Chapter 8
Dad looks small. He’s losing weight. I don’t like that. I make a mental note to ask the nurses about the cafeteria menu. If he doesn’t like what they’re serving, I can set up a meal delivery service. He loves comfort food; stews, chillies, roasts, and mashed potatoes. Mom’s Mississippi Mud Roast was always his favorite. He’d eat copious amounts of it, hungry or not.
“Dad?” I ask loudly, trying to speak over the chirping of the birds. It’s pleasant today in Piermont’s garden patio. The sun is bright, the breeze is crisp, a nice break from the heat. But there are bird feeders in almost every tree surrounding us, and the Blue Jays are having a goddamn rave, screeching like they’re on fire. “How’s the food? You look slim.”
Dad lifts his salt-and-pepper brows and smiles wide. “The term you’re looking for is svelte.” He sits up straight in his chair and pats his flat stomach. “I’ve been hitting the gym. Thanks for noticing,” he says with a wink.
Alex shoots me a telling glance from across the iron firepit we’re seated around. He must have similar suspicions. The first thing the nurses told us when we arrived today was he started a new medication. He’s been nauseous and hasn’t had much of an appetite.
“Dad,” Alex adds, “what if we cooked some things you like every now and then, packed it up, and sent it over. Would that help you eat?”
Dad’s loud cackle echoes off the trees. “My boys, cooking? That’s laughable.” He reaches over the iron armchair of my seat and pats my thigh. “Good thing you have Liv or you’d starve. While we’re on the subject, I would not say no to a few of those little cookies with the Hershey kisses she makes. What are they called?”
Alex’s eyes are on me again. The tension in his shoulders is visible. He gets uncomfortable whenever Dad brings my ex-wife up so casually, like he’s worried I’ll snap.
“Peanut Butter Blossoms,” I say simply.
“That’s right. I remember now. Peanut Butter Blossoms. Maybe you can bring a batch of those, long after the baby arrives, of course. She shouldn’t be on her feet right now, slaving away in the kitchen.”
I nod in understanding. Here we go, time for the lies. We’re always careful when we approach these conversations. Dad is aware he’s sick and needs Piermont’s assistance. He understands that due to his condition he forgets things. However, he’s completely unaware that eight years have gone by, Alex has finished his residency, completed his fellowship, and opened his own practice. Dad’s clueless to the fact that I’m thirty-two, not twenty-four, Liv and I are divorced, and I have no baby.
But why ruin a perfectly pleasant California afternoon?
“Does she still think the car ride up here will make her sick?” Dad asks. “By this late in the pregnancy, most of that should’ve passed by now.”
“Dad,” I grumble. “She’s just tired.”
“How’s her blood pressure? Being tired is normal. Excessive fatigue could indicate preeclampsia.”
Dad was a general practitioner, so obstetrics and gynecology weren’t his expertise, but he still knows more than most. He also had a wife with two high-risk pregnancies.
“She’s fine, Dad. And you’re supposed to be enjoying your early retirement. You don’t need to go all ‘Doctor Montgomery’ on us.”
“That’s right,” Dad says, beaming at Alex, “there’s a new doctor in town.”
Alex nods. “Just following in your footsteps.”
“My footsteps?” Dad replies with a chuckle. “I didn’t have the gall to make it through a surgical residency. I’m very proud of you, Alex.” He turns his attention to me. “And while I still don’t exactly understand what an entertainment agent does, son, I’m proud of you too. The way you treasure your wife, you’re a better husband than I ever was. You’ll be a better father too. Let me tell you boys something: every parent wants their children to supersede their accomplishments, and I know it was hard without your mom, but somehow things went right with you two.”
There’s acid bubbling up in my chest. The taste of bile is in the back of my throat. Instead of responding, I watch my shoes. I’m grateful for the distraction when my phone chimes back to back. I always set my phone on Do Not Disturb when I’m with Dad, but today I adjusted the setting to allow notifications from only one number.
Amani
So Carson found all of my makeup. And we’re keeping ourselves thoroughly entertained.
The next few messages are images of Amani’s face, streaked with an array of different colors of eyeshadow and lipstick. I’m very curious as to why she has electric blue lipstick. That’s kind of sexy, actually.
