It was silent again. A painful, pulsing silence that he wasn’t sure he could bear filled the space between them. His muscles urged movement. He thought about saying he’d go find Mom for him. But he made himself stay, wait it out, endure the silence.
You gotta sit with it.
Then, seemingly finding it all as torturous as Brodie, his dad said stiffly, “I’m glad you feel like you’re taking responsibility for Zoey, and for yourself.”
This was not the kind of conversation Brodie and his dad had. Brodie was not practiced in how to respond. He feared he’d regress to his childhood self. No. That was over. This was man to man. Father to son.
Brodie watched the older man reach for a glass of water and got up and passed it to him. Emmett took a sip and passed it back. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
Another silence. Then Emmett cleared his throat and said, not without obvious trepidation. “I think all this—” he gestured to the machines and the tubes “—it makes you question things. Makes you think about your life and the people in it.” He paused, took a breath. “You asked me why, when you were a kid, I didn’t do something different.”
Brodie froze, heart suddenly thumping.Please don’t cut me down.
“I didn’t know how, Brodie.” His dad locked him with his big watery eyes. “I knew I was doing a bad job and I would think to myself that next time it happened I would do it differently but I’d get frustrated and, well—” he sighed “—now you know what it’s like to be a father…”
As he spoke, Brodie felt the words like a weight in his stomach, his whole body, his breath, paused as he waited, listened. He saw himself Zoey’s age with a basketball under his arm, imagined if his dad had sat down next to him then and said this.
“I was busy and stressed, and there were six of you!” Emmett huffed a laugh. He took another sip of water.
Brodie imagined himself with six Zoeys, all different. Six different types of Slime chaos. He could barely fathom it.
Emmett sighed and, looking more seriously at his son, said, “I know that’s a poor excuse, but it’s the truth. I could have done better. I know I could. And you were right to tell me so.” He inhaled deep and looked away. When he looked back, he said, “I’m sorry, Brodie.”
Brodie felt the same press of tears behind his eyes that he’d felt when he was Zoey’s age. He swallowed them away, same as he used to, and bent his head, looking down at where his hands were clasped resting on the side of the bed, the tips of his fingers white he was pressing them together so tight. He imagined himself in his Nike high tops with his basketball vest on, hearing this. He’d want to give that kid the same hug—or have his dad give that kid the same protective hug—as he felt the instinct to give Zoey, to make everything better. To make sure, above all else, that she was happy.
He watched, almost in slow motion, as his dad’s hand, a canula in its back, veined and work-tanned, reached over and rested on his own, gripping for a moment before releasing it. Brodie wondered if Emmett had ever touched him like that before, with such apparent affection. It was like an elixir going into his blood, coursing through his body. Taken away too quickly.
“I don’t know you, Brodie,” Emmett said, matter-of-factly.
Brodie shook his head. “No.”
Emmett nodded in regretful agreement. Then gesturing to the monitor to his right where his pulse beat steadily, said, “I appear to have been given a second chance.”
Brodie laughed. “Looks like it.”
“Well, if it’s not too late, I would like?—”
“It’s not too late,” Brodie intercepted with boyish eagerness, unable to actually believe what his dad was saying.
Emmett smiled as much as Emmett ever smiled. “Good.”
Brodie felt it like a punch of emotion in his gut. Had to brace himself with his old quarterback breathing. He knew football had to be good for something later in life.
“So, how is Zoey?” Emmett asked, maybe to give them both a breather from the previous subject.
“She’s good, I think. I need to go see her. I have quite a lot still to learn about being a dad,” Brodie admitted with a self-deprecating laugh.
“You can learn from my mistakes,” Emmett said dryly.
“I think I’ve made enough of my own.”
There was a pause while he felt his dad’s eyes on him, then Emmett said, “You’re doing well with her.”
So surprised by the praise, Brodie wasn’t sure what to say and found himself mumbling, “Thank you.”
He watched Emmett’s eyes crease fondly at the sides. Then he lay back, closed his eyes and said, “You better go see your daughter.”
