9. Eden
NINE
EDEN
Be here at five, or we cancel our little deal.
My eyes skim the message for the thousandth time today. Usually Sundays are free to me and everyone else at the circus, so why Dick is texting me has anxiety bubbling up in my stomach like rancid food. As if performing with Teddy last night wasn’t punishment enough, I’m sure they have concocted some other idea to keep raking in the dough. Vic let slip that last night was their highest grossing evening so far, and the two imbeciles have pegged it on that stunt. I hadn’t been afraid of Teddy killing me, and he never once let his eyes slip to my bare chest, but the thought of seeing him again on Monday at school is enough to make me toy with the idea of feigning sickness.
A small cough snatches my attention, and I fumble to stow my phone in my hoodie pocket, bringing my knees up closer to my chest as I sit perched on his windowsill. My father’s dusky blue eyes are staring at me from across his hospice room, a frown painting his lips. The tube of oxygen attached to the wall runs to his nose, the only bit of medical attention he allows.
It’s so he can chat without running out of breath.
Last week, we were informed the cancer had spread to his lungs. The doctor had hesitated to share the news with me, because now it’s simply a race of which necessary organ will fail first, succumbing to the cancer like a knight overrun on a battlefield.
I used to think my dad was a knight in shining armor, the way he saved me from my mother and her insanity. But now I’m grown up, and knights don’t exist anymore. The world is cruel and cold, and hope—however small—is damnable.
“You’re quiet for once.”
His voice is raspy, his body frail and decaying from the inside out. His salt and pepper hair thins more each day, and the bags under his eyes grow. He’s worried about me. He knows I want to hate him for not fighting anymore, but that’s a battle I lost in order to win the war.
“Work was…tough last night,” I mutter, picking at a piece of lint on my jeans. He frowns, giving me a knowing look. I swipe my sweaty palms on my thighs, always nervous when the topic of work is broached.
“They need to give you a break, kiddo. You’re about to graduate. School comes first.”
It’s the same fatherly spiel every time, and so I smile blandly and agree, unwilling to rock the boat and raise his blood pressure further.
“Need me to talk to ‘em?”
“What? No!” I say quickly, terrified at the prospect that he may discover my secret. He’s under the impression I work at a bar and restaurant on Bainbridge Island. The commute would suck, and the hours would therefore be long and arduous. The perfect cover for the real hellhole I’m stuck in.
His frown deepens, the stubble across his cheeks and chin matching the hue of his hair. At least he kept his hair this time, although it grew back even more gray than last time he went through chemo. I’m not disillusioned enough to think life should be fair, but a man like my father dying slowly after just getting me back feels like a fucking slap to the face.
“Eden Marie,” he threatens, and his tone still has the capacity to make me want to crawl into a hole and hide. I grin to disguise my nerves and fish for something to distract him.
“Are you still going to come to graduation?”
His eyes soften, and so does his smile.
“Of course, lovebug. Wouldn’t miss it for the world. As long as you’re still valedictorian?”
I roll my eyes, resting my chin on my knees, disgruntled but returning his smile. He’s filled with pride at my accomplishments, no matter how small I deem them. I was never the athlete he’d hoped, dance being my chosen route and one I put aside years ago. I threw myself into my studies and took every AP class I could wriggle my way into in the hopes that when he died, I'd have scholarships to pave my way to college and a better future.
Now, I’ll be at the circus until the debt of his death and dying is paid.
“Duh. But I told them I’m not making a speech.”
He glares.
“Why not?”
“Because,” I grumble, slipping my hands into the sleeves of my hoodie. “I don’t need anyone throwing rotten vegetables at me and booing.”
His eyes dance.
“They wouldn’t.”
“They would. They’re all assholes.”
“Because they’re too selfish to realize what a smart, beautiful young lady you are.”
“You have to say that. You’re my father. It’s like, dad code.”
He chuckles, covering his mouth with his fist as it turns into a pitiful cough. Straightening out my legs, I swing them over the side and plant my feet on the ground, prepared to grab him a glass of water. Before I’m able to, his favorite nurse waltzes in with his next round of pain meds and a tray of food.
