Chapter 11
“Dad, are you sure you don’t mind me leaving?” I called, peeking my head around the dining room table to watch as he slowly shuffled to his armchair and sat down.
“I am not an invalid, girl!” he huffed, grabbing the remote and turning on the television before picking up his decaf coffee and draining the mug. “You’re allowed to have a life outside of making sure I don’t slip in the damn shower.”
I rubbed my left temple and bit the inside of my cheek, wondering if it was too early to crack the seal on the big bottle of vodka on the counter and take a swig.
A pity invite to a daughters-only brunch from your father’s next-door neighbor was reason enough to break out the Bloody Marys early.
Listening to my father bitch about things neither of us could control definitely had nothing to do with my sudden need for alcohol.
“You know, Dad, I’m not implying you can’t take care of yourself, but my whole reason for moving in was to take care of you. It kind of defeats the purpose if I leave.”
“All you do is stay cooped up in this house day in and day out. Plus, I thought you moved in because you found some sense and left that asswipe in the dust. As I recall it, you needed a place to stay.”
The retort on my lips evaporated as I walked to the living room and stood in front of his chair, blocking the television. He tried to peer around me but only winced as the movement strained the staples in his chest.
“Is that what you think? That the only reason I’m taking care of you is because I had nowhere else to go?”
“Summer—”
“No. Seriously, Dad. Tell me how you really feel. I can’t even imagine how much pain you’re in, and how hard it is to realize that things in this house have to change, but you have been an absolute bear since the day I got here.”
I crossed my arms as I leaned closer, trying my best to bury the anger I felt at his words.
“I’m here because you’re my father and I would do anything for you.
I’m here because my job is flexible and I’ve banked a shit-ton of time off.
Dammit, Dad. How could you say that? Divorce or not, I’d be here because I freaking love you! ”
Stomping back into the kitchen, I opened the fridge and took out the strawberry strata. Then, the vodka and mix went into a travel bag as I slung my purse over my shoulder and grabbed my keys, not caring that my arms were straining under the weight of the food.
“I’ll be back later,” I said, not looking at him as I walked behind the chair and to the front door.
“Summer, listen—”
“It’s fine, Dad. But you’re right. I haven’t done much of anything since moving in. See you.”
Careful not to drop the casserole, I sat the bag with the drinks on the porch and locked the door, taking a moment to close my eyes and count to ten.
Then I did it again in Latin before opening my eyes and shaking my head, letting an almost genuine smile grace my features as I walked the short distance to Bev’s house.
The front door was open, and I heard noises coming through the screen door before one of the puppies spotted me and started barking.
The other soon followed, with his cute little bowtie collar, scratching on the door and announcing my presence.
Bev stuck her head around the corner and smiled, then scrunched her eyebrows as I tried to lift one hand to return the gesture.
“Good morning, Super Woman. Let me give you a hand with that.” I stepped back so she could open the door, my smile not as forced as she grabbed a bag while shooing the pups away with her foot.
“I was so worried I’d scared you off with my brand of crazy and am so glad you’re going to join us for brunch. ”
“Oh, not at all. Thanks again for the invite. I’ve been looking forward to more of those cinnamon rolls.” I shuffled inside, following her down the hallway and taking in the scent of sizzling bacon and sweet waffles. “A change of scenery is nice, too.”
“Well, you’ve got to make getting out of the house more of a priority. Being a caregiver is tough work,” she said, carefully avoiding the puppies nipping her heels on the way to the kitchen.
“Yeah, I know. It’s been an uphill battle to balance taking care of Dad while still making sure he has his independence. I hope I’m not too early. What can I help with?”
“I have things handled right now, so there’s plenty of time for the two of us to have a drink and chat before the chaos starts.”
“Chaos?” I questioned, tugging my lip between my teeth. After setting the casserole on the counter, I made myself comfortable on the floor outside the kitchen and laughed as both puppies immediately crawled into my lap.
“Those cheeky little devils sure love you,” Bev said, taking out my homemade Bloody Mary mix and grabbing two tall glasses from the cabinet beside the fridge.
She poured a healthy amount of vodka before adding ice and the mix.
