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“Only because you have to be here. Anywhere else, and you’d be dead.”
Another grimace, and he goes quiet. I take a few breaths to calm myself. Getting mad at him won’t help, and I don’t want to spend our last days together pissed off. This isn’t fixing anything.
My dad’s an asshole. He’s a piece of shit, most of the time.
But he’s still my dad, and he’s dying, so I might as well get over it. I said what I wanted to say, stood up for myself a little bit, and now I can move on.
Dad clears his throat and looks at his fingernails. “My partner’s name is Saul White. That’s the one bit of information I held back from Costa. My partner’s actual name.”
“Oh.” I tilt my head, frowning. “Why are you telling me?”
“You can choose what to do with it. Tell Costa, keep it to yourself, I don’t care. It’s yours now. I’m done. That’s all I have left to give you.”
I chew my lip. Dad’s always got another angle, but I can’t read this one. Maybe just trying to make peace between us, I don’t know.
“We want to help you. At least, I want to help you, and Erick’s going along with what I need for a while.”
“You two really care about each other, huh? This isn’t some Stockholm syndrome thing?”
I laugh, unable to help it. “I mean, it might be that, or it might’ve started out that way. But no, it’s real.”
“You’re happy?”
“Yeah, Dad, I’m happy here. I’m happy with him. He appreciates me and he loves my art. It’s kind of amazing.”
“Good. That’s really good.”
“I don’t know what’ll happen between him and me, I really don’t, but I feel like I’ve been too scared to take real chances my whole life. You know what I mean? I watched you do nothing but take risks, and it sort of scared me into being good.”
“Probably for the best. My life hasn’t been all that amazing, if I’m honest. Lots of pain, lots of hurt people.”
“True, but I think I went too far. I was hiding at that paint and sip place, working for crappy money, barely creating art for myself because I was just too scared of failure. But I’m not scared of it anymore.”
He nods and looks content. “I’m happy then. Sounds like you’re in the right place.”
“You did the right thing too, reaching out to me.”
“At least it gave us a little time to say goodbye, huh?”
“Sure, Dad. I’m glad we got that.”
“Me, too, hon. Me too.”
We lapse into silence. I sit with my father, staring at the landscape, finishing my lukewarm tea, feeling sad, angry, strange, but comfortable. It’s good, having him here, and it’s good to talk about Erick with someone. I’ve kept that all to myself, and now it’s out in the world, which is a strange relief.
I don’t know how I feel about my father, and I don’t know how to save him. If there’s anything I could do to give him more time, to let him die on his own terms, I’d do it. Even if that meant painting another dozen forgeries, even if it means giving up a piece of myself, I’d make it happen.
But I can’t think of any way to save him. Not without causing a war.
It’s awful, but I try to push it from my mind. I try to be present, with him, enjoying what we have left. Even if my dad was an awful father and was nothing but trouble, I still love him, despite everything. He tried, in his own twisted way, he really did try.
“Hey, Dad? I love you.”
“Love you too, kid. And I really am sorry for all this.”
“Yeah, I know. It’s okay. I mean, it’s not, but I’m in a forgiving mood.”
“Lucky me.”