Carson’s pudgy hand holding a makeup brush is visible in the corner of all her selfies. She let my nephew give her the world’s worst makeover, but the gleeful smile she’s wearing in every single picture. It’s the best smile I’ve ever seen. On anyone.
Amani
He’s only poked me in the eye, thrice.
I chuckle to myself, then glance up to see Alex sitting at the edge of his seat.
“What’s up?” he asks.
“They are doing great.” I keep my response simple and vague.
“Who is doing great?” Dad asks, with a clueless smile.
“My friend is watching Alex’s new puppy. They’re making a huge mess, but she’s handling it beautifully.”
Dad’s face twists in confusion and looks to his left at Alex. “A new puppy, really? With your fellowship coming up? You’re not going to be home much, son. Cardiothoracics is going to be grueling and you won’t have time to—”
“Dad,” Alex says, while looking at me pleadingly. Oh no. “There’s no puppy.”
“Don’t,” I hiss at him.
“Adam.” Alex holds his hands out and shrugs. “You’ll just have to forgive me later.” He’s already made his mind up and all I can do is sink into the thick patio chair cushion and brood.
Rising, Alex picks up his chair and plants it right next to Dad’s. He sits back down and grabs one of Dad’s hands, cradling it in both of his.
“You have a rare condition, Dad,” Alex starts.
Dad nods solemnly. “I know.”
“It’s more serious than you realize.”
Dad glances at me briefly, then back at Alex, but I catch sight of his furrowed brows and the concern clouding his expression.
“Alex, please don’t,” I beg, but he ignores me.
“Dad, you’re having trouble recalling long-term memories and formulating any new memories. We lose you for long periods of time. Sometimes you don’t even know who Adam and I are. But every time you do, we’re here. Every time you ask for us, we come.”
Dad gulps hard, as if he’s trying to swallow a lump in his throat. He’s quiet for a long time as the gears in his head turn. Sitting in silence, we give him time to process as we listen to the birds squawking at each other, like nails on a chalkboard. If only I had a slingshot within reach.
“So, um, catch me up,” Dad eventually croaks out.
Alex lets out a deep breath. “Eight years ago, I specialized in plastics. I decided against cardiothoracics. Truth be told, there’s more money in plastics. I’ve performed over four hundred cosmetic surgeries now, and I own my own practice. But the part of my life I want to show you most is my son,” Alex says, pulling his phone out of his pocket.
He holds the screen in front of Dad’s face. It has a privacy protector, so I can’t see the images from this angle, but I’m assuming he’s flipping through pictures of Carson. I study the tears forming in Dad’s eyes, hoping it’s not all pain. Maybe there’s a few tears of joy at the sight of his first grandchild.
Dad points to the screen. “That’s his mother? Are you married?”
“Doctor Tara Baker. She’s a surgeon, too. She actually did opt for cardiothoracics. We’re not married, but we’re co-parenting just fine. He looks so much like you, Dad, do you see it? His full name is Carson Clay Baker-Montgomery.”
“Clay?” Dad asks, flinching at the mention of his name. “My name?”
“Carson for Tara’s grandpa. And Clay…for you.”
Dad sucks in short heaves, clearly becoming overwhelmed.
I place my hand on his back, his bony spine protruding though he’s only slightly hunched over. He needs to eat more. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” he sniffles. “I’m fine. I just… You should’ve brought him. I’d love to hold him. Next time, bring him, okay? I’ll remember him, I promise.”
I wish he wouldn’t say heartbreaking shit like that. This is at least the fourth time we’ve told him about Carson. He never remembers.
“I will,” Alex says. “Next time, I promise. But we talk about you all the time and show him pictures. He calls you Papa Clay. Well, Papa ‘Cay.’ Ls are tricky for him lately.”
Dad smiles, but his cheeks are glistening as he turns his head toward me. “And what about my granddaughter? My God, I missed everything. After eight years, she’s not a baby, but a little girl.” Dad’s eyes light up as he nods to my phone still in my hand. “Can I see pictures? What did you end up naming her?”