He waves me away with his handkerchief, bright blood dotting the white linen, and my heart sinks at the sight.
“What do you have for me today, Betsy? More gruel?”
She chuckles, sliding his tray onto his table and handing him the little clear cup of pills. “Funny. My son says the same thing at dinner every night.”
My dad downs the meds with a swig of water, nodding in my direction as he swallows. Betsy fiddles with his oxygen mask, her scrubs dotted with daisies. I’ve always liked her, and I’m thankful I found a place like this for him. Somewhere peaceful that he could go to die with whatever dignity remained.
“Eden, do you know her son? Cash? Just found out you two go to the same school.”
My heart, on the floor a moment ago, gives an angry thump, and I do my best to hide my shock as I smile wanly at Betsy.
“Umm, yeah, yeah I do. He’s nice.”
She smiles, and it’s then I see their resemblance. They have the same mouth and nose and kind brown eyes.
“He’d better be. I’ll take his precious Mustang to the junkyard if he isn’t. That boy has put more miles on that car than should be legal.”
“Eden isn’t too fond of the students at Prep. Says they bully her.”
“Dad,” I hiss, indignant, my cheeks flaming to life as I smile again at Betsy. She laughs, hand on her hip as she holds my gaze.
“Oh, honey. Cash hates it there, too. We wanted him in a good school, but you’re right. The kids are…harsh. I’m just thankful he met Teddy. Those two…peas in a pod. Can’t ever separate them.”
My dad lifts the lid on his tray, sniffing at whatever steaming pile of food is on his plate. Distractedly, he asks, “You know him, lovebug? Teddy?”
Teeth grinding and heart clenching so hard it aches, I feign nonchalance and fool no one.
“Yup.”
Betsy and my dad quickly share a knowing look before he glances at me coyly.
“Anything I need to know, Eden? If he’s wanting to court you, he’d better be a gentleman and come meet me.”
“Dad!” I yelp, slapping a hand to my face to cover my eyes. If only the floor would swallow me whole. It would fix an innumerable amount of problems. Betsy lets out a generous laugh.
“He’s quite the gentleman, Rob, I assure you. Still calls me Mrs. Johnson after all these years. Are you two going to prom together?” she asks, eyes dancing.
“Ugh! No! No, there’s nothing going on between him and me. The only thing we have in common is that we’re freaks.”
Silence befalls the room, and I freeze, my tongue plastered to the roof of my mouth. Betsy looks away as the awkwardness grows, and my father…he looks wounded. As if he’s in more pain because of what I just said than any pain his cancer could cause.
“You’re not a freak, Eden, do you understand me?”
His voice has gone cold and quiet, and tears suddenly brim my eyes. He worked so fucking hard to get me back, to make me feel whole again after what my mother did. I was a freak in her world, and she made sure everyone knew it, even as they continued to exploit me. And once I was free, I became a freak in this world, too.
Betsy leaves silently, and a chill befalls the room. His stare is unwavering and potent, his militaristic background pushing to the forefront in this moment. He’s always been hard on me because of how he was raised, and because of his job. As much as I used to hate it, I appreciate it now that I’m about to go it alone in this fucked up world.
“I…I have to go…have to catch the ferry. I have a work meeting,” I lie easily. After a moment, he shakes his head, releasing me in his disappointment. Every time I leave, I have to wonder if it will be the last time I see him. I’ll replay every minute interaction in my mind on a loop, praying I hadn’t said something I’d regret. It’s the worst form of torture I could ever imagine, the not knowing, the slow decay of life before your eyes. If I could give my life for his, I would do so a thousand times over.
“I love you, Eden,” he says, reaching across the bed for my hand. I grasp his fingers tightly, and he tries to hold me back, his strength waning more each day. The lump in my throat burns. His eyes flick between mine, aged beyond their years. There’s a sort of melancholy to his gaze now. He knows his time is soon, and knows he can’t keep fighting it anymore. I can’t imagine it, knowing your death is coming, just not knowing when or how badly it will hurt to get there.
“I love you more,” I say, my tears slipping loose and trailing down my cheeks.