lengths you were willing to descend to, the risks you were willing to take to help your brother as if you were the only guardian he had. All this time, I had no idea you had a father at home who should’ve been taking on those burdens. Or at least some of them.”
“You have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Oh, I think I have a clue,” I shot back. “More than you realize. It didn’t take me long after watching you bustle around that café today to realize you’re overworked, overstressed, and overtired. You’re bearing more responsibility than any single person should reasonably carry on their own. It blows my mind to realize you’ve had another adult at home who could be doing something to help out, like maybe even minimal cooking or cleaning, but instead he’s just lying there, feeling sorry for himself, and expecting you to wait on him hand and foot.” I pointed a finger toward her scowling father. “I’m sure getting a leg amputated was a traumatic experience. I’m sure it hurts like hell and will take you a massive amount of effort to get back into the swing of things again, but the fact that you’re not even willing to try to overcome your obstacles for your children irritates the fuck out of me. Gabriella doesn’t deserve to take on all the responsibility you’ve abandoned just because—”
When Gabby tried to cover my mouth with her hand, muttering, “Oh my God, shut up!” I blocked her arm.
“No, I will not shut up. I refuse to just stand here and let him use you like you’re—”
“Okay, that’s it,” she yelled, pushing at me until I actually stumbled a step back. “Get out, get out, get out. You are no longer welcome in my home. So leave. Now.”
I shook my head. “What? Do you actually want to keep living like this? Providing for your family all alone? Killing yourself with all the—”
“I want you to shut up,” she roared, her eyes filling with tears as she pointed toward her father. “He is my family. And I love him. So I will continue to do and be whatever I must in order to keep him and Miguel safe and under one roof. You got that?”
“No,” I said honestly. I couldn’t get that at all. Because it wasn’t what I wanted for her. For some reason, I could only handle thinking about her living a life that was full of far less struggles. And I wasn’t going to be satisfied until I got it. “How could I ever comprehend a need for your misery?”
“Well, I don’t care what you comprehend, then,” she muttered, seemingly confused by my answer. “Just leave.”
“No,” Oscar said, lifting a staying hand.
Gabby spun toward him, shocked. “Papá,” she started as if to soothe him.
But he shook his head, repeating, “No. The boy is right. What I’ve been doing to you is wrong.” His old eyes looked sad and defeated when he took her in. “I didn’t even think. I’ve been so self-absorbed in my own misery. You and Miguel—you’ve had to struggle without me. Lo siento. Forgive me, mija?”
“No.” She shook her head, whispering, “Papá, you have nothing to apologize for.”
But he cut in, shaking his head. “Yes. I do. And—and—” He bowed his head before picking up his tray and setting it aside. “I’ll do better. Starting now.”
When he winced and shifted his legs to ease them over the side of the bed as if to stand, Gabby surged forward. “What’re you doing?”
He sent her an irritated scowl. “I’m going to eat in the kitchen, like I should.”
“But, Papá—”