It was my ongoing argument with Liv. I wanted the name Summer for our baby. She was pushing for Holly, my mother’s name, until the end. Dad was a good sport about the idea of us naming our daughter after his ex-wife. He told me he was fine with whatever we chose, and he’d love his granddaughter just the same.
Except it wasn’t his granddaughter.
Removing my hand from Dad’s back, I rub my temple as if my head aches. “She wasn’t mine, Dad. Liv confessed a few weeks before she was due that the baby was the product of an affair. So I divorced her. We never decided on a name. I never saw the baby.”
My response sounds candid. I gave all the details, matter-of-fact. I don’t know how to properly convey the emotional wreckage I went through.
I was betrayed. I was justified in leaving her. But divorcing a pregnant woman in her third trimester, after she dropped to her knees and begged me to stay made me feel like the real villain. But I couldn’t live with the constant reminder that the woman who was my entire world betrayed me in the worst way. I wouldn’t be able to look into that baby’s eyes and feel anything but anger.
Dad scoots out his chair and stands. He rests his feeble hand on my shoulder and lightly squeezes. “I’m sorry. I need a moment, son. I’ll be back.” He starts down the walking path, slowly, methodically. One careful step in front of the other as if he’s afraid he’ll collapse.
I glare at Alex, on the opposite side of the firepit table. “Feel good about yourself?”
“Adam,” he grumbles, “we do this your way nine out of ten times. I get why you hate telling him about Liv. But I miss him too. If you had a child, you’d want to share that with your mom and dad.”
I exhale. He has a point. Maybe my desire to escape the past is selfish and I should—
Wait.“Mom and dad?” I ask, my tone growing accusing. “Did I hear that right?”
Alex ducks his head and lifts his eyes, a warning flare in them. “Yes.”
I narrow my eyes. “What’re you saying?”
He theatrically rolls his eyes and grumbles before he beats his fist against his forehead.
“That’s a little dramatic, don’t you think?” I’m trying to stay calm, but the agitation is bubbling under my skin. What the fuck is going on?
“If I tell you something, do you think you can be reasonable?”
“No,” I snark. “But tell me anyway.”
He holds his hands together and taps his pointer fingers against his lips. “Carson hangs out with his grandma a couple of times a month. She takes him to the bounce house place and movies and stuff. He loves her.”
Pressure builds behind my eyelids. This is too fucking much today. Dredging up the Liv shit, and now Mom, too? “Well, warn him not to get too attached. She’s slippery.”
“Adam,” Alex scolds.
“No, don’t Adam me. I’m not fucking crazy, right? You were there.”
“I was where?” He’s using the same tone he does with Carson when he’s in the middle of a toddler meltdown.
“The car, when we got T-boned by some jackass going the wrong way down the bypass. We rolled, spilled our lunch, and when the paramedics got there, we were covered in spilled milkshakes, fry crumbs, and blood. Remember that?”
“Yeah, Adam,” Alex says, touching the top of his forehead where the faintest trace of his scar is still visible. “I remember.”
“Okay,” I continue, “and remember how our momleft us, right after? We were still wearing the damn hospital wristbands when she dipped out. And now she’s playing world’s greatest grandma to your son? You don’t see anything wrong with that?”
The birds are quiet now. Maybe my yelling scared them away.
“Her mental health was already unstable, and the accident put her in shock. She was driving. She got hurt too. Mom made a mistake. I’m not saying she didn’t. Don’t look at me like that.”
“Like what?”
He presses his palm against his chest. “Like I’m being disloyal.”
I’m on my feet now, pushing back my chair. It screeches against the stone patio.
“Look, I’ve been waiting for the right time to bring it up, but she wants to see Dad…and you. It was two decades ago, and now, it’s time to forgive her.”
I laugh silently at the notion. Forgive her? “You were seventeen. I was eight, Alex. Maybe you were grown up, but I needed my fucking mom and she chose to leave. You do what you want, but I don’t want to see her, and she better not come here. Dad doesn’t need that kind of stress.”
Alex scoffs. “Are you afraid?”
“Excuse me?”
