Chapter 8
Beck
It’s been one week of being home at my parents’ and while I’m pretty sure my dad’s bitten his tongue off more times than I can count—I think we’ve come to some sort of acceptance.
Getting a little more one-on-one talks with my mom’s nurses has been a great help for my sanity as well.
I know there’s no stopping what’s happening, but they’ve been encouraging about the whole thing.
But deep in my gut, I know we’re nearing the end of this, so making her comfortable is my top priority.
Granted, me being here has seemed to cause my mom a little bit of discomfort.
I’m not taking it too personally, or, well, trying not to at least. I’m constantly reminding myself that it happens every visit, even if this one seems to be taking a little bit longer for her to feel comfortable around me.
Dad did have a great suggestion of watching some of my games that they have taped. I’ve gotten to join the past few nights, but the first four nights…I just let that be the bright side of her day, rather than force my inclusion.
Yesterday was probably the best day yet, and I really hoped today would fall into a similar rhythm, but unfortunately that was wishful thinking.
All day I’ve been nothing but a source of anxiety for her. No matter how many times Dad calmly talks about me or the nurses bring me up as helpful—I can’t go in the same room as her without it deeply impacting her.
I’ve stayed holed up in my room and really don’t plan on leaving. It’s been raining all day, so I’ve cracked one of my windows to truly appreciate the sound of it falling.
When a knock comes to my door, there’s a clench in my chest.
“Beck, sweetie, it’s me, Nurse Jamie.”
I let out a small sigh of relief at her normal tone, but even then I open my door cautiously.
The older lady gives me a soft smile. “I wanted to let you know your mom is resting if you wanted to, I don’t know, walk around for a bit, make some lunch—up to you. She’s usually down for an hour or two.”
Clearing my throat, I give her a soft nod. “Alright, I’ll make myself a sandwich or something, then come back up here.”
Jamie hums. “Whatever floats your boat. At least take your time making it, will ya? You’re bumming me out, sitting in here all by your lonesome.”
Oh great, if I’m bumming her out, that definitely means my dad’s feeling it too. Getting out of here might be damage control more than anything.
“I assure you, I’m fine. I’ll take my time, though, if that makes anyone feel better.”
She cuts me a look. “Mm-hmm, your dad’s in the garage too, if that helps.”
It definitely does.
Quietly making my way to the kitchen, I do as Jamie asks. I don’t rush and make myself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich like I had planned. I actually take my time rifling through the fridge before deciding on a grilled cheese with chips in the middle of it.
Walking into the dining room, I set my plate down at the spot I claimed as mine growing up and make my way over to crack one of the windows just like I did upstairs.
Sitting in silence provides way too many opportunities for my brain to get carried away, and I try to imagine every single one of my stresses and worries about me being here fall away just as the rain falls from the sky.
Can’t say that coping method works every time, but today it does the trick. And as if the universe wants to reward me for that, I get the best video of Dottie turning circles excited to go for a run with Jensen.
Can’t say I blame the girl one bit.
Way to break my heart. Poor girl must miss me so much.
Jenni-cakes
It’s Monday, she’s not expecting to see you today.
Oh so it’s you that misses me?
I expect some variation of “fuck off,” middle finger emojis maybe—or flat out no response. What I don’t expect is the reply she actually sends.
Semi-lazy day I guess. Found the tiniest bit of energy for you today.
Shame I’m missing it.
“What’s that smile for?” my dad asks, taking the seat across from me.
Well, shit.
“Nothing much, just a friend sent me a video of their dog.”
“Oh, a teammate?”
I knew he’d have a follow up. I could lie, end this before it starts but I’ve already hesitated a second too long. He’d call me on it for sure now.
I look out to the rain with a shrug. “Um, no, just a…friend of a friend really.”
“Right,” he responds, and I know for a fact he absolutely doesn’t believe me.
Okay, I wasn’t exactly convincing to begin with. A friend of a friend…what the fuck was that? I should have just said friend but that feels weird to say about Jensen. I think about her in very non-friendly—or, I guess, super-friendly—ways.
I take off my glasses and set them on the table. “We go running together sometimes, it’s nothing really.”
