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“Fucked up,” I finish his sentence.
“Yeah, sure. But you have to understand-”
“Fuck that. Don’t tell me what I have to understand. Do you have any idea how fucking selfish you are?” My father is always one to try and weasel his way out of owning up to anything. And even if there wasn’t a bigger picture here, I’d still make a big deal about it. He’s always trying to make everything about him; springing his illness on me on one of the biggest nights of my life is a prime example.
“Are you mad at your carelessness or that I have cancer?” His question ticks in my ear. “Son, I didn’t ask for this disease. But you sure as hell didn’t need to lose control like that. You should be thanking me.”
“For what? For being a fucking hero and saving the day?” I lean in my chair, loosening the tie around my neck as I huff in frustration.
“Everything is taken care of,” he answers as he lights a cigar that he pulls from his stash.
“That’s all you’re going to give me?” I question, getting up from my chair.
He stops as he drags the cigar to and from his mouth, blowing a cloud of smoke into the air. “Callan, this can't get out to anyone. Me being sick is bad enough. But you’re the CEO now, the owner of the business. If this got out...” He trails off and it takes me a second to process what the fuck just happened. I start to realize that all I can do now is move on. What’s done is done, and the sooner I accept that, the quicker I can get the hell out of here.
I get up from my chair and dust off my pants.
“What kind of cancer?” I look toward the hallway with my back turned to my dad as I wait for him to answer.
“Lung,” he says on a sharp exhale.
I scoff as I notice he’s still sucking on his cigar.
“You know,” I start, “you really ought to at least pretend you like your family. Soon, you’ll be laying in a hospital bed and I’m not too sure you’ll have anyone by your side to mourn you while you die.” I imply how much of an asshole he’s been to all of us. “And maybe quit smoking,” I add before walking away. I don’t wait to hear his response because I don’t care.
I pass a family portrait of the four of us hanging on the wall as I stride through the hallway. My mom, my dad, my little sister, Virginia, and I all stand together happily smiling at the photographer. Even my dad has a smirk on his face. Anyone else looking at this photo would see a happy family, but I know it’s just a façade, because eventually we were bound to be broken. You don’t put people like my mom and my dad together and expect happiness. He’s a morally gray asshole, I guess that’s where I get it from. And my mom is a saint. She’s beautiful inside and out. How did these two complete opposites end up together?
I know my mom loves my dad. Why? I’m not sure. I imagine they loved each other at some point but once his business took off, money and success became his top priority. His only priority.
I remember the first time I asked him if I could help out around the dealership. I was desperate to get to know my dad, and as cliché as it was, learn how to be a man. He was hardly home, so it was the only chance I had. I worked on engines with him in the mechanic shop and for once, we’d have actual conversations.
One day I told him about a crush I had on a girl at school. I was nervous but finally built up the courage in hopes that we could bond over something real. He said to me,“That’s not worth your time. Love doesn’t take you as far as money.”And that’s when I knew he’d stopped loving my mom. The older I got, the more like him I became, and now, I fear I’m more like him than I care to admit. He’s a hardworking man, but that’s all there is to him.
I don’t hate the idea of family. But I do hate the idea of sticking around with each other just for the hell of it. There was a time when our family was truly as happy as we looked in that photo. But something changed in us along the way, and it seems like we’ve been playing pretend ever since.
I’m so fucking tired of pretending.
three
Sterling
Myheadispoundingas the harsh light from my phone screen beams onto my face. I immediately drag the brightness down before checking my notifications. Five missed calls, and three new text messages, all of them from Dakota. Except for one text from Mrs. Chen, checking to make sure I got home okay - which I obviously did not - but I don’t have the energy to explain that to her right now.
I’m exhausted and hazy. One glance at the clock on the wall confirms that it’s nearly three in the morning and I feel sick to my stomach.
What the hell just happened? Was it all a dream?
I notice a white envelope out of the corner of my eye and the realization of what actually happened hits me hard. I wasn’t dreaming.
The car. The smoke. The red and blue lights. The hospital. The IV drip still stuck in my arm. The headache. And then there washim. The man in a black and white suit offering up the envelope that now sits at my bedside. He handed it to me and apologized for the hit and run. The entire interaction was clouded by whatever painkiller was running through my veins.
I notice no major injuries on my body, but I feel a scrape above my eyebrow as I run my hands along my face, slowly, fearfully. I see a few small bruises forming on my legs, once I lift the hospital bed sheets.
“Hello, Miss Cooper.” A voice comes from the doorway as a middle-aged, ashy-haired woman in scrubs enters the room. “I’m Jackie, I’ll be your nurse this evening. I’m so glad to see you’re awake,” she speaks with a gentle Australian accent as she pumps sanitizer on her hands, before walking closer to the bed.
“What happened to me?” I ask worriedly. I think I know, but I don’t want to believe it.
“You don’t remember anything?” she answers me with a question.
