Page 19 of Convincing the Catcher

“I’m just out on a walk,” I answer. “Everything okay?”

I expect—or I hope—she’ll instantly say that everything is fine. But that doesn’t happen. Instead, there’s a short pause, followed by a sniffle. My stomach drops, and I know right away that something isn’t right.

“Your dad is in the hospital,” she whispers, her voice squeaking as she tries to fight back the emotion in her tone. “His oxygen level is low, and now they’re doing some scans and tests to figure out if his cancer has responded to the treatments he’s had so far.”

With the way her words come to an instant stop, I know there’s more. Worse, likely. And even though I wish I could live in a bubble, where everything is great and dandy, that isn’t reality. I can’t avoid the truth. The truth always finds a way.

“What aren’t you telling me?” I say, putting a hand on the top of my head and stopping on the sidewalk. “Tell me what else is going on.”

My mom sighs heavily and sadly enough for me to hear it through the phone, and the sound of more sniffles hits my ears. She’s a tough woman. She only breaks when things get really, really hard. Which means those sniffles mean a lot.

“It’s just not looking good, baby.” Her voice croaks. “He’s having a really hard time breathing. And there has been talk about intubating, but you know⁠—”

“Dad doesn’t want that,” I say, finishing her sentence as tears fill my eyes.

My father has always been a proud man. He’s never wanted to be taken care of by anyone else, so I’m sure it’s been so hard for him to let my mom care for him. Even me seeing him sick, I know, hasn’t been easy on him, just like it hasn’t been for me either.

“No, he doesn’t,” she whispers sadly. “He’s always been very vocal about that.”

When my dad got his diagnosis, we all sat down and talked about it, and even though he wanted to go through with chemo and radiation, he made us promise that if things got too bad, he didn’t want to be kept alive by a ventilator.

I’m silent, and a few seconds later, my mom talks again.

“I don’t want you to worry, baby. Okay? I’ll keep you in the loop, and as soon as I know more, I’ll call you.” She’s trying so hard to be strong for me—and for Dad—but it’s clear as day that it’s weighing on her.

“I should come home,” I say, wiping my eyes. “I … I need to come home.”

“No, baby. You have classes and practice. And that charity auction the team has to take part in that you’re so excited about.” She attempts to lighten the mood. “If I feel like—” Her voice cracks, and she pauses. “When I think it’s time for you to come home, I’ll tell you. I promise.”

My mind feels fuzzy, and I know my level is spiking. I’ve come to find that stressful situations always seem to screw with my sugar level. Hence why I try to be the calm one who doesn’t get worked up.

But my dad is dying. And there’s no amount of willpower that can keep me from being upset over that.

“Do you promise to call me as soon as you know something?” I force out, despite the fact that it feels like my throat is closing.

“I promise,” she says instantly. “Love you, Harland. I’ll talk to you soon.”

“I love you too.” I sniffle just before she hangs up.

Sliding my phone into the pocket of my leggings, I plop myself down on a bench and stare at the ground.

Not only is my dad dying, but now I need to figure out a way to buy insulin and supplies to get through the next month.

Go ahead, world. Keep on taking a shit on me. Because one day, you know I’ll have to give up.

After I chug the water I brought with me in my pack, my brain begins feeling a bit better as I continue to sit on this bench, leaning forward with my forearms on my thighs. But while my level is stabling, the pain that I may be losing my dad is very real.

My parents are soulmates. They have been together since they were kids. They’ve been through so much shit. Infertility, which meant that, to them, I was a blessing because they had tried for so many years and done multiple rounds of fertility treatments before getting pregnant with me. They’ve been through career changes and losing family members together. And now my dad is sick. He’s my mom’s best friend, and I don’t know if she’ll ever be okay if he dies.

I sit up straighter, inhaling sharply.

“Get it together, Harland,” I whisper to myself. “You need to be strong right now.”

Wiping my eyes, I swallow back any more tears, and I decide right then that I’m going to be as supportive as I can for my mom, even if inside, it’s killing me that my dad has cancer.

But in doing so, that’s going to mean I can’t harass her about my meds. No, I need to take care of this myself because she has enough on her plate.

Taking my phone out, I bring up my mom’s contact and type a message.