One puppy snuggled between my crossed legs, while the other kept jumping toward my face, attempting to lick my neck.
“The feeling is mutual,” I cooed, rubbing Tito’s belly. I could tell it was Tito from the brindle coloring around his cute little face.
Perhaps I could convince Bev to let me stay on the floor for brunch and play with the puppies. My contribution to the conversation wouldn’t be missed, and these furballs, at least, were grateful for the attention.
“So what’s the matter?” Bev said, bending down to hand me a drink.
I stared at the beverage, deflecting her question while noticing that she’d added a pickled okra and green olive stuffed with cheese to the glass. The mix tasted perfect—just the right amount of spice and tartness to mask the burn of the vodka.
“Things are fine, I guess. Are you sure I can’t help you with anything?
” After taking another large gulp of the drink, I shrugged and leaned up, careful not to jostle the puppy on my lap as I set the glass on the dining room table behind me.
My back rested against a dining room chair, and I wiggled, trying to get comfortable.
“Things are not fine,” she said, sitting beside me and stretching her legs in front of her. “You came over with slippers on and are now sitting on my dining room floor.”
“Oh, my God. I can’t catch a break,” I said, dropping my head to my chest and taking in my appearance.
My clothes were fine and my makeup was done, but in my haste to get out of the house before I cried or screamed, my fuzzy slippers didn’t make the cut.
“This is so embarrassing. Obviously, I’m in no condition to meet your daughters. ”
“Nonsense. Now this was twenty years ago, mind you, but I remember the stress of caring for a parent. Especially a prickly one like your dad. Are things okay over there?”
“No. Yes. Ugh,” I said, knocking my head gently against the back of the chair.
“Get your drink and let’s talk.”
I nodded, thankful that the puppies had migrated to Bev’s lap, and retrieved my beverage. The condensation from the glass cooled my hand, and I removed the sword holding the olive and okra, eating both as I gathered my whirling thoughts.
“Things are fine at home.”
Bev raised an eyebrow and pursed her lips but didn’t refute my statement.
“Okay. Yes. My father can be a difficult, difficult man, and things have been strained.”
“Hmm.” She stirred the straw in her drink and took a sip as Port settled herself onto her lap, resting her head on Bev’s knee and yawning. Tito followed, and she stroked their backs and smiled as they snuggled against her.
“My divorce is finalized, which is great, but my ex took the opportunity of confirming it to drop a bombshell on me.”
“Well, shit. We’re going to need more vodka. Be a dear and grab the bottle, Summer, and tell me more.”
“Right.” I stood and stumbled to the kitchen, rotating my left ankle that had fallen asleep, and retrieved the bottle from the counter.
“In case you were wondering, the atomic explosion detonating between my eyeballs was not that he knocked up his secretary, or that they’re getting married.
That would be too simple. It’s that he’s going after an inheritance from an aunt I didn’t even know I had. ”
“Oh, honey.”
I slumped back to the ground, setting the vodka on the hardwood floor.
More alcohol sounded about as appealing as a lobotomy, and I pushed the liter away as she scooted closer and wrapped an arm around my shoulder.
I wanted to cry or scream or break something, but the anger wouldn’t come.
Instead, numbness spread through my chest, hardening myself against anything that could do me more harm.
“That, mixed with the guilt over not giving my work the dedication it needs, not taking care of Dad the way I should, and not giving my sisters sufficient updates on his progress has caused—”
I exhaled, tapping each finger to my thumb as I searched for a word to describe my emotional implosion, but my mind remained blissfully blank.
“Drama,” Bev finished my sentence, and I nodded. “That is a lot to unpack.”
The last thing I needed was to go home and face my dad’s half-assed apologies, but staying here and trying to be a gracious guest sent a bolt of anxiety down my spine.
“I really should go.” I drew my legs to my chest, bracing my arms on the floor before standing and retrieving the vodka bottle.
Port and Tito assumed it was playtime and jumped from Bev, circling my feet and licking the exposed skin of my ankles.
“I think I need a double caffeinated, double cream, double sugar coffee, and then to wander around Target for an hour buying copious amounts of Halloween decorations on clearance.”