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)
Mom exhales a long, deep breath. Her shoulders fall with the weight my question just lumped on them—and I hate it.
My fists curl into balls at my side as I watch her wrestle with the topic that has always brought us so much happiness and safety but now is associated with pain. And dread. Fire licks at the back of my throat as I, too, fight the emotions creeping inside me. There’s nothing fair, or fixable, about this situation. And as the man my father raised, the man he raised to take care of my mother and sisters in times like this, it’s clear that I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing. I can offer suggestions and step in to help, but my help isn’t always wanted.
How do you balance taking the lead and staying in the role of your parents’ child?
“He had a really rough night,” Mom says, her tone packed with the exhaustion she tries to hide from me. “He kept trying to find his keys so he could go to work, and then he went into the garage and got angry because he thinks someone stole his truck.”
I frown. “How did you handle that?”
She sighs, gripping the countertop while the bacon crackles in the pan beside her. “I told him that I’d be upset if someone stole my car and that we’d check on it this morning. Then he was angry that I wouldn’t let him go to work. But what do I do? Confuse him more by telling him that he retired years ago? It’s a nightmare.”
“You’re handling it the best you can,” I say, squeezing her shoulder as my heart splinters in my chest. The focus is always on Dad now, and what he needs and what’s best for him. Mom’s suffering, too. And it’s moments like that where I wonder how much she suffers in silence. “It can’t be easy to navigate this.” Especially since Dad never raised his voice once to you until he got sick.
“It’s not, Drake. It’s not.” She sags under my palm briefly before standing tall and sniffling. “But we can do hard things, and this is a hard thing we must do. Right?”
“This is a hard thing, and we will do it together. Preferably leaving Evie out of all important decisions because her answer to everything is a beach house.”
Mom laughs, picking up her fork. “It is, isn’t it?”
“Again, you raised her,” I say, giving her shoulder another gentle squeeze.
“No. That’s on your father. He’s the one who spoiled her rotten.”
“Sure. I wouldn’t take the blame for that either,” I tease. “Is Dad awake now? I heard the TV on and figured he was in there. I mean, the whole neighborhood probably can hear that TV …”
“Tell me about it. I’m ready to buy earplugs or accidentally lose the remote.” She grins as she removes two strips of bacon and places them on a bed of paper towels. “We had a slow morning and just eased into the day. He seems pretty good. Tired, but his mind is pretty clear.”
“I’m gonna go say hi.”
She reaches for a plate. “I’ll bring your sandwich to you.”
Each step I take toward the living room feels like the beat of a drum. Pictures of my sisters and me hang on the walls, reminiscent of a time when the old man sitting in a brown recliner with his back to me was a six-foot-three, barrel-chested behemoth who could bench-press a small car. Flames burn a hole in my chest as I approach my dad, a shell of the man he once was.
“Hey, Pops,” I say, keeping my voice light and easy.
He flinches, gripping his armrests, and it takes a split second for him to recognize me.
“Drake!” He stands, shoving himself up with shaky arms. I don’t rush in to help him. He’s capable, and I know how defeating it would be for him to think he was weak in my eyes. I’ll never let that happen. “How are you, boy?”
Dad pulls me into a hug. He pats my back and runs a hand along the top of my head like he did when I was a child.
“I’m good,” I say, as he releases me. I search for the remote and turn the TV down. No wonder he didn’t hear me come in. I can’t hear myself think. “How are you? You look great.”
“Oh, yeah, I’m doin’ just fine. Your mother takes damn good care of me.” He sniffs. “Do I smell bacon?”
Laughing, I take a seat on the sofa under the window. “Yeah, I don’t know how you can smell it over the sound of the TV.”
Dad chuckles. “That’s what your mom says all the time. Tells me to turn it down. Hell, if you can’t hear it, you might as well turn the damn thing off.”