Chapter 21
This time it’s my dad sitting next to me during the chemo appointment.
Instead of distracting me, though, he’s flirting with Nurse Rasheda.
She is neglecting all her duties and just standing near us, giggling.
He keeps rubbing the back of his head, his tell-tale sign that he is nervous.
Lights sparked in their eyes when they looked at each other, and now they can’t look away. It’s cute.
When someone finally calls for her, she apologizes and walks away.
“So, you going to ask for her number?”
His eyes pop a little wider, and he rubs the back of his neck again.
“Do you think I should?” He looks back at her, this goofy grin coming over his face.
“Can I ask you a question?”
“Sure, baby girl.”
I sit up, trying not to bother the IV line. So tired already, the motion makes my head spin a little.
“Why did you never remarry?”
This is a conversation I have never broached with him. I always hoped that at some point I wouldn’t have to.
“I, uh, dated, obviously. At first, I didn’t want to do anything when you were younger.
” He cringes, his face folding into itself.
“And then nothing was worth jumping into that again. I have had some long-term relationships, but I don’t know.
I just didn’t want another marriage that I wasn’t sure would last.”
I remember those relationships. At first, they were all white women, but then it seemed like, over time, he shifted his interests. I never asked him why the preference, but now I’m tempted.
“Was there a reason you mostly only dated people the same race as my mother?” I can’t look at him as I ask, so instead I look at my nails.
The flower-bejeweled pattern keeps me from being nervous.
“No, not really. It’s just what I was attracted to at the time.”
“But why?” I look into his eyes, needing to see if he will tell the truth.
“I don’t know Monty. Why?”
I want to say that I need to know if he has self-hatred. I want to ask if he didn’t care about their microaggressions. I wonder how he doesn’t know why I would ask, and this starts to piss me off.
“We’ve never really talked about it, but you know my mother was racist, right?” I set my jaw and keep my eyes steady on him.
“I didn’t know. She wasn’t always like that.”
The way he looks at the ground makes my blood boil. It’s clear he knew enough to be ashamed. So, for however long he has known, he has ignored this fact, just like I have done for decades.
“I don’t believe that, but even if we go with that reasoning, why didn’t you do anything when it became clear that she was?”
I blame Callahan for opening this can of worms, but now that he has, I can’t close them. I’ve clearly wondered this myself, but I never thought of it that way. I never put myself in my dad’s shoes and thought about how I would react.
Even though I never told him how bad it was for me, he saw enough to know that this was not okay.
“Monty, I’m sorry. I just kept thinking it wasn’t as bad as it was. It wasn’t until she left and got remarried that I even realized how much she…” he trails off, his head dipping towards the ground again.
I’m happy he doesn’t finish that sentence because I don’t want to talk about that part. I wait to see if he has anything else to say, or if he will try a different path of justification. As the silence stretches on, I come to the conclusion that he still isn’t ready to acknowledge it.
“You should ask for her number,” is all I say, knowing I’m not going to get what I want out of this conversation.
He will never look inside and ask himself these questions. I know he grew up in a different time, and being a Black man in the south is a recipe for issues, but I had hoped as he got older that he would have done some self-exploration.
He gets up and goes to talk to her, and I hope that this time it works out for him. I hope that he will breathe life into this Black woman and see the magic of what she will do for him because of that.
Thinking of this makes me wish for Black love again, but I want someone who will do that for me, and Callahan does. I can’t deny myself that by thinking something better will come along. So far, he is the best man I’ve ever been with.
While my dad is gone, I give him a call.
“My gorgeous, gorgeous girl. To what do I owe this pleasure?”
“I was just thinking of you.” I shift so that I can rest the phone on my shoulder, freeing me from having to hold it.
“While doing what exactly?”
I can imagine him wiggling his eyebrows.
“While getting chemo, you perv. I only think of you that way at night. Or sometimes at the kitchen table. Once in the bathroom.”
“All places I plan on taking you in.”
“Maybe at your place, which I have yet to see.”
Rasheda comes and checks on the line before moving on to someone else. My dad tells me he is going to run and get her a coffee.
“Come over when you’re done. I can take care of you,” Callahan says.
My hackles bristle at that, making me want to hang up.
“No, thank you.”
He sighs into the line. “Well, are you at least going to let your dad?”
“I don’t need anyone to help me. I know what to expect now.”
“Monty.”
“Callahan.”
“Woman.”
“Man.”
He breathes out and then chuckles.
“You are so—”
“Reasonable,” I say, cutting him off.
“Please just let someone take care of you.” In his voice, I hear pleading, but I don’t care. I won’t budge on this.
“I don’t need to be taken care of.” It’s almost like I say the words more to convince myself than him.
So when he goes silent for a moment, I don’t know if he believes me.
“I don’t want to make your day worse. We don’t need to argue,” he finally says.
“Great,” I say, not at all feeling that way.
I thought this was what I wanted, but I was also ready for him to bully me into it.
“Call me when you get home, love.”
“Okay.”
My dad walks back in. After handing the drink over to Nurse Rasheda, he comes over to me just in time for me to be done.
Once home, I send Callahan a text before going into my bathroom.
Water, Gatorade, a blanket, and a pillow are waiting for me.
Having taken the anti-nausea medicine they prescribed to me, I wait to see if it makes a difference.
Stripping down to just my underwear, I lay down in preparation for the worst.
An hour of doom scrolling later, there is a knock on the door.
