Sensing eyes on my back, I turn to find Jade, arms crossed over her chest, looking severely irritated.
I shoot her a wink, not knowing if she’ll even see it from this distance, but her shoulders stiffen, and then she’s strutting out of the stadium.
“If you don’t stop pesteringme and let me watch the match, I’ll call the local authorities.” I walk into my dad’s house in Blackheath to find him batting his lovely home health attendant away from his sacred television chair.
“It’s the same game you’ve watched a dozen times, you old codger. C’mon, Mr. McKallen. The fresh air will do you good.” Her deep voice is smooth like honey, trying and failing to coax my stubborn father out of his spot.
Dad scoffs. “The air outside is riddled with pollution. It’ll probably kill me faster.” He inclines a brow in her direction. “Is that what you’re hoping for, Myrah? Because if I’m dead, then you’re out of a job.”
“Yes, because you’re the only sick man in all of England.” She rolls her eyes, a soft smile curling her full mouth.
“I think you should listen to her, Dad.” I kick off my shoes by the front door and step into the sitting room to the left of the entry.
“Hello, Pumpkin.” Dad reaches his arms out to me, wanting a hug but refusing to get out of his beloved chair.
I wrap my arms around his shoulders, breathing in the familiar scent of his aftershave, and instantly feel at ease. “I’m serious. Doctor Hasana said staying active is the best way to keep you mobile for as long as possible.”
“Can’t I bemobileafter the match?”
“Why don’t you use the recording feature I had installed for you? That’s why we upgraded your tv.”
“Too many bloody buttons. Can’t trust technology these days. Thought I was recording the Tottenham vs. Norwich match and ended up watching an episode of I’m a Celebrity…Get Me Out of Here!”
“Oh, I quite like that show,” Myrah chimes in.
“I’ve never seen it,” I reply.
“You have to watch it. It’s an absolute tip, but so fun. Watch it with my boys every week.”
“Maybe you two should go on a walk together and leave me to watch the match alone,” Dad grumbles.
“No way. Off you pop.” I tug on his arm, forcing him out of his seat and lightly pushing him into the hall while he mumbles expletives the whole way, only pausing to put on his trainers.
I grab a jacket for him out of the small entryway closet, handing it over, and his ire morphs into a sheepish look as he gives the tv behind me a final, longing look. “Can you still record it for me?
Rolling my eyes, I pop back into the sitting room to program the tv, recording the rerun match my dad has already seen a dozen times, before meeting him back by the door.
We slowly stroll our way north throughout his neighborhood toward the lush green lawn of Greenwich Park, my arm looped through his, helping to keep him steady.
With the sun hiding behind thick clouds, there’s a lack of sunshine aiding the slight chill in the air, despite it being summertime. The weather is unpredictable in London, but it’s safe to say that, with the grey skies and the small gusts of wind, rain is likely on the horizon. However, the overcast day hasn’t deterred anyone from going outside, and thepark is packed with parents pushing their babies around in prams, dogs frolicking at the end of a lead, and groups of friends hunting for the best spot to set down their blankets for a picnic at the top of the hill—likely planning on staying until the sun sets over the city in the distance.
“How are you feeling?” With how hectic everything has been in my first week at work, I haven’t been able to get out to visit since I moved here.
“Don’t fuss over me.” He taps the top of my hand clenched around his arm.
“You don’t take this seriously enough. Parkinson’s isn’t a joke, Dad.” It's the biggest reason I moved here. After his diagnosis was confirmed, I immediately started making plans to move to Englandthank you, dual citizenship. We had visited a couple times while growing up and had been back for business, but I was never here longer than a week and always had no time to explore.
But with Dad’s health, everything in LA starting to feel suffocating, and with the team going up for sale, the decision to move here was shockingly easy.
“I choke down the slop you force me eat, don’t I?” he grumbles.
“Fresh fruit and veg is hardly slop. You’re so dramatic,” I huff out a laugh.
“You’re not dramatic enough. You gotta live a little, lovey. You’re too focused on work and never have any fun. You’re young; you should be stealing every morsel of joy out of life you can.”
What is he talking about? I’ve traveled the world, gone to events—I’ve been to Coachellafourmiserable times. Ihaveexperienced things.
“I’m exactly where I want to be.”
