Chapter 28 August
TWENTY-EIGHT
AUGUST
When we step inside, I’m greeted with the smell of chicken noodle soup. Homemade no doubt; Mom loves soup.
The oriental hallway rug covers the sound of my footsteps that lead into the kitchen. A yellow Dutch oven sits on the stove against the wall, steam rising from it.
Dads in the living room, connected to the kitchen, reading his book while the sound of a piano tinkles in the background. Sunlight pours through arched, floor-to-ceiling windows, making the white walls brighter, illuminating the framed photos.
Dad’s favorite multi-colored wool quilt that Mom made him for his fortieth birthday is covering him while he relaxes on his La-Z-Boy.
My throat tightens as I take him in.
His hands, once strong, are now frail. The tendons have become more prominent.
The sweatshirt he bought with my college logo, a sweatshirt that he once filled out, swallows him.
And his face—his cheeks are hollow, and he looks exhausted.
Fragile. Even his hair is thin and limp instead of full and thick.
We knew what to expect when he started his radiation therapy. They told us the side effects: weight loss, fatigue, possible hair loss, the color of his skin.
My once strong, unstoppable Dad is disappearing in front of my eyes. Someone I don’t know has taken over his body, stealing him away from us. A stranger.
The wooden floor underneath my feet groans, announcing my presence. Dad lifts his head and puts on a brave smile.
“Hey, guys.” When Dad speaks, his voice is feeble.
“Hey dad.” I walk over to greet him with a hug, forcing my muscles to be gentle with him.
“Hi, Mr. Thompson,” Riley says.
“How’s the store?” Dad asks.
I sit down in Mom’s chair that’s next to his, separated by a skinny, circular wooden table, while Riley sits on the couch to the right of us that faces the fireplace.
“It’s okay. Doing the best I can with what I have.”
“I’m sure you’re doing great.” He attempts to straighten in his chair. “You know, I can always help—”
“Dad—”
He holds up a hand. “Hold on. It can be things I can handle on my laptop.” He cranes his neck and whispers, “I’m bored out of my mind. Your mom is making me watch this reality show about rich women in Beverly Hills. All they do is fight. Why do they fight? They live in Beverly freakin’ Hills.”
My shoulders bounce with laughter. “Your job is to relax and get better. I don’t need another lecture from mom.”
Footsteps echo from the hallway near the entrance.
“August? Is that you?”
“Hey, Mom.” I stand up from the comfortable chair I don’t want to leave to greet her.
“Well, isn’t it a breath of fresh air to see you.” She pulls me in for a tight hug and sees Riley stand up from the couch. “Riley, sweetie, how nice to see you.”
Dad sighs dramatically before sliding his glasses down his nose, peeking over the rims. “Am I not a breath of fresh air anymore, honey?”
She lets go of me and strolls to Dad, holding his cheeks and bending down to give him a kiss on the forehead. “You’re more than a breath of fresh air, honey. You’re my oxygen.”
“Get a room,” Ellie says, coming out of the bathroom in the hallway.
Mom walks past me and slaps Ellie’s arm playfully before on her way to the kitchen. She grabs the ladle next to the pot and stirs the simmering soup, then closes her eyes and inhales deeply at the aroma of chicken broth, butter, rosemary, and thyme.
“How’s everything going at the shop?” Mom asks.
“It’s fine. Dad and I were just talking about it. I’m still working on getting things set up with the new vendors for the launch of the skateboard idea.”
Mom grabs a dark wooden tray from a cabinet underneath the island. She places one bowl on it, along with a sleeve of crackers, a mug of ginger tea, and vitamins.
“And that’s going well?” She walks over to Dad, while carefully holding the tray, and sets it on his lap.
He looks at her with nothing but love in his eyes, and when he goes to grab it, Mom pulls it back.
“You’re not lifting a finger.”
He sets his hands down.
“Just try and have a little bit, okay? I know you haven’t had an appetite, but even if it’s just broth, I’ll be happy.” She bends, giving him a peck on the lips before heading back to the kitchen to grab her bowl.
“I’m doing the best I can. It’s a lot, but nothing I can’t handle. I just need to figure out some paperwork and numbers.”
“If you need me to help with some things—”
Mom says, “Not happening.”
“I told ya.”
“Do not try to bribe your son to work.” She takes her soup, swirling her spoon in the creamy, yellow liquid.
“I was suggesting that I could help do work from home, on my laptop, in this chair.”
“And I told dad that I have it handled. He’s just asking because he’s bored.”
Mom sits up and turns to him. “I thought you were enjoying our board game nights?”
“I can only lose so many times at Scrabble when it comes to playing against you,” he says delicately. “I can’t handle it anymore.”
Ellie and Riley snicker somewhere from behind me in the kitchen.
“If that’s the case, we could have played something else,” Mom says. “We have a closet full of games.”
"I'm suddenly very thirsty. Does anyone need a drink?" Riley rummages through the cabinets, opening and closing them like she isn’t sure where the glasses are. She knows where they are. She practically lived here.
I saunter to the large, powder-white couch and plop down. Grabbing my glasses from my face, I rub my eyes from exhaustion with my other hand before putting my glasses back on.
“So, you really don’t want any of my help?” Dad asks again.
I pick at my cuticles. "Actually, Riley helped me out a lot. But I shouldn't need your help, that’s the thing. You did everything on your own for years before I came along."
