Whenever I doubted myself as a mother, I thought of her. Tried imagining how she would’ve handled a loud, energetic little boy with a mind of his own. It didn’t stop me from wishing she was still here.
But it made me feel less alone. Less afraid.
The motor in my father’s bed whirred to life, snapping me back to the moment.
“What are you smiling about?”
I startled. Not just because he’d spoken, but because there was no bite to it. No malice. It was the first thing he’d said that didn’t feel like an invitation to argue.
“A few things, actually.”
“I bet.” His mouth twisted. “Can’t wait to get rid of me, can you?”
My smile cracked, and with it, my heart. “What?”
“It’s okay, James. I don’t blame you. I’m a ripe old asshole. Rotten to the damn core. Me being gone will be a blessing. For you and for me.”
And just like that, the calm I’d been holding evaporated.
I should’ve known his civilized approach was just a smokescreen. He’d always liked luring me out into the open so he could cut me down with his hateful words. Even when the negativity was aimed at himself, he had a way of mocking me with it.
Still, he was talking, and maybe that was better than being punished with silence.
“Blessing?” The word burned on the way out. “You think this is a blessing? Sitting here, watching you die, knowing you’re perfectly content to let cancer eat you alive? You don’t even want to try. You’d rather go out miserable, angry, and alone. Yeah, what a gift.”
“Fuck you. I didn’t ask you to come here. I didn’t need any of this shit. If I want to be done with my sorry goddamn life, that’s my prerogative. Who the hell do you think you are to tell me otherwise?”
“Why do you do that?” My chest felt tight, words scraping free. “Why do you always try to push me away?”
“I don’t need to push you away. You’re good at leaving all on your own. Remember?” His words sliced through me.
I had left. Walked away and hadn’t once regretted it.
Did I even have the right to be here? To expect anything from him now?
I’d told myself that facing his own mortality might have softened him, but his body failing hadn’t touched his will. Physically weak, yes. But still so goddamn unmovable. Still determined to hold his ground, even if it meant dying on it.
“Dad—”
“Good afternoon, Mr. Hartley. How are you feeling?” Nurse Judy breezed in without the slightest regard for the emotional land mine she’d stepped on. “It’s lunchtime, if you think you might feel up to eating.”
“I’m not hungry.”
I’d watched him bark and bristle at Judy and the other nurses all week, every warning loud and unmistakable. Stay away. Stay back. She hadn’t flinched once.
“Well, how about some tea or ginger ale?”
“Fine,” he grumbled. “Ginger ale.”
“Excellent.” She beamed like she’d just won something hard-earned. Turning to me, she softened her tone. “Why don’t you grab yourself some lunch too, Jamie? You look like you could use it.”
“Are you sure I shouldn’t stay?”
Leaving felt dangerously close to proving his point. Even if he was right, the stubborn streak I’d inherited from him dug in hard. I wanted to stay out of sheer defiance.
“Get out of here,” he muttered. “I don’t need a goddamn babysitter.”
Ever the poet.