“Okay,” he clips. “I didn’t ask another question yet.”
Wonderful, wonderful, so this won’t be the end of this conversation, and that’s my own damn fault.
“Right, well—”
Dad pushes back from his chair. “Why not a game of pool, huh? We haven’t got to play all week, and I just cleared it off.”
I look down at my half-eaten sandwich. Telling him I’m not done eating won’t save me, but maybe the distraction of the game will.
Putting my glasses back on, I nod. “Alright, let’s go.”
While he heads out, I clean up my lunch and take that opportunity to hype myself up.
It’ll just be a conversation. You don’t have to go into details.
I’m perfectly happy as is and I can make him believe that.
I step one foot into the garage before the pep talk blows right in my face.
“You’re not holding up your end of the deal, son.” My dad stares daggers as he rolls the blue chalk on the end of his pool cue.
We’re off to a bad start. Shit.
“Seriously, Dad? Couldn’t have at least waited until we started the game?”
He shrugs. “You know I’m not one to beat around the bush, but I’ve held off this week. I’ve officially maxed out my patience on it now.”
“Fucking hell,” I mumble. “I’m fine! Today’s been a little rough—not gonna lie, but I feel that’s warranted.”
“Fine,” he scoffs. “The deal wasn’t ‘fine,’ it was happy.
You’re not happy, and it’s starting to piss me off.
You can act like it’s stress about your mom’s health all you want, but I see past that.
When you talk about Boston, it sounds as if you’re simply going through the motions.
But then you seem to have the first genuinely happy smile on your face talking to someone, and then you fucking lie and say it’s nothing! ”
Ooh, okay, deep breaths. Don’t blow up. Don’t lose your cool.
“You know what.” I wave him off then rack up the balls. “I’d be happy if you would just drop it already and let us play a round.”
“How about this deal—”
“Fuck’s sake, Dad, what’s with you and deals?”
He ignores my question entirely and sets up to break.
“I know you, Beck. I know, as your father, that something is going on. I wish you would just talk to me about it, but since that doesn’t seem like it’s going to happen, I’m resorting to this.
I win, and you start talking about what’s going on with you. You win, and I shut up.”
“Do you know how to shut up? Because you’ve changed our deal a couple times now, so I don’t really know—”
I’m cut off by the sound of the cue ball connecting with the others. Two stripes manage to find their way into pockets.
“I’m stripes,” he states.
Motherfucker.
For the most part when I play in Boston with Callie, I take it seriously but still keep it fun.
Now I’m locked in. I’m not about to have this fucking argument with him when really, I’m fine.
Not entirely sure what vendetta he’s got against “fine,” but it’s true.
Why he needs this profound answer of my happiness is starting to piss me off.
Our game is tight, each one of us pulling ahead by one ball each time, but my luck strikes and I’m up to the eight ball first.
“Eight ball, left pocket,” I call, then send the ball right where I called it…along with the cue ball. “Fuck!”
“And that’s a scratch. I win.”
Tossing my pole on the table, I can already feel the start of a headache. “I’m not doing this. I’m fine—why can’t you accept that?”
“Say you’re happy and I’ll drop it.”
“What is the hang up on that word?” I huff when his only answer is a blank stare. I pull off my glasses to pinch the bridge of my nose. “I’m happy. There. Said it.”
“Say it and mean it, Beckham. I don’t know why you think you can suddenly start lying to me. You have this tell, you always have.”
“You’re off your rocker, I don’t have—”
“When you’re lying you take your glasses off.
If you have your contacts in, you look away to avoid eye contact.
You’ve done it since you were a kid. Almost like you don’t want to see your own bullshit.
You’ve done it multiple times while talking about Boston, and you did it when you called that ‘friend’ of yours nothing. ”
Christ. I put my glasses back on. “That is…you’re…” I try to find any sort of comeback. Some reasonable explanation, but dammit. “It’s not always that deep, Dad. Maybe my glasses were bothering me.”
He tsks. “Yeah, and you just looked off to the right. Stop fucking with me, tell me what’s going on with you.”
“Nothing! Nothing is going on. I’m fine!” I yell, then immediately pull back. “Sorry. Just tell me what you need from me to prove that I’m good. Really, I am.”
