Eighteen
Hey, Dad
September 2025
“YOU KNOW, BREE,in encouraging this, I think we might have created a monster.”
Seth is looking at me in the rearview mirror, and I can see that the corners of his eyes are crinkled in a smile. I’m reclining across the backseat, tucked underneath Cole’s outstretched arm. Knowing full well that Seth is watching, I reach up and hook my arm around the back of Cole’s neck, pulling him down for a lingering kiss.
In the front seat, Bree snorts. “I think this is just an invitation for us to up the PDA, babe.See who breaks first.”
“Mmm, you willlose—” Cole murmurs against my lips. He slips a hand into the collar of my T-shirt, his fingers sliding down my upper chest. “Because now thatthisone is letting me kiss him in public, I amnevergoing to stop.”
We’re in Seth’s car on the way to see Dad at the hospital, hurtling down Route 36 with the ocean spread out to our left. Cole was right about Bree — when we walked in the back door hand in hand a little while ago, she squealed, hugging both of us at the same time. And it’s surprising how natural it feels, just being ourselves, letting everyone see how much we care about each other. Already, it feels as simple as breathing.
When we get to the hospital, I don’t let go of Cole as we make our way through the corridors and up to the visitors’ waiting room. And hey, the walls don’t fall down. No one runs away screaming, and nothing goes wrong. As we ride the elevator up to the floor for admitted patients, Cole holds my hand, and Seth winks at us, his arm around Bree’s shoulders. And I can see it all now, a life stretching out before us, a family where we belong.
Only two visitors are allowed into Dad’s room at a time, so Seth and I leave Cole and Bree in the waiting room. Before I go, Cole pulls me into a hug, holding me close and murmuring into my ear.
“It’s going to be fine,” he whispers. “Your dad is agood guy, deep down. And no matter what happens, you know how much I love you.”
“I love you too, Cole —sofucking much.”
My palms are sweating as Seth and I walk through the double doors, tension settling between my shoulders. Nobody looks at us as we pass by, the doctors and nurses going about their business. There’s a smell of cleaning supplies in the air, and breakfast foods, and a few other things I don’t exactly want to quantify. Even though I know Cole is probably right, I’m shaking. But I keep my head down and I put one foot in front of the other and I try to remind myself that it’s all going to be over soon.
Dad is sitting up in bed, demolishing a plate of French toast. “Boys!” He waves us into the room, grinning. “Come on in and sit down.”
Seth crosses the room first, shaking Dad’s hand as he sits. I follow a little more cautiously.
“You look good, Dad,” Seth is saying. “How are you feeling?”
“Fine at the moment, now that they’re letting me eat and keeping me full of drugs.” Dad shakes his head. “But boys, it’s a mess. They have a whole list of instructions for me — how to stand up, how to get dressed, how to take a shit — and they say they’re gonna put me in a rehab facility for a few weeks to teach me how to live my life again.”
“Oh yeah, they were telling us about that last night,”Seth replies. “Maybe now you’ll be more careful when you’re out on a job site —”
“That’s what I said yesterday,” I cut in, rolling my eyes.
“No more ladders for me,” Dad agrees. “From now on, I’ll be supervising, and that’s it — that is, if I ever figure out how to move this hip again.”
We fall into an easy patter, and it’s nice spending time together. I’m probably too hard on Dad and Seth. But after a few minutes, Seth looks at me significantly, and lets out a theatrical yawn.
“Damn, I’m tired — must have been all that driving yesterday. I’m gonna go look for a cup of coffee — Ezra, do you want anything?”
“Nah, I’m good.”
Seth leaves the room, and suddenly my heart is back in my throat, struggling to make a break for it. I swallow hard, willing it to stay where it belongs, and then I open my mouth.
“Hey, Dad —”
But he says “Hey, Ezra —” at the same time, and then we’re both frozen, staring at each other.
I wave my hand. “Um— You first.”
Dad looks down at his plate, dragging a piece of French toast through a lake of syrup. “I was just going to say that it was nice to see Sharon’s boy yesterday. And also to ask — whether you and he are back together.”
It takes me a second to process, but when I realize what he said, I stare at him.
“You knew—”
