23. Now
Chapter 23
Now
“Y ou’re hogging the blanket.” Jase pulls it back to his side of the sofa.
“Am not.” I pull it back, right as he lets go, and the full blue throw ends up in my left hand. “Okay, now , I might be hogging the blanket.”
He smirks and gives me a kiss. “It’s okay. As much as I would love to watch another episode, I really should get to work. My mama’s coming in to finalize the menu for a fundraiser she’s hosting.”
I fold my legs under my butt. “Oh, nice. What’s it for?”
Hyla struts over, and Jase leans down to scratch her ears. “She’s been trying to find ways to honor my dad since he passed, and she recently found out October is Sudden Cardiac Arrest Awareness month, so we’re doing something at the bar to raise money for impacted families.”
My mouth parts. “Jase, that’s … so lovely.”
He nods. “Yeah, I’m proud of her for channeling her grief into something that’ll help other people. We all are.”
“I’d love to help with whatever she needs.”
“I’ll let her know. I’m sure she’d love that. Hear anything from your mama?”
I flip over my phone from where it’s resting on the arm of the sofa and tap it twice. “Nothing.”
“You’re welcome to stay here and binge Friends as long as you’d like, or … you could come to the bar with me and keep me company?”
“As nice as it sounds.” I give him a slow, sweet kiss. “I should get back. Thank you for today.”
“Thank you . I’ve missed this. Us.”
I smile. “Me too.”
When Hyla and I head back to my mama’s house, I redirect my thoughts from thinking of this as the new-normal and Sloane as home. My apartment, job, life … everything is back in New York. My stomach turns. Why does moving back to New York sound less appealing than it did a few weeks ago? When I came down here, it was always for the purpose of a visit, to help Mama through Dad’s health crisis, then go back home … but lately, New York feels further away and less like home.
I no sooner reach my room and settle in to work on a Case of the Mondays when the call comes. I answer immediately. “Hey, Mama.”
Pop’s deep voice on the other end of the phone sends a jolt right through me. “Katie girl. Your dad’s asking for you.”
He meets my silence with his own, letting me process everything.
I close my eyes. “I’m on my way.”
When I get to the hospital, Mama pulls me into a warm embrace. She doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t have to. It opens the floodgates, anyway.
“Oh, Mama. I hate this. I hate that he did this.” I don’t disguise the anger in my voice.
She closes her eyes, but to her credit, she doesn’t leave.
“I hate that he told everyone who would listen he was a family man my entire childhood, but he missed every school play, track and field event, and family dinner because he couldn’t stay awake to hear how my day was. I hate that he’s guilted good people into caring about him when he doesn’t care back. I hate how he treated you, how he thought you were his, regardless of the shit he put you through. I hate that he pushed me away. I hate that I left. I missed out on time with everyone I love because I let the bully win.”
I sniffle and fall forward, head in my hands, resting on my lap. I hate him, but I hate myself more for letting him win and change the course of my life.
While I’m wallowing in self-pity, I hear two sets of feet approach: Nana and Pop.
Nana places a kiss on my forehead. “You may have been louder than you meant to be, Katie girl.”
I hang my head further. Oh God.
Nana continues, “But for what it’s worth, I think he needed to hear it. I also think you need to tell him directly.”
I look up at Nana, completely drained. “I don’t think I can. I don’t think I can see him.”
Mama pats my back and places a strand of my hair behind my ear. “You are a strong, independent woman, Kate Elizabeth, and you can do this. If you don’t want to talk to him, that’s okay, too. You don’t have to do anything you aren’t comfortable doing. It doesn’t make you any less strong to walk away or head back to New York. Do you hear me?”
“Yes, ma’am.” I stand.
“Do you want me to come with you?” Mama asks.
I shake my head. Even though on my walk to Dad’s room, the only thought going through my mind is how I’d rather be doing anything else, anywhere else, than this, here. The closer I get, the louder the monitors beep, and while I’m vaguely aware of them, I’m more conscious of my sweaty palms and my stomach flipping over in dread.
A bubbly nurse comes out of Dad’s room with a laptop. She pulls the courtesy curtain closed and smiles when she spots me. “Hello there. Can I help you find the right room?”
“I’m—um—looking for Andy Dailey,” I whisper.
“Oh yes, you’re in the right place. You must be Kate?” she guesses, dimples on display.
I swallow.
“Your dad’s been asking for you. He’ll be happy you’ve made it.”
The nurse disappears down the hallway and leaves me standing outside of Dad’s room under a wave of emotions. He’s been asking for you . Why, so he could tell me what a failure and disappointment I am? Been there, done that. What a pathetic piece of — I pull back the curtain and gulp.
“Kate?” Dad puts the pudding cup and spoon in his hands down on the tray table next to the bed. “Is it really you?” His voice cracks. He coughs, and it’s like he’s hacking up a lung. His whole, frail body moves with it. He must have lost fifty pounds or more since I last saw him. His hair went from salt and pepper to all salt, and it’s receding. If I passed him today, out on the streets, walking around, living life, I wouldn’t recognize him. The man in the hospital bed in front of me, hooked up to three different monitors, is my father—and I wouldn’t even know it if the chart didn’t say it was him.
The thought hits me like a ton of bricks, and the tears come crashing down. I’ve spent six years thinking about this moment. Would it happen? Would I ever see him again? What would happen if I did? While most of the scenarios I’ve played out in my head involve me never seeing this man ever again … some part of me, deep down, let myself think about it. The scenario always ended up the same way: me yelling and screaming at him, strong enough to give him a piece of my mind. I would leave because it was my choice. I would tell him off, and I would go back to living my quiet, peaceful life. I didn’t consider a situation where it wouldn’t be true. I never thought it would be possible to see my dad again, after all this time, after all the pain he caused, and not let him have it, but here we are. Tears . Actual waterworks. While my brain says to stop, shut them off, be stronger than that … I can’t.
I take a seat, but the sobs don’t stop. Jase swore he would protect me, and he didn’t, and it stung , but it didn’t hurt as bad as hearing “I don’t love you” come from the one man who always should have. My heart is breaking all over again as I replay the scene and his words over and over again in my heart. You fucking whore. You’re a liar. I only love your mama.
“I know you hate me.” Dad finally breaks his silence.
I sniffle through the aches. “Yes.”
“I hate me, too,” he admits, tears free-falling onto his hospital gown.