Chapter 34
CHAPTER
THIRTY-FOUR
Drake
“Thanks, Dr. Howser,” I say, as Dad and I get to our feet. The doctor shakes my hand, then Dad’s. “Will your office schedule the scans, or do we need to do it?”
“We’ll do it. Your mom will get a phone call from the lab, and they’ll set it up.” He opens the exam room door. “If you all need anything else, don’t hesitate to call.” He turns to Dad as we enter the hallway. “Ed, it was good to see you. Let me know if I can do anything for you, all right?”
“Yeah, yeah. All right,” Dad says, sliding his hand over his hair—or what’s left of it, anyway. “Thanks, Doc.”
Dr. Howser and I exchange a smile.
My father and I leave the office and step into the cool afternoon. The sun is out, but partially covered in clouds, and a murder of crows flies above our heads. Dad puts his hat on as soon as his feet hit the sidewalk, and he exhales.
“How are you feeling?” I ask him.
“Where’s your mother again?”
I smile. “She’s at the dentist. She’ll be home when we get there.”
He scoffs as he reaches the passenger door. “I don’t know why in the hell she thinks that I can’t drive myself to the damn doctor. I wiped your ass, and now she thinks you need to wipe mine.”
“Hey, Dad, no offense, but I’m not wiping your ass whether Mom says to or not.”
The irritation on his face shifts into humor, and he chuckles.
We get buckled in and back on the road without discussing Mom’s dental appointment again. It would only be the five-thousandth time. I can see why Mom is so tired. Just the mental load of this is exhausting, but I’m so grateful to be able to do it.
I took a ton of notes on my phone during the appointment and asked all the questions Mom wrote down for me.
The doctor is adjusting Dad’s medication to help with his evening agitation and helped me better understand what the future might look like.
It’s different with every case. But I do feel like I have a better grasp of what kind of support my parents might need.
“What day is it?” Dad asks, flipping his visor down.
“It’s Wednesday morning.”
“Don’t you have school today?”
I pause and think about my answer. The doctor said it’s best not to correct him if it will lead to more confusion or distress.
We’re supposed only to correct him if it’s for his safety or if it’ll reduce his anxiety.
He called it “compassionate redirection,” which sounded a lot easier in the office than in practice.
“I have to go in later today,” I say, leaving out the fact that it’s to work and not to class.
“Oh.”
“Do you want to stop somewhere and get some lunch?” I ask.
“Nah, I just want to go home and see your mother.”
I bite my lip to keep from getting emotional.
Dad was always the beast, the man who could do and fix anything. To see him almost childlike, yet still in his huge body, is sad. And weird. But Mom is clearly his safe space. I’m glad he has her.
I grasp the steering wheel harder as my brain drifts to Gianna. This is what I want to be for her—her safe space, her rock when things get hard. She deserves someone to love her like I will. Like I do.
“Don’t you have a girlfriend now?” Dad pulls his brows together. I’m afraid to answer because I don’t know what decade he’s living in right now. “What’s her name?”
Damn. How do I compassionately redirect this? “She was busy today.”
“That dark-haired girl. What’s her name?”
“Gianna?”
“Gianna. Yes. That’s her. Where is she at today?”
“She’s working. She said to tell you hi.”
His smile reaches both ears, and he rests back in his seat. It might be the first time I’ve seen him relax all day. He turns to me, ready to speak, but then his forehead wrinkles again.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“You’re not in high school anymore.”
“No, I’m not. I’m fifty pounds heavier than I was back then.”
He chuckles. “I noticed that but didn’t want to mention it.”
“I’m still in great shape, old man. Check this out.” I take my right hand off the wheel and flex. “See that?”
He lifts the sleeve of his shirt on his left arm and flexes it. The amount of muscle he still carries around is mind-boggling. He might not remember where he parked his car, but I bet he could damn near bench press it.