“Are you afraid that if she’s in Carson’s life, and Mom and Dad connect and find peace, you’ll be left all alone in your anger and unforgiveness?”
Crossing my arms, I shake my head. “Fuck you, man,” I bite out.
He shrugs off my outburst. “It’s just something to think about, Adam. I let go of my anger toward her, and I felt like I could breathe again.”
I roll my eyes. “I’m letting go of this conversation.” I turn on my heel.
“Where are you going?”
“To find Dad,” I mutter.
“Are you pissed at me?”
I don’t answer him, just start walking in the direction Dad did.
“Are you still willing to watch Carson tomorrow?” he calls out.
“Yup,” I shout over my shoulder.
* * *
“Dad?” I ask, lifting my knuckle to the door to his dormitory. It’s ajar, but I knock anyway, so softly, it’s barely audible. “Are you okay?”
The bed creaks, a few soft thuds on the floor, and then he opens the door wide. “I was just headed back your way. I needed a little quiet to—” He taps his temples in lieu of finishing his sentence.
“They’ll be serving dinner soon. Should we grab Alex and head to the dining hall?”
Dad steps backward and beckons me into his room. “You know what? How about just me and you for a moment?”
I follow him and take a deep breath. The room smells strongly of warm apple pie. “Did I interrupt dessert?” I look around at the small round table next to his kitchenette. The single-serve coffee maker is clean and empty. There’s nothing warming in the small microwave.
“It’s a candle.” He points to his nightstand where a large three-wick candle lies. Getting closer, I inhale deeply, noticing the small pools of melted wax around each wick. It’s a pleasant smelling candle, like real pie, not the sickeningly sweet artificial smell of apple. “I came back in here to light it.”
“Why?” I take a seat on his bed.
Dad exhales as he takes a seat in his reading chair. It’s impressive how much furniture they’ve crammed into one room. A shrunken home. “The neurologist was here last week and gave me homework.” He waggles his eyebrows. “Cocky-ass specialists love when they can boss us general practitioners around.”
I don’t find it funny, but I force out a small laugh. “What homework?”
“They’re curious if stimulating my senses will trigger some type of response. When it comes to the brain, you won’t believe how intricately everything is connected. I think the doctors are convinced if I stub my toe the right way, I’ll remember everything. Everyone is just hoping for—”
“Miracles,” I finish for him.
Dad nods. “Alaina, one of my nurses, brought me an apple pie candle. When I smell it, it reminds me of…something.” His nostrils flare as he tries to keep his composure. “I think it helps me remember you guys.”
“What’s it like?” I ask, knowing damn well the answer. I’ve asked so many times before, but I need his reassurance. “Are you ever scared or lonely? Do you wake up and not know who you are?”
“No. It’s not that intense, son. Each day is different, but it’s hard to explain. You know when you misplace your keys?”
“Sure.”
“You distinctly recall that you hung them up, left them on the counter, or in a coat pocket. But when you check, they aren’t there, and it’s hard to distinguish what memories are from earlier that day, or from weeks past. You wonder if your brain is playing tricks on you, or you’re making up memories. It all blurs together. Then, when you eventually find your keys on your clothes dresser, you have no recollection of ever placing them there, or even going into the bedroom in the first place. My memory is like that, all the time. In and out, with brief moments of clarity.”
When he pauses, I realize I’m staring at the mark on my white sneakers. I normally only wear these to the gym. I popped them on today to help Amani move. Hm, I scuffed them on something blue today, apparently.
“Adam?” Dad asks.
I lift my eyes to meet his gaze. “Yeah?”
“I’m okay. I’m not in any pain, and I’m not afraid.”
I knew.I wanted to hear it again, but I knew. I sigh in relief. “Good, Dad. I’m glad.” Reaching over, I pick up the small lighter and fidget with it until I see a flame. I light the wicks one by one. “You only liked apple pie when Mom made it.”
“Hmm?” he asks.
“For the pie filling, most people slice the apples thin, so they cook through all the way and get soft. But Mom used to cut the apples into cubes. You always said you like a little chew to your pie. But Alex—”
“That’s right,” Dad says, laughing and bobbing his head. “Alex hated the cubes. He liked his pie mushy and gooey, and your mom wouldn’t make either of us suffer. She’d make two pies.”
