“I’m a match. I came here to tell you that. I have to figure out a support system for after the surgery. Once I do that, we can get the surgery scheduled. You’ll be okay.”
“Will we?” he asks. “I don’t care about you being a match. I only want to have a normal conversation with my son.”
I swallow the emotion in my throat. “I don’t know if I can do that with you. I’ve never done that with you. I’ve never been able toconfide in you. I’m not saying this to hurt you, I’m not. I’m only stating the obvious.”
He raises a hand to stop me from talking. “I know that. I know. I deserve everything you have to say. Everything you feel.”
“You do. What about you? Who’s your support system after this? Do you have anyone?”
“Don’t worry about me. You’ve done that long enough.”
“You have to have someone helping you, Dad. The recovery isn’t something that can be done alone.”
“I won’t be alone. I have a friend, Matt. I’ve already called him. He’s on his way here, actually.”
“Matt…” I try to think about whether I know him or not.
“You don’t know him. He’s my sponsor.”
I snort. “He’s done one hell of a job.”
“It’s not his fault. I left. I’ve been on my own for a while. He hasn’t heard from me in six months.”
That sounds just like him. That’s what my dad does. He leaves. He’s the best at that, and after years and years and years of this, I know what’s going to happen. He’s going to get this transplant, leave, and go right back to his bad habits.
“I’m going to give you a section of my liver,” I say calmly. “But my decision remains, Dad. After this, we’re done. My life is no longer your concern.”
“Elias, please, don’t do this. Please. I know before when you said you were done, you were mad, and you have every right to beupset with me. You have every right to hate me. I want to work this out. I want to be a father to you. I want to know your life.”
Martin Carrington. Wanting to know about my life.
Those are words I’ll never be used to hearing.
“I don’t know, Dad. I don’t know if I can do that.”
He reaches out for me, desperation welling in his tired eyes. “Wait. Don’t go. Not like this. Please. Please, I’m begging you. I know I haven’t been a good man. I know I haven’t treated you like I should, and I’m not asking for your forgiveness. I have done and have said unspeakable things.” His voice wavers with emotion. “And you didn’t kill your mom. You aren’t the reason why she died.” He breaks, sobbing.
I can’t tell if he means it. I can’t tell if he’s telling the truth.
What do I do? After years of our relationship being beaten into the ground and broken, I’m not sure if I can take a leap of faith. Believing in him always ends up hurting me or leaving me with a black eye. Believing in him means months or years of not hearing from him. Believing in him leads me to wondering if he’s dead or not.
I don’t know if I have any belief left.
“I spent years blaming you,” he says. “I’ve said horrible things that I’m sure have damaged you in ways that can never be fixed. I’m so sorry. I want some type of relationship with you, Elias. Any kind. I’ll take anything.”
“And then what?” I whisper through my own watery eyes. “Then, you leave again? You get drunk again? You barge into my workplace and hit me in front of my coworkers again? You won’t talk to me for years again?”
He shakes his head. “No. No. I’m done with that. I’m done drinking.”
“I’ve heard that before.” I tilt my head back, staring up at the ceiling. “I’ve heard all of this before.”
“I know, but this time, I mean it. I’ll go to meetings. I’ll do rehab, if that’s possible after a transplant. I think I can still go when I’m healed, right? I’ll do anything. Anything,” he pleads, his cheeks wet with tears.
The last time I saw him cry was when Mom died.
“I’ll think about it. I have to go check on my patients.” I try to leave when he stops me again.
“Tell me one thing about you, please. Is there anyone in your life? After all this time after your ex-wife? You don’t deserve to be alone, Elias. I do. I deserve to be alone, but not you.”
