It’s true. All I could think of was all the canceled plans and unfulfilled promises. The weekends I didn’t visit. The stilted, tense conversations.
“Hey. Look at me, son.”
I force my gaze up from the thin hospital blanket, from the IV port taped to the back of his hand.
“I understand you’ve got a life. Your mom understood too.”
Emotions detonate in my chest—sudden, brutal. My eyes burn. I search the room for something to focus on: the monitor showing his vitals, the window with its view of the parking garage, anything but the understanding in his eyes. Anything but the unearned forgiveness.
“Maybe it’s good this happened.” Dad’s voice is softer now, fading at the edges.
“What?” I lean forward; certain I misheard. “Dad, you’re out of your mind.”
“Gives me a chance to tell you what I should’ve told you back when your mom died. Back then, I was too heartbroken. Self-absorbed. Maybe a little angry. But she understood why you were absent. You didn’t have a choice. It’s part of life. Commitments. She wouldn’t have stood for you walking away from responsibility to sit in a room like this one.”
“I thought she had more time.” If I’d known it could happen fast…
“Don’t. She had complications the docs didn’t anticipate. No one could have. It’s not your fault—any more than it’s mine.”
I cover my dad’s hand with mine. It’s not lost on me that he seems smaller in the bed, older, more frail than the man I know him to be. His eyes close slowly, like his lids are heavy.
“I love you, Dad.” His eyes flicker open wide. “I don’t tell you that enough.” Yes, we have our differences, but none of that matters.
“But I know it,” he says. “And I love you too. I’m proud of you.”
My eyes sting immediately.
“I shouldn’t have pushed you to take over Manny’s auto.” He taps my hand. “That’s something I needed to say. No matter what you do, I’m proud.” Then, gaze to the ceiling, he adds, “Thank you for letting me get that in.”
Dad’s eyelids close and I relax in my chair, watching him. He’s got a lot of drugs in his system, so I expect he’ll sleep. It’s late and while there isn’t a time we have to be out of his room by, I expect we should let him rest.
A soft knock breaks the quiet. The door—left ajar by the last nurse—swings wider, and Linda slips in, Alicia just behind her.
I push up, vacating the chair for Linda, should she wish to sit.
Linda moves past me to the bed, touching Dad’s cheek. “You’ve got visitors,” she murmurs.
Dad’s eyes crack open again—heavy, fluttering—until they focus on Alicia.
And even doped up, as weak as he is, the man smiles.
“Well now,” he rasps, the corner of his mouth tugging higher, “so this is the woman who’s captured my son’s heart.”
Heat sweeps beneath my skin. “Dad?—”
Alicia laughs softly, the sound small and gentle in the sterile room. “Sir, it’s very nice to meet you. I just wish it were under better circumstances.”
“Same here,” he says. “But if this is what it takes to get you two in the same room with me, maybe it’s worth the drama.” His gaze slides to me. “She’s special, son. Get your act together. Don’t be stupid.”
“Alright,” I mutter. “He’s definitely high.”
Linda chuckles, smoothing a hand over his blanket. “He’s drifting again. Let’s let him rest. Why don’t you two head back to the house?”
“You’re staying here?” I ask, although I suspected she might.
“I’ll stay. The bench seat folds out to a small bed. When you come back in the morning, I’ll head home for a shower and change. Do you still have your key?”
“Yeah. I do.”