Rowan blinked. “What?”
“They tried everything but couldn’t save him.”
“Oh shit,” he breathed. “I’m really sorry, man.”
I shrugged but didn’t know what to say.
He studied my face for a second, as if he was trying to understand how I was feeling.
Good luck with that. I don’t even know.
Instead of continuing the conversation on the sidewalk in front of the hospital, I said, “My mom’s meeting us out here in a few minutes. I need to go get my car.”
He squeezed my shoulder. “Okay. Let’s go.”
When we gotto our house, Mom got out of the car and rushed inside while Rowan and I stood awkwardly on the sidewalk.
“Are you going to be okay?” he finally asked.
I let out a deep breath. “I guess.”
He didn’t question that, like some people might. He knew things were complicated at best with my parents. He nodded.“I’m going to go home, but text me or come over if you need anything.”
“I will.” I went inside.
The house was quiet. As I walked past my parents’ room, I heard what sounded like muffled crying from the other side of the door. I understood that my father’s death must have been a shock to her. It definitely caught me off guard as well, but I couldn’t help but wonder what kind of mother didn’t even check on her son after he lost his dad. The whole time we were at the hospital, I was so focused on her grief that it didn’t even occur to me until now that she never tried to comfort me or ask if I was okay.
Deciding I needed something to eat before going to bed, I made a detour to the kitchen. As I went to the pantry, I saw a broken glass lying on the floor, its shards scattered across the tile. I stared at it for a moment before a question came to mind: Was my dad holding that glass when he collapsed or was it another he’d thrown in a fit of anger before dropping dead on the floor?
I could picture him standing in front of my mom, his face red and spit flying as he cussed her out about something. She’d glare at him, call him a miserable bastard, and then dishes and anything else they could grab would start flying.
After I finished cleaning the kitchen, I ate a sandwich and then got ready for bed.I crawled under the covers and lay on my back, but sleep didn’t come.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the stretcher again.
I saw my mom crying.
The doctor’s face when she said my dad was dead.
And the worst part was, I didn’t know how I was supposed to feel about it.
Part of me felt sad. He was still my father after all, and we had a handful of fun memories. But another part of me felt something else. Something like relief.
Relief that the yelling would stop.
Relief that my mom wouldn’t be spouting off more excuses for his behavior while sporting a black eye he’d given her.
And somehow that felt worse than anything else because who feels relieved when their dad passes away?
I rolled onto my side and stared at the wall. Minutes passed. Then an hour. Eventually, I threw off the sheet and got out of bed. I didn’t think about it. I just needed to be somewhere that wasn’t there in that house.
I headed toward Rowan’s house and tapped three times on his window like I always did. It only took a couple of seconds for him to slide it open.
My face must have given something away as soon as I climbed inside because he pulled me into his arms. My chest clenched, and tears started streaming down my cheeks. He didn’t ask questions. He didn’t try to fix anything. He just held onto me as I pressed my face into his shoulder and gripped the back of his shirt. Every emotion imaginable washed over me at once. Sadness. Anger. Relief. Guilt. Fear.
His hand moved slowly up and down my back. “I’ve got you,” he whispered.
Those three words calmed something inside me, and the crying slowly stopped, leaving me exhausted afterward.
