He shoos me. “Go. Call him back. Believe me, I get the sandwich generation routine. Call your dad.”
I dial on my way to the restroom. My dad picks up after a single ring, which means he’s been waiting by the phone.
“You OK?” I ask in greeting. I keep my tone light to hide the worry, but I know my dad can see right through me.
“Sweetheart, I’m fine,” he assures me in his broadBrooklynese accent. I flinch when I hear a groan on the other end. “I’m just getting out of my club chair. You know how deep this thing is? You sink right down into the bowels of the earth. I can practically smell the subway stink from here.”
“You know they make better chairs now.”
“No, no.I like my chair to hell.”
“Your prerogative.” Satisfied that he’s not in any immediate danger, I glance in the mirror, lean in closer, and touch up my lip gloss.
“So Lili-bean,” he says. “Any chance you want to schlep uptown this afternoon?”
My lip gloss hovers over my mouth. My dad rarely makes last-minute demands on my time.
“I’m at lunch with a friend,” I say.
“Oh, good, good. Go, enjoy yourself. I’ll call you later.”
I know he’s relieved that he doesn’t have to follow through on asking me for help, but I won’t let him run. “Dad. What do you need?”
“Eh, it’s nothing. I’m just getting some paperwork together. Streamlining, organizing, et cetera. Your mother thinks it was a good idea you had, to start paying our bills on the computer. I tell her we’re fine, ConEd will still accept a paper check, but she wants to make it easier for us. So, you know. I thought maybe you could help me with this.”
Before the heart attack, my father never talked about what might happen when he and my mother decline, or when one of them passes. But once he was back on hisfeet, he had me sign a power of attorney for both him and my mom, updated his will, and informed me, with his characteristic no-nonsense approach, that he bought plots for himself and my mom at Beth Olam Cemetery—at a discount, no less. They run a two-for-one special.
It was my suggestion to set up all their recurring payments on autopay, just to give them one less thing to think about. And myself, when the time comes that I’ll need to take over their finances. But getting him to agree to this has been an uphill battle. This is a man who crawled his way out of Lithuania and came to New York at nine years old without a lick of English. This is a man who still, at eighty-five, reads a book a week and does the SundayTimescrossword puzzle in pen. He is not going to give up his independence without a fight.
But today—for reasons known only to him—he is relenting.
“It’s fine,” I say. “I can leave lunch in a few minutes. I’ll be there in half an hour.”
I hope that Reid will understand. And then Iknowhe will. I remember his devotion to his own mother. That she was one of the reasons why he was resistant to staying in New York.
“No, no, don’t cancel on my account. Is Emmela around today? Tell her to come help me. Your mother wants to give her something anyway. Some old purses, I don’t know.”
“Dad, Emme doesn’t even know how to work a landline. She can’t help you with this. I’ll see you in a bit.”
Another groan. “OK, but don’t eat too much beforeyou leave. Your mother went crazy at Zabar’s and bought a pound of nova.”
When I get back to the table, Reid is reading something intently on his phone, wearing a pair of tortoiseshell glasses. Combined with the slash of stubble along his jaw, they give him a sexy, professorial look.
He takes them off when I sit down and puts his phone away. Concern crosses his expression, and I momentarily lose all my resolve to leave this restaurant.
“My parents are fine. My dad just wanted me to come help him with something. I was thinking about going up to their apartment now, but...”
“Damn. I knew I should’ve listened to Cat when she told me to cover up the gray hair.”
I laugh. “Please don’t.” I sigh and look down at my hands clasped on the table. “My dad asked if I could help him arrange some of his finances, and he is quite possibly the most stubborn man on earth. If I don’t do this now, he’ll probably never give me the opportunity again. This, today, is my window.”
“I’ll come help you, then.” He says this with casual conviction, as if it’s not just the obvious choice but also theonlychoice.
“Reid,” I say, laughing harder, “I can’t ask you to set up an elderly couple’s autopay during your limited time in New York.”
“You didn’t ask me to set up an elderly couple’s autopay during my limited time in New York. I’m telling you that I want to do it.”
“I...”
