Chapter 42
Willow
10 months ago
Waking up on my bedroom floor, surrounded by an empty bottle of whisky, a crumpled takeout box, and a pile of used tissues, isn't exactly how I wanted to start my morning.
I regret it, but yesterday was hard.
Every day has been hard since I found out about my dad's cancer, but it's so much worse now. He doesn't eat. Half the time, he doesn't even recognise me. The nurses keep him heavily dosed on morphine because the pain is so bad now.
When I look at him now, I struggle to see the man who raised me.
He won't be able to take me on midnight drives to the beach just because I miss the sound of the waves, or the times I would help him out at the garage, even if all I did was show him the new routine I learned at dance. He was the one person I gossiped with, and he lived for it.
I don't really have anyone else to lean on while going through this.
Mum's a bitch who thinks her next nail appointment is more important.
Sure, some of my dad's friends stop by now and then. They ask how I’m doing, offer those polite, sympathetic looks people give when they don't know what else to say.
But I guess that's just what decent people do. They ask because it's the right thing to ask.
Not because they're actually expecting an honest answer.
I walk down the corridor toward my dad's room, the one they moved him into for end-of-life care. My eyes strained at the floor as I went, following the dull pattern of the tiles because it was easier than looking up and seeing the quiet pity on everyone's face. I round the corner and walk straight into someone.
The impact knocks me back a step.
“Sorry,” I mumble automatically, lifting my head.
It's Sarah, one of his nurses. She's just closed the door to his room. Something about the way she's standing there makes my stomach twist.
Her expression is wrong.
“Is my dad okay?”
I ask every day now, even though I’m not sure what okay is anymore.
She clears her throat, her gaze roaming over me, and the sound seems to echo down the hallway.
“We tried to call you.”
My hands reach for my pockets. “My phone kind of died.” I wince. “I didn't realise until this morning.”
I briefly pull it out, turning it over.
“I don't have work today, so I was just going to charge it here and stay with him, like usual.” I go to move past her, but she reaches out and stops me.
Her eyes look glassy. Sad.
“Willow,” she says softly. “We tried to get a hold of you last night.”
She's already told me this.
“I’m so sorry,” she continues, her words filled with sympathy. “But your father passed away last night.”
No.
