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"I know, I know," I interrupt. "Dad would have a conniption if I didn't get a college degree. You've told me a million times, even when you don't need to."
She smiles warmly at me. "Maybe you'd enjoy it if you had a little more of a social life."
"Mom."
"I'm just saying." She raises her hands in defense before focusing back on the plate. "You're constantly either here or at school. You need some happy in your life."
The urge to run builds inside of me, the same way it always does when we have this conversation. I pull my hands into my sleeves in search of some kind of comfort. Thankfully, my mom can sense the change in my demeanor.
"Just consider it," she says, dropping the subject. "In the meantime, bring this to your dad for me, would you?"
A small grin stretches across my face as I stand up and take the plate from her. The hallway is filled with pictures spanning from my childhood years, all the way up to my high school graduation and the trip we took last summer.
Before it all went wrong.
Before my life crashed and burned.
Before that phone call.
With a light knock on my parents' bedroom door, I can faintly hear my dad welcoming me in, followed by harsh coughs that he claims sound worse than they are. No part of me buys it. The pain in his eyes when he has one of his fits is evident. But if he wants me to believe it doesn't hurt, then that's exactly what I'll do.
My gaze rakes over him as I step inside. I don't think I'll ever get used to seeing him like this, the strong man that I've always looked up to wasting away to skin and bones. His complexion has a grayish cast, and as the muscles have atrophied, the skin has sagged, making him look twenty years older. Even his voice is different.
Brittle.
Frail.
Broken.
The doctor said Stage Four Lung Cancer. The game plan was to hit it with chemo and radiation, but when that didn't work, they turned to clinical trials. Still nothing. Six months to a year, they said.
And so did the second opinion.
And the third.
Until finally, my parents, along with the best oncologists in the country, had to accept his fate.
My father is dying, and no one even told me he was sick until all the treatments failed.
"Is that for me?" he questions with the same loving tone he's always used with me.
I nod and pass him the plate. "Mom made it. She asked me to bring it to you."
He takes a bite and hums in appreciation. "I'll never know what I did to deserve that woman."
The love story my parents have is one for the record books, and one I want for myself one day. They were high school sweethearts, and though my grandparents expected that romance to end after graduation, they were proven wrong. My dad went to my grandfather and told him he wanted to marry my mom. Of course, being eighteen years old and knowing fuck-all about life, my grandfather laughed in his face. But my dad stood his ground, and while neither one of them have ever shared what was said during that conversation, he somehow changed my grandfather’s mind and got his blessing.
They were married the following spring.
"Is that what it takes to be a good wife?" I tease. "Make good sandwiches?"
He chuckles softly. "No, but it definitely helps."
A part of me wonders what my mom will do when my dad takes his last breath. I mean, I want her to be happy, but I don't think I could ever handle seeing her with someone else. It wouldn't feel right. She belongs with him. Today, tomorrow, forever—just like their wedding vows.
"So, how's my future president doing?"
I roll my eyes playfully. "Future president?"
