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We’re still waiting on test results that seem like they’ll never arrive. I fear the worst—cancer. Fletcher hates when I say that, but it’s a possibility. My grandfather, who I never met, died of cancer and the threat has always haunted dad like a specter. It’s why he cared so much about his health. This isn’t fair. I don’t need him to be the same old dad, I just want him to make it.
We still don’t know how this happened to him. He’s an ex-bodybuilder health nut who never drank or smoked my entire life. It’s not like anyone deserves to get sick, but how can it be my dad, you know?
He dedicated his entire life to caring for me and he never complained once about missing out on hunting trips, Saturdays with the boys, or late night gym sessions with Fletcher when I needed help with school projects. He was always there for me so now, I’ll be there for him. Doing SUNY Binghamton classes online gives me some purpose, but it’s hard to give a crap about college knowing this is all the time I might have left with dad.
He’s all I have. Losing him would rip me to shreds.
I hear him give a hacking cough from his bedroom again as I wash my hands and putter around the house tidying up while he sleeps. After several minutes, there’s no more sound from my dad’s bedroom but snoring. He snores loudly, and it sounds like he’s sleeping through my greetings and stomping around the house, which means he probably won’t ask too many questions about church and he won’t ask if I saw Fletcher there. I don’t want to talk about Fletcher today, especially considering he saw fit to butt into my life today.
Fletcher has no business getting involved in my dating life. He’s my dad’s friend, not my step-dad, my second father, or a freaking older brother. I think he can’t mind his own business because he’s a cop and they like to stay in everybody’s business.
I don’t understand why Fletcher can’t leave me and Rob alone. He doesn’t understand that we have a connection. Just because Rob isn’t ready to admit how he feels about me doesn’t mean the connection isn’t there.
Fletcher thinks because he’s older and has more life experience he knows everything. If he knew everything… Why doesn’t he have a girlfriend? What kind of guy in their 30s and living in a town like this hasn’t settled down already? What the hell is he waiting for exactly?
At least I have enough self-awareness to know that if you don’t lock it down by twenty in a crap town with few options, you’ll be stuck as the eternal side piece or worse — die alone. My dad thinks I’m being dramatic about this, but I’m not. Modern romance is hell on earth, especially as a black woman in an area where guys didn’t grow up viewing you as a dating option because they’ve barely seen any black women at all…
I walk over to my dad’s bedroom after I’m done tidying the house and knock on the door. He lets out another terrifying hacking cough. I hate hearing him sound like this but I’m just happy that he is still alive. He has an appointment in a couple weeks. By then, we should have more answers about this medication he’s taking and whether that cough will ever go away. In the back of my mind, I know it could be something more serious. It could be cancer. Dad doesn’t want to say that out loud, but I’ve never had the privilege of ignoring the fact that the worst that could happen, could happen. I already lost one parent – I could easily lose the other one.
When I knock on the door, I rouse him from sleep finally, and he calls to me. I slide the door open a little and ask how he slept.
“I’m fine. I slept okay,” dad says, sitting up and groaning a little. He’s not his usual self, and he doesn’t look like he slept at all, but once he sees me in the doorway, he tries to put on a proud and healthy looking face. I remember growing up with a dad who could lift more weights than Fletcher. Now, he’s lost 20 pounds of muscle, and it’s very weird seeing my big, strong father look skinny.
He asks the same question he always asks, “How was church?”
“Church was fine,” I tell him, trying to remember something from the homily I can say to prove I was listening and not just dreaming about Rob’s silky hair.
Dad doesn’t ask questions about the homily. “Did you see Fletcher?”
Ugh, seriously? I would much rather talk about the Bible verses. Dad would have enjoyed the passage from Matthew. But no, he wants to talk about his best friend. He spent half their friendship calling Fletcher that “punk ass white kid” but their bond has only become stronger since I was a kid. I think dad worries about Fletcher almost as much as he worries about me, which is saying something.
I nod in response to my dad’s question. Yes, I saw Fletcher. I always seem to see Fletcher, which is a part of what makes him so fucking annoying. Do you know how hard it is to date in this town when your dad’s best friend is a cop and not just any cop, a Sweeney cop? They’re one of the most well-connected families in a small town where stupid stuff like that matters. Guys are too afraid to talk to me most of the time and it gets lonely since there aren’t that many guys willing to bring a black girl home to their racist family around here.
I try not to get all bent up out of shape about it, but it doesn’t make dating and romance any easier.
“Use your words,” My dad chides gently.
“Yes, daddy. I saw him.”
I really don’t want to talk about Fletcher. I’d rather make my dad some soup and go to my bedroom to stalk Rob Wheeler online. I wonder if he’s going bowling tonight. Maybe I should go bowling and I can run into him. Maybe he’ll smile at me. Acknowledge me…
My father continues pestering me about Fletcher’s annoying ass. “What time did he say he would stop by?”
“Later,” I mutter. I don’t remember if I spoke to Fletcher about stopping by and I’m busy plotting on the bowling alley. I can’t exactly go bowling alone, but I know Michelle has a date night with Duke and Christine hasn’t answered her texts in about a week. She started a new nanny job with some rich weirdo named Kane Strangeway who just moved to town.
“Okay,” dad says. “I have no appetite, so you can skip the soup today.”
“Dad, don’t be crazy. You’ve barely eaten today. I’ll whip something up. It’s no problem.”
“I’m not hungry,” he insists. I get my stubbornness from him, but I hate his stubbornness at the same time.
“You need to eat.”
“Yeah. Yeah. Whatever you say,” he grumbles. I hope that’s him giving up. I walk away before he can argue more about lunch. The nurse was very clear that he’s not allowed to skip meals. He’s already lost too much weight and the doctors can’t even give us an answer about what’s wrong with him yet.
I’m scared. He’s the only person I’ve got and I don’t want to lose my father. There’s nothing like the terror of losing the only person you’ve got except actually going through it, I guess. That would be so much worse.
I wipe away tears while I make the soup and my phone buzzes in my pocket, providing a welcome distraction. It’s a message. From Rob. I open it and in the privacy of my kitchen, I can’t lie to myself about my devastation.
