Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 93785 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 469(@200wpm)___ 375(@250wpm)___ 313(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93785 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 469(@200wpm)___ 375(@250wpm)___ 313(@300wpm)
“Yeah, yeah. All right,” Dad says, sliding his hand over his hair—or what’s left of it, anyway. “Thanks, Doc.”
Dr. Howser and I exchange a smile.
My father and I leave the office and step into the cool afternoon. The sun is out, but partially covered in clouds, and a murder of crows flies above our heads. Dad puts his hat on as soon as his feet hit the sidewalk, and he exhales.
“How are you feeling?” I ask him.
“Where’s your mother again?”
I smile. “She’s at the dentist. She’ll be home when we get there.”
He scoffs as he reaches the passenger door. “I don’t know why in the hell she thinks that I can’t drive myself to the damn doctor. I wiped your ass, and now she thinks you need to wipe mine.”
“Hey, Dad, no offense, but I’m not wiping your ass whether Mom says to or not.”
The irritation on his face shifts into humor, and he chuckles.
We get buckled in and back on the road without discussing Mom’s dental appointment again. It would only be the five-thousandth time. I can see why Mom is so tired. Just the mental load of this is exhausting, but I’m so grateful to be able to do it.
I took a ton of notes on my phone during the appointment and asked all the questions Mom wrote down for me. The doctor is adjusting Dad’s medication to help with his evening agitation and helped me better understand what the future might look like. It’s different with every case. But I do feel like I have a better grasp of what kind of support my parents might need.
“What day is it?” Dad asks, flipping his visor down.
“It’s Wednesday morning.”
“Don’t you have school today?”
I pause and think about my answer. The doctor said it’s best not to correct him if it will lead to more confusion or distress. We’re supposed only to correct him if it’s for his safety or if it’ll reduce his anxiety. He called it “compassionate redirection,” which sounded a lot easier in the office than in practice.
“I have to go in later today,” I say, leaving out the fact that it’s to work and not to class.
“Oh.”
“Do you want to stop somewhere and get some lunch?” I ask.
“Nah, I just want to go home and see your mother.”
I bite my lip to keep from getting emotional.
Dad was always the beast, the man who could do and fix anything. To see him almost childlike, yet still in his huge body, is sad. And weird. But Mom is clearly his safe space. I’m glad he has her.
I grasp the steering wheel harder as my brain drifts to Gianna. This is what I want to be for her—her safe space, her rock when things get hard. She deserves someone to love her like I will. Like I do.
“Don’t you have a girlfriend now?” Dad pulls his brows together. I’m afraid to answer because I don’t know what decade he’s living in right now. “What’s her name?”
Damn. How do I compassionately redirect this? “She was busy today.”
“That dark-haired girl. What’s her name?”
“Gianna?”
“Gianna. Yes. That’s her. Where is she at today?”
“She’s working. She said to tell you hi.”
His smile reaches both ears, and he rests back in his seat. It might be the first time I’ve seen him relax all day. He turns to me, ready to speak, but then his forehead wrinkles again.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“You’re not in high school anymore.”
“No, I’m not. I’m fifty pounds heavier than I was back then.”
He chuckles. “I noticed that but didn’t want to mention it.”
“I’m still in great shape, old man. Check this out.” I take my right hand off the wheel and flex. “See that?”
He lifts the sleeve of his shirt on his left arm and flexes it. The amount of muscle he still carries around is mind-boggling. He might not remember where he parked his car, but I bet he could damn near bench press it.
“Talk to me when you’re my age,” he says, thoroughly enjoying himself. “Of course, I’ll be dead by then.”
“What the fuck?” I ask, laughing.
“What? I will be. There is no sense in pretending I’m going to last forever. You know you’re going to die too someday, right?”
What’s happening here? “Yeah, but I’m not sitting around thinking about it.”
“Oh, to be young and dumb again.”
I throw up my hands and try to fight another laugh. I’m not sure whether to banter with him like we always have, or if that will make him more argumentative. The last thing I want to do is bring him back to Mom, ready to spit nails.
We drive for a few minutes in silence. Dad eventually dozes off, snoring lightly beside me. The sound reminds me of the way Gianna sounds when she finally falls asleep around two in the morning.
I miss her. I miss her giggles, kisses, and the random shit she gets herself into. I miss her love of food, her attempts to learn football, and her blow jobs. I miss holding her, walking by her office to drop off a drink, and coming up with new ways to make her smile.