Dad chuckles. Something he hasn't done since he was diagnosed.
"What's so funny?" I ask.
"Do you know how many times I had to ask your mother for help?"
Mom smiles at Dad bashfully.
He points to her but keeps his eyes on me. "If it weren't for her, The Surf Shack would have failed miserably. It wouldn't be what it is today if I didn't have her."
"How come you guys never told us this?" Ellie asks.
Dad shrugs. "You never asked."
"What did you help him with?" Ellie looks at Mom.
"Do you have anywhere to be?” she mutters. “Because the list is long.”
Dad looks at her with an amused look in his eyes. He turns back to me. “So, what did Riley help with? I’m sure whatever she did will really help you out.”
I peek at her from the couch. She cups her glass in her hands while sitting at the kitchen island.
"Do you want to do the honors?" I ask her.
She gives me a smirk, propping her arms on the counter and clearing her throat. "All I did was create folders, both physically and on the computer, that will help with organization."
"Go on," I tease, raising my eyebrows.
Her eyes focus on me, a gentle grin on her face, and then back to my parents. "I also created spreadsheets. One for vendors and one for accounting purposes." She looks at Dad. "And don't worry, your ledger is perfectly safe."
"I swear, he treats that thing like it's his third child," Mom says.
Dad laughs. "I'm never getting rid of it. You can bury it with me."
Mom joins him, and my face twists in confusion and annoyance. Ellie doesn't laugh. And neither does Riley.
My parents look at us before Dad says, "Too soon?"
Ellie shakes her head. "That's not funny."
"Oh, come on. You know I'm joking."
"Well, it's a shitty joke."
"Hey," my parents say in unison.
"What?" Ellie snaps.
"Ellie Alexandra Thompson,” Mom says, “don't you speak to us like that."
"Are you kidding? Dad can make death jokes, and you just laugh at them? Especially after he told the doctor he isn't going to have the surgery?" She glares at Dad.
"Watch it," Mom chides.
Ellie sits back on the couch, crossing her arms while looking up at the ceiling. It’s like she’s fifteen again, and our parents told her she’s grounded. Her eyes flutter like she’s about to cry.
My attention shifts back to Dad. His face is calm and neutral, as if his daughter didn't just lash out at him.
He takes a breath, presses his lips together, and shrugs. "She's allowed to feel this way."
He pats Mom’s hand.
Mom’s lips are pressed into a line. "And that's fine, but she is not allowed to talk to us this way. Apologize to your father, right now.”
I look at Riley, who isn't fazed by this, considering who her mother is. There’s no emotion behind her eyes. She looks at me, and I mouth, are you okay? She waves me off.
She tilts her head toward Dad, gesturing for me to talk to him. I forgot why we were here for a minute until Ellie mentioned the surgery. All my anger dissipated the moment I walked in the house.
I can't be mad at Dad. He already has one kid who isn't happy about his choice.
But what about Mom? She seems to be taking everything well.
I can only assume she's putting on a happy face when she's with him.
I know Mom well enough to know when she's freaking out inside, but this is one time I can't read her.
I adjust myself on the couch and clear my throat. "That's actually why I stopped by, Dad. To talk to you about this surgery." I continue to pick at my cuticles, fighting the urge to do something with my hands.
"I'm listening," he says.
"Why did you choose not to have it? The doctor said if you do, it can help in the long run. I feel like there will be so much you'll miss out on. Ellie getting married and having kids. Me getting married and having kids." I force myself not to look at Riley.
"I want my kids to meet their grandpa. It wouldn't be fair for them not to know why you were such a great dad.” My eyes prickle, and my throat bobs. “My stories wouldn't justify it."
Dad braces his forearms on each side of his chair, clasping his hands on his stomach. "I understand. I hope you will never go through what I'm going through, because then you would understand why I made that decision. You wouldn't be able to understand where my head is at."
"I can try."
He shakes his head solemnly. "You won't understand unless you go through it. I'm sorry, August. That's just the way it is."
The frustration and anger that disappeared are starting to resurface again, but I push that down with the anxiety and sadness. "Try me," I say sternly.
Dad’s chest heaves, and he rubs at his face. “This surgery doesn’t mean it’s going to cure everything. They’d only remove the localized tumors, and I’d continue my therapy. It sounds exhausting.”
“But it can prolong this whole thing,” I say.
“That’s not a guarantee.”
“So, you’d rather wait and see what happens without it? Just go off therapy?”
“Apparently,” Ellie mumbles next to me.
“None of the tumors are severe enough. Yes, it will help, but I just find it unnecessary to go through all of that just to exhaust my body more.”
“I’m sorry.” Ellie speaks up. “I just don’t want to lose you. I can’t keep seeing you like this. This isn’t fair. Why did this have to happen to you?”
“If you keep thinking that way, you’ll drive yourself crazy.” Mom gets up from her chair and sits next to Ellie, wrapping her arms around her.
Ellie lays her head on Mom’s shoulder. “But can’t you just try the surgery? The doctor said it can still help, even if it’s the localized tumors.”
“Today has been an exhausting day. For all of us,” Mom says. “Let’s take a couple of days to sit and think about it, and we’ll go from there.”
All of us nod our heads.
“So.” Mom stands from the couch. “Who wants to play a board game?”