“No more,” my dad says firmly as my mom tries to give him another piece of his bagel and cream cheese. Mom looks stricken.
“Dad, you have to eat,” I remind him calmly. “How about a smoothie instead?”
“Okay,” he mutters.
I start to stand, but my mom is already up. “I’ll make it. Orange and banana with vanilla protein powder?”
My dad nods dejectedly. Mom heads off, and I glance at the nurse and wave at her. She stands up. “I’ll be in the den if you need me.”
“Thanks, Maria,” my dad replies, but it comes out more like “tansk ma-wee-ah.” She smiles at him and heads out of the dining room and down the hall.
Alone, he looks at me and smiles. “How was your night, Sadie?”
“Long. Good. No major traumas,” I say and sip my OJ.
“Is that why you were smiling when you walked in?” His body may be betraying him, but his mind is not. He’s still the most intuitive person I have ever met. Dixie and Jude have a little of that keen awareness Dad has, but still not as acute as his. My dad could always read moods and catch nonverbal cues like a boss, which made it really hard to be a sneaky teenager.
“Yes, and…well, I had one particularly adorable patient,” I say vaguely.
His bushy salt-and-pepper eyebrows lift. “Oh…?”
“A six-year-old with a raisin in her nose,” I add to throw him off track.
He chuckles. “Jude used to use his nose for storage too.”
It takes me a minute to understand what he says, with the slurring, but as soon as I understand I laugh. “I told her dad that—about Jude and the Lego—so she didn’t feel too embarrassed. And because ridiculing Jude is always enjoyable.”
My father rolls his eyes at that last comment, but he chuckles. Then his face gets serious. “Thank you for helping Maria with the choking.”
“You didn’t need me. Maria had it under control,” I reply, blowing it off because I don’t want to get into it. Talking about choking will lead to a bigger conversation about what it means, and the next steps.
“It’s happening too much,” he says, and my heart constricts like it’s been shoved into a pair of Spanx. It suddenly can’t expand to beat properly.
I stare at the oak table between us and the half-eaten bagel on his plate. “We are managing it.”
“Barely,” he counters.
My mom walks in with a big glass filled with yummy-looking orange smoothie. She puts it down in front of my dad and pops a straw in. He doesn’t take a sip, instead staring at me, clearly insistent on continuing the conversation. But I won’t—can’t—do it.
I stand up. “I love you, Daddy, but I need to catch up on my beauty sleep now.” He looks like he’s going to insist we continue talking about his choking, which means he wants to talk about the next step, which is a feeding tube, which he has already told us he does not want…which means the end is closer than it would be with a feeding tube…And I can’t talk about that. Not now. Maybe never. So I throw out a piece of information I didn’t intend to share but that I know will change the subject. “I have a date tonight.”
If I could pick a sound effect for my parents’ reaction, it would be a record needle being ripped off a turning record player. I actually even laugh at it.
“That’s unexpected,” my mom says with a curious grin. “With who? The doctor from the diner?”
“Miss Raisin Nose’s dad?” Really, truly, my dad should have been a private detective. “Your face lit up when you told me that story.”
“Drink your smoothie and I’ll tell you more,” I say as I stand and walk around the table.
“You’re my baby, I’m not yours, pumpkin,” my dad warns with a wink. He’s jovial about it, but he hates that all his kids are nurturing him now. I nod and he picks up the drink again and takes a long, easy sip. No choking, thank God.
“Yes, with the dad. He’s divorced, by the way,” I add.
“I assumed that,” my dad says, and I lean down and kiss his cheek. He reaches up and rubs my head lovingly as I do it.
I lean down again to kiss my mom’s cheek. “I have got to get some rest. Bags under my eyes are not a good accessory on a first date.”
I leave them in the dining room and head down the hall, stopping to let Maria know I’m heading for a nap, but to come and get me if she needs help. I also remind her to double-check on his ribs later, to make sure they’re not bruised. She nods. God bless the woman, because even I know I’m kind of micromanaging, but she never gets annoyed.
