“I could use some, actually. They raised the prices on everything again. Coffee’s up to four dollars a packet. Four dollars, Taio. For instant coffee that tastes like burned rubber.”
“I’ll transfer some tomorrow.”
“And my prescription cream—the good one, for my back—they’re saying I need a new authorization form. Some bureaucratic nonsense. I’ve filled out the same paperwork three times now, and every time it gets ‘lost’ in the system. I think the medical staff here actively enjoys watching me suffer.”
“Your rash is still acting up?”
“It’s spreading,” he complains.
“I’ll call them. I’ll take care of it.”
He sighs in relief. “What would I do without you, Taio? You’re the only one who still believes in me.”
“You have your legal team too?—”
“The legal team believes in billable hours. They don’t care about me. They care about the case, the precedent, the media attention. You’re the only one who actually…” He trails off, and when he speaks again, his voice is thick. “You’re the only one who still sees me as a person. Not a case number. Not a cautionary tale. You see me for what I am. A good father caught up in everyone else’s misfortune.”
I can’t believe that’s still his narrative. Like theft slipped on a banana and fell into him.
“You’ll always be my dad. Nothing changes that. Family first.”
His laugh is bitter. “Your mother used to say that. One day I’m her husband of eighteen years who she promised to stand by no matter what, the next I’m a stranger she can’t wait to forget.”
I close my eyes, pressing my forehead against the cool wall. “Dad, you lied to her for a long time. Mom went through a lot more than you realize?—”
“I know, I know. The shame. The scandal. The way her friends looked at her.” His tone grows mocking. “All that woman cares about is public appearance. She didn’t care who was paying the bills as long as her ass was dressed up in Gucci and shoes had red bottoms. After everything I did for her, I thought, at least, she’d be loyal.”
I exhale, giving up on the narrative. It’s like trying to convince an early colonist that the world isn’t flat. He lives the only story he’s allowing himself to accept. “Well, I’m sorry it didn’t work out that way. But you do still have me.”
“Do I?” Another pause, heavy with meaning. “Suddenly you’re in Miami. On some new job you couldn’t even mention before today. Missing visitation for the first time in—how long has it been? Three years? I’ve never had to sit in that room and wait for someone who wasn’t coming.”
“Dad—”
“I’m not blaming you.” His voice cracks, just slightly—practiced or genuine, I can never quite tell. “I’m just saying, I see the pattern. Your mother pulled away slowly too. First it was one missed visit. Then two. Then she stopped answering my calls. Then she moved to a different continent.” He takes a shaky breath. “I can’t lose you too, Taio. You’re all I have left. The only person in the world who still gives a damn whether I live or die in here.”
I know what he’s doing.
I can see it clearly—the comparison to Mom, designed to trigger my deep-set fear of being like her. The fragility, calculated to make me feel protective. The implication that my absence is the first step toward abandonment, that one missed visit will inevitably become two, then ten, then forever.
It’s manipulation.It’s textbook.I’ve read enough about narcissistic parents to recognize every technique he’s using.
And yet…it works.
“You’re not going to lose me,” I say to him. “I’ll figure something out. Maybe I can fly back for a few hours tomorrow, do the visit, and fly back.”
“You’d do that?” The hope sounds so genuine it makes my chest ache. “For me?”
“Of course.”
“Taio.” His voice warms, filling with that paternal pride that used to make me feel ten feet tall. “You’re a good son. The best son a man could ask for. I don’t deserve you.”
“Dad, stop.”
“I mean it. After everything we’ve gone through, you could have walked away. Most people would have. Hell, most people did. Friends, colleagues, everyone who swore they’d stand by our family disappeared the moment the indictment came down. But not you. You stayed. You fought for me.” He pauses. “You’re still fighting for me.”
“Always.”
“I love you, son. More than you’ll ever know.”
