He’s lying on his back, his head cocked to the side, his arm hanging over the edge, absentmindedly holding a bottle of beer that has spilled on the floor.
He looks like hell. Older than I remember, thinner. A shell of the man I saw the last time I was here. He doesn’t even have a beer belly anymore, which tells me beer isn’t fortifying his diet with unhealthy carbs—itishis diet.
His eyes, glassy and red, are vacant. Like he’s seen hell and never forgotten it. He blinks and says the name again.
“Nora? Is that you?”
My throat feels like sandpaper as I struggle to talk to the man who is too far gone to realize I am his daughter, not his wife.
“No, Dad. It’s me. Amara.”
He blinks again, struggling to make sense of my words. “What are you talkin’ about, baby? And where did you go? You went away for so… so long.”
I straighten my shoulders, lift my chin, and let out a small sigh before I walk over to grab the beer bottle from him. At least it won’t make an even bigger mess. “I told you, Dad. I’m not Mom. I’m Amara?—”
When I try to swipe the bottle from him, he grips it hard. For a second, both of us are just holding it, forcing our eyes to meet. He blinks again and lets out a hot, rancid breath before his face screws into a new expression. An expression I know and remember and tried to forget.
Anger.
“What the fuck are you doing in my house?” he mutters, gripping the couch with his free hand to pull himself up.
I yank on the bottle and free it from his hand.
“It’s not your house anymore, dad,” I say as I walk to the kitchen to throw it away. While I’m at it, I grab the empties off the fireplace mantle, the kitchen counter, and the ones he tried and failed to basketball into the trash can.
“The hell it isn’t. I still live here, you don’t.” His voice is getting louder, but I can’t tell if it’s because he’s figured out how to stand up or if he’s just yelling. Bella has made her way outside and is now making herself busy by doomscrolling on her phone.
“You might live here, dad, but Eliza, Gianni and I pay the bills.”
“You send money?” I can practically feel his breath on me. I turn around and he’s standing in the archway of the kitchen, one hand on the frame and the other magically holding a new bottle of beer. Not that I am surprised he has a living room stash.
“For the mortgage, yes. And for my brother and sisters so they can eat and buy clothes and things for school and everything else.”
A gritty grin tugs at his lips, showing off a mouthful of slimy, yellow teeth. “Well, aren’t you just the uptown girl now. Too good for us, I guess.” He brings the bottle to his mouth and takes a swig, then wipes his lips with the back of his wrist.
“I never said that. I just said I send money to help. Them.”
“Of course. Because your daddy never did anything for you, did he? You have no reason to help me any, do you?”
His jabs are sharp, but nothing I can’t handle. I keep my stance, my eyes locked on him. There’s no fear. I stopped being afraid of this man long ago.
“I can’t help you if you don’t want to help yourself,” I say.
“What a line. Sounds like something they’d feed you in college. Or therapy. You go to therapy now?”
I clear my throat. “I’m not here to talk to you. Or see you. I came to check on my siblings and see how bad things have gotten.”
My dad’s eyes narrow into slits as he saunters towards me, taking another swig of beer. I know that look. He’s pissed off and wants to fight.
But I’m not here for that. I’m here forthem.
“To check on your siblings…” he echoes. “And to see if your old man is still a fuck-up?”
“I don’t care what you’re doing. Or not doing. All I care about is them being taken care of, which you are not doing. But soon, they won’t be here anymore.”
“So you’re all going to leave me then.” He stops right in front of me. And I know the next words he is going to say before they even come out of his mouth.
Just…“Just…”