“Answer my questions. Honestly,” he deadpans.
Shit, I’m going to regret this. I give him a nod.
“Why haven’t you brought anyone home?”
Yep, instant regret. “Hell. Seriously—”
“Answer the question, son. It’s not that hard.”
I push off the table. “Well, the answer’s not that simple. Maybe I just haven’t found the one. Maybe I’m not interested in settling down. I’m thirty, it’s not unusual to be single at thirty.”
“No, it’s not, but you just said maybe more times than necessary. You’ve brought no one home in the eight years you’ve been playing. No relationship at all, that I’m aware of. I got it in the beginning, you were in your early twenties—but now…it’s like you’re not even trying.”
“Why do I have to be trying right now? What is it that has you so caught up on the fact that I’m not in a relationship? What does that have to do with anything?”
My dad stops and stares at me for a moment. He remains deadly silent as he pulls out his wallet, then a piece of paper from one of the folds.
He unfolds it carefully then starts to read words that make my stomach turn. “Dear, Dad, I can’t wait to be a dad just like you. I want to have a family just like mine and—”
“Stop. I wrote that when I was, what? Eight?”
“Yeah, eight and fucking happy. Son, you can’t tell me you haven’t always wanted these things in life. You can act like I’m being ridiculous all you want, but you’ve always hated the idea of being alone.”
“Yeah, well, things change.”
“Not like—”
For fuck’s sake, I can’t take this anymore.
“They do. They do fucking change. They changed for me the first time Mom forgot who you were and I saw my unbreakable dad crumble.” I should stop talking, but I can’t.
“I don’t want the person I love to have to go through this.
I don’t want to put that on them. I don’t want to forget the person I love.
I don’t want my kids to worry about possibly having it when they get older.
I don’t want them to have to live so long with the memories alone. ”
My dad’s face turns pale. “Dammit, Beckham. You’re not seriously saying what I think you’re saying. You don’t want a relationship because of your mother?”
When I don’t say anything, my dad tosses his cue on the table. “Go home.”
“W-what? I’m not going—”
“Go home, Beck. I love you more than anything, and I’m saying this in the calmest way I can…but, fuck, son, go home, and don’t come visit until you figure this shit out.”
He starts to walk back in the house, like this is the end of the fucking discussion.
I follow him a step behind. “Are you seriously kicking me out the house? Now? You force me to talk about this and now you’re telling me to leave?
I told you I’m fine, but you can’t accept that. It’s your turn to tell me fucking why.”
My dad stops and turns back around. There’s not a hint of anger on his face, just pure hurt. “The fact that you think that your mother is a burden on me…me?”
I take a deep breath. He’s not understanding what I’m trying to say. “That’s not what I said. I just—”
“No, listen to me. You didn’t have to say it, but the fact is that you think that’s what you’d be if this happens to you, right?”
My silence is all the response he needs.
“I’ll gladly live with every single happy memory we have.
I’ll love her no matter how many days I have left without a thought or hesitation.
And I’d fucking relive all of this, knowing everything I know now, I’d do it if it meant being with her and having you.
Don’t rob yourself of that happiness. Your mother would hate to know you feel this way.
” My unbreakable father crumples in front of me for the second time.
“If she knew this is what has changed your mind… Go home. Figure this shit out.”
When he walks back into the house he doesn’t slam the door, and that somehow makes me feel worse.
“Fuck!” I shout out some frustration but it doesn’t help even a little bit.
My breath starts to feel short so I lean against the pool table. Not now. I can’t have a panic attack now.
I take slow, deep breaths, but when that seems to feel pointless I force myself into survival mode. If I’m going to have a panic attack, I can’t have it here.
I swallow every emotion. I push every thought to short tasks at hand.
Go get stuff. Get to the airport. Find a flight. Fall the fuck apart at home.
Damn, so this is rock-fucking-bottom. To make matters worse, my phone rings.
Callie’s name flashes on the screen, and I send it straight to voicemail. I’m done with today. I cannot possibly handle anything else.
Today is not the day, so if it can wait then call me tomorrow.
Callie Bear
Okay talk to you tomorrow.
Now to get back home.