“I’m fine, Dad.” My stomach is starting to gurgle, and I can feel my mouth getting wetter in preparation, but so far, so good.
“It’s Callahan.”
I sit up and look at the door like it holds an explanation of why he is here, but there are just towels and dark wood.
“What are you doing here?”
He doesn’t answer. Instead, he opens the door and comes in with a bag of stuff.
“Seriously, what are you doing here?”
He still doesn’t answer, sliding onto the floor. I need him to tell me, because I would like to get down to it before I’m upchucking in the toilet.
“I’m here to take care of you.”
“Are you serious? I told you not to, and you agreed.”
He scoots closer to me. So I scoot as far from him as I can until I’m pressed against the toilet.
“I didn’t agree. I said we shouldn’t argue, because I knew I was coming no matter what.”
I’m about to argue now, but I have to turn around to throw up what I ate yesterday. He tries to grab my hair, but I swat him away.
“Leave,” I say into the bowl, the word loud and stern.
“No, Monty.”
“Callahan, I’m not playi—” I’m cut short by another spewing of my guts. This time, I can’t stop him from pulling my braids into his hand. The other one rubs my back, and the warm feel of his skin on mine soothes me, despite my best efforts to stay pissed.
The asshole made it so that I can’t even argue, waiting until I’m in the throes of the sickness. I just have to accept his presence while I go between drinking water and vomiting.
Unlike last time, I don’t talk to him, even though we spend hours in the bathroom together. When I end up feeling better sooner than I did last time, I pull out of his arms.
“I can’t believe you did that. This isn’t cute anymore. You don’t get to ignore what I want and do whatever you like.” I hate that I’m half naked while having this conversation with a throw-up taste in my mouth.
It has to be done, though. This has to happen three more times, and I can’t have him doing this after every single one.
“What if what you want isn’t what you need?” He offers me a hand when I try to stand up. I slap it away.
Leaning on the counter, I watch in the mirror as my titties move with my swaying body.
I expected my dad to come in at some point, but I guess Callahan walking in stopped him. That makes me curious about how them meeting each other went.
“Monty, sit down.”
“No,” I harrumph, refusing to make eye contact.
“Well, at least drink some water.”
“No.” I try not to lick my lips and show him how dry they are.
“You’re like a grumpy old man, do you know that?” He stands up and comes to tower behind me. I’m shocked into silence at the comparison.
“Or better yet, a goat. A stubborn old goat.”
I bust out laughing, and this just makes me even more mad at him. How dare he interrupt my bad mood?
“I can’t believe you compared me to a goat and an old man.”
“I can’t believe this is the first time it’s happened to you.”
I put my sweats back on and open the bathroom door. I know I should head for my bed, but I do need water, preferably cold.
“I understand why you showed up, but when I ask you not to do something, I need you to listen to me.”
“Even if you’re wrong?”
“Especially when I’m wrong.”
He shakes his head, but then looks over my face. My lack of smile must say enough because he nods his head. I know he doesn’t want to agree, but he does for me anyway.
“Well, you can go home now. You came and did what you wanted.” I take the stairs slowly, all my energy zapped out of me.
If I saw myself wobbling slowly, one step at a time, I would have to agree with him about my being an old man. I hope he thinks of it that way, instead of realizing in this moment how weak I really am. Especially when I take his hand when things start to go even more loopy.
Before we reach the kitchen, he pulls me into his chest and whispers in my ear, “Your dad invited me to stay for dinner.”
I turn to see him looking extra chipper about this fact.
“I think I won him over in our five-minute conversation.” Pecking me on the cheek, he lets me go.
Silenced again, I make my way into the kitchen. My dad is in front of the stove with his wok on a burner, and the rice cooker on the counter.
“He’s making stir fry,” I say to Callahan, while moving over to the fridge.
“I love stir fry,” he says.
“You from Boston, son?” My dad asks, looking up from the cutting board.
“Yeah, born and raised, but my people are Irish.”
My dad’s eyebrows lift at this. He pats him on the back, then offers him a Guinness.
They both take a big sip after clinking their cans together. The gesture makes me feel like I’m in some alternate universe where I agreed to my boyfriend and my dad being best friends.
“You know I have always wanted to go to Ireland. I was jealous when Monty went. I want to see Europe in general,” my dad says.
“It’s truly beautiful. I’ll take you sometime.”
My dad shakes his hand and clinks his beer with Callahan’s again.
I roll my eyes but stay silent as Callahan explains that he has citizenship. This makes my dad even more excited as he looks over at me. You would think they were discussing my marriage contract, and Callahan just promised him money and livestock.
The fact that he is making himself such a staple in my life has me gnawing on my bottom lip.
Everyone likes him so much, but what’s going to happen if this ends?
He seems like the perfect puzzle piece, but my edges are too sharp to fully fit him.
With each person he wins over, it’s like he is shoving himself in there anyway. But won’t that hurt him?
They start talking sports after Callahan offers a hand with the chopping. I just slide into a kitchen chair, defeated. No matter what I want, these two are going to do what they think is best.
I’m still not hungry when the food is done. The smell alone is threatening to start this hellish experience over. But they both agree that I need to eat at least some bread and a protein shake.
At some point during their bonding, I fall asleep at the table. When I wake up, I’m in my bed with water on the bedside table. Callahan left a note to call him, and a little goat figurine. It says push me, and when I do, it screams.
This earns another laugh, and a thud of my heart. I think he just changed the way it beats.
I give it one more push before rolling over and going back to sleep.