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“Darling, it’s not like she won’t find out, but this is one of those situations where I prefer asking for forgiveness rather than permission.” He pats the spot beside him and I sit down.
He drapes his arm over my shoulder and I lean in, relishing the comfort of his warmth. I should be the one comforting him, but right now I need to take as much as I can give.
Despair swims at the edges of my mind and I’m pushing it away, but it’s leaking through, darkening my already pain-tainted soul.
I don’t want to treat him like a sick person. He deserves to go through his treatment with as much dignity and comfort as I can provide. And more.
“I know commuting after your therapy is not a good idea, but you can’t just leave your wife.”
“I’m not leaving her. I just don’t want her to fuss. I don’t want to get into discussions about the best possible solution. If you’ll have me, I want to be here, at least for the time being. You know the other option is inpatient treatment, and I would rather spend my last days close to my daughters.”
“Don’t talk like that.” I straighten up and frown at him.
He chuckles. “Okay, if we want to pretend I’m invincible, we can.” He kisses my forehead.
His phone buzzes and he braces himself to stand up, but I leap forward and grab it from the table. With a shaky hand, he declines the call.
“Who was it?”
“Bianca.” He looks away and fidgets with his phone before pushing to a standing position. He shuffles to the sink. Opening the cupboard, he retrieves a glass and turns on the faucet to fill it.
It’s a simple task, but it feels like the clock moved at least a quarter of an hour forward by the time his lips touch the edge of the glass.
It takes all my willpower not to help him. I stay seated until the glass shatters on the floor.
“It’s okay. Don’t move, Dad. Let me clean it up first. Do you need to sit down?”
Resigned, he supports himself on the counter while I collect all the shards.
“I’m sorry, darling, I’m just feeling weak after yesterday’s radiation. I promise I won’t be so clumsy all the time.”
Jesus. He’s apologizing for being sick. “Dad…” I don’t even try to hide my exasperation. “If you want to stay here with me, you’re going to let me take care of you. I will work from home as much as possible, I will get Syd and Paris to help. And I will get a nurse, but you have to be a good patient and let us help you.”
I can see the war in his eyes. He might be reduced to a shell of the man he used to be, but he is not ready to surrender. His self-assured poise, a trait I’ve always admired, is taking a hit.
I hate this situation. I hate seeing him like this. I hate that we have to even deal with any of this. Hate. Hate. Hate.
He doesn’t answer, and out of respect I don’t press for his commitment to let us in. He’s been struggling enough. We’ll figure it out. Even if all my glasses are destroyed by the end.
“Why didn’t you answer Bianca’s call?” I ask after he’s settled back in my guest room, propped on the bed with his book.
“She doesn’t know I came to the city for the treatment. She’s already suspicious about me wanting to spend the night here, and the woman has an overdeveloped sixth sense. She would know over the phone this wasn’t a casual visit.”
“Dad, I thought she knew about your illness.” Seriously, taking care of a parent might be as challenging as taking care of a child. Not that I would know.
Dread washes over me. How am I going to deal with this? I couldn’t even keep a hamster alive when I was a child.
This apartment is so small. Where will I cope with all these overflowing emotions? I don’t want to treat him with pity, but the only emotion left after that is frustration. Shit.
And the last time I used the hallway, hiding my breakdown from Dad… I can’t use it anymore, because the hotshot next door seems to be there every time I need to vent.
Hotshot? Jesus. I need a day at the spa to find my groove.
It doesn’t help that I haven’t slept well since he left my kitchen three nights ago. His closeness was robbing me of my composure. I don’t get into situations where I lose control. In my neighbor’s presence, I’m already questioning my sanity.
I’ve been ignoring the disappointment that crept in after he shut the door behind him. How dare he judge me? I have good reasons not to get attached to people. I help where I can, but I don’t get personal with… with anyone.
People come and go. I don’t need to be affected in the process. Yet it pisses me off that Dominic called me on it. He latched onto the topic with his mockery and fucking disbelief. I know the doorman just fine. I won’t apologize for giving all my attention to people in the hospice. That’s all the loss I can cope with.