I smile. Yeah, I guess Mom had her moments. “You should know, Alex didn’t take a fellowship in plastics for the money. It was because the fellowship was in L.A. Close to me and you. Cardiothoracics would’ve taken him across the country.”
Guilt washes across his face. “You stayed for me, too?”
“Nah,” I say with a playful shrug. “L.A. is the breeding ground for actors and actresses. It’s where I belong.”
“Did that one client ever pan out for you? The one you were raving about?” Dad furrows his brows, desperately trying to find the words on the tip of his tongue. “Ford something…Jack, I believe? Jack Ford?”
“Chase,” I correct. “He’s a superstar. His net worth is well into eight figures.”
Dad beams at me. “That’s great. All because of my boy.”
I smile back. “Because of Chase… And maybe a little because of me.” I lift one shoulder. Okay, a lot because of me. But I can’t do what he does. I’ve tried. Acting is not my strength. Together, we make a good team. “Truth be told, I do everything else so Chase can just act. He’s very talented, but it takes a team to keep him focused and protected from all the unnecessary bullshit, you know? The entertainment industry is a brutal place. But we manage. We have our little family.”
All traces of humor disappear from his face. Dad says suddenly, “I’m sorry.”
“For?”
“What happened with Liv. Your other family. I wasn’t there for you.”
I shake my head. “It’s okay. You didn’t know.” More specifically, I didn’t tell him. Dad started showing severe symptoms about two weeks before Liv obliterated our marriage with her confession. I dealt with it quietly. I didn’t tell anyone what was going on until well after the fact. Alex was buried in his surgical program, so fucking stressed out. I had just started working with Chase. He put his trust in me. I didn’t want him to think I was unstable. So I coped quietly. Or maybe I never really coped. I don’t know.
“I can’t imagine the grieving, son.”
I squint at him. “The baby didn’t die, Dad. There was nothing to grieve over.”
He raises his brows and clears his throat. “I grieved when your mother left us.”
I want to say the circumstances were different, but were they? Both were betrayals by women we loved.
“Adam,” Dad continues, “I had to really grieve to forgive myself.”
“Forgive yourself? I can’t believe you just said that. You worked day and night building a really nice life for your family. Mom didn’t appreciate it. She walked away like it was nothing, then you had to pick up all the pieces by yourself. What the hell would you need forgiveness for?”
“Your mother raised Alex while I was finishing medical school, studying for exams, then working grueling hours in my internship and residency. Then you came along, and I opened my practice. I wasn’t just a doctor. I became a business owner too. Maybe she left to give me a taste of my own medicine.”
“What?”
Dad sighs. “Maybe she wanted me to feel what it was like to raise children alone.”
I scoff. “That’s not an excuse.”
“She was hurting for a long time, and I didn’t notice. We talked, years later. Did I ever tell you that? You were around eleven when your mother and I met for lunch. She wasn’t asking for forgiveness, she didn’t think she deserved it, but she just wanted to explain. All that time your mother felt trapped, abandoned, unappreciated, and I should’ve taken it more seriously, Adam. My absence drove her away, and yes, she took the cowardly way out, but my point is—there’s a reason why she wanted out. I wasn’t there for her. I was there for work.”
I can’t tell if he’s being tactless or purposely accusing. “Are you talking about Mom…or Liv? Because based on what you just said, I drove my wife right into the arms of another man.”
Dad shakes his head slowly. “Not at all, son. I love you. And I’m sorry she hurt you the way she did. I’m just saying, grieve. Then move on. Don’t let unforgiveness rule your life because you’ll end up like me.”
“Like what?”
“Stuck in the past, with all these missing memories.”
I let the heavy feeling of guilt sit on my shoulders, pressing me further into the mattress. I put as much distance as I could between me and Liv. But am I stuck? Why do I still flinch when I say her name? Why do I feel guilty that I never held that baby? What if my little banana was looking for me, and I wasn’t there?
“Come on, Dad. Let’s go get dinner, okay?”
He rises and I blow out the candle with gusto, trying my best to snuff out all the memories.