“Talk to me when you’re my age,” he says, thoroughly enjoying himself. “Of course, I’ll be dead by then.”
“What the fuck?” I ask, laughing.
“What? I will be. There is no sense in pretending I’m going to last forever. You know you’re going to die too someday, right?”
What’s happening here? “Yeah, but I’m not sitting around thinking about it.”
“Oh, to be young and dumb again.”
I throw up my hands and try to fight another laugh. I’m not sure whether to banter with him like we always have, or if that will make him more argumentative. The last thing I want to do is bring him back to Mom, ready to spit nails.
We drive for a few minutes in silence. Dad eventually dozes off, snoring lightly beside me. The sound reminds me of the way Gianna sounds when she finally falls asleep around two in the morning.
I miss her. I miss her giggles, kisses, and the random shit she gets herself into. I miss her love of food, her attempts to learn football, and her blow jobs. I miss holding her, walking by her office to drop off a drink, and coming up with new ways to make her smile.
And I’ve warred with myself a million times since Sunday on what to do about it.
Do I go to her and plead my case again?
Do I give her the space she needs and hope it doesn’t take years for her to realize I’m the one for her?
Do I try to be her friend like I was pre-date and see if I can win her trust like that?
I’ve always believed that the universe would put the woman for me in my path. Surely, if Gianna is truly the love of my life, the universe will put us back together.
I hope. God, I hope.
GIANNA
Clouds roll across the sky, covering the sun and cooling the air. The weather report said rain, but I didn’t have an umbrella at the office and didn’t want to run home to get one. If I were truly prepared, would I be me?
Besides, if it pours on me while I’m out here, at least my parents will recognize me and know that I haven’t changed.
The thought puts a sad smile on my face.
The cemetery lawn is soft, and I had to take my heels off so they wouldn’t tear up the ground. Also, so I didn’t break my neck.
Their headstone is in the back, a shiny black stone with their picture etched in the front. It was Lucia’s idea, and I went along with it. I think it gives her peace somehow to see them memorialized in granite as a happy couple for eternity.
Pretty red flowers fill the grave vases on either side of the stone. They look nice. Watching the plastic petals flutter in the wind causes my chest to tighten.
I squat in front of it and dust off the ledge. I don’t know why I’m here; I never come here. But today it just felt necessary.
The bridge of my nose burns as the wind picks up, and my bottom lip trembles. I haven’t cried over my parents since the day of their funeral. Why am I crying now?
“Hey,” I say. The word triggers a sob to escape my throat—one I didn’t realize was waiting in the wings. In an instant, tears fill my eyes, and I find myself unable to see anything around me.
“I don’t know what to say to you.” I feel much less silly than I expected. It’s like they’re here—like they can hear me. And that’s more comforting than I ever imagined it would be. “Dammit, why did you have to die?”
Tears stream down my cheeks, snot reaching my top lip. My chest shakes violently, and I chastise myself for not bringing a tissue. But I didn’t expect to cry.
I wait until the sobs turn to sniffles and my cheeks are hot to the touch. Then I try again.
“I met a guy,” I say, laughing through the tears. “He’s fantastic. I think even you two would have to approve.”
It’s satisfying to know they can’t argue with me about it, or point out a flaw, or tell me I’m wrong. That alone is worth the drive to the cemetery.
“His name is Drake, and he told me he loved me a few days ago,” I say.
“And I freaked out. I blame it on you, just to be clear. I don’t really know if that’s fair.
I wonder sometimes how distorted my memories of you guys might be.
I lost you at nineteen—in the throes of teenage rebellion.
Would we have managed to find common ground as adults?
Would I have understood you better? Would you have understood me?
Because I’m the same girl. I still love art, and chaos, and I have a filthy mouth that you certainly would disapprove of. ”
I wipe my face with the bottom of my shirt. Mascara mars the pale purple fabric, but there’s nothing I can do about it now. Looks like I’m going home before going back to the office.
“So here’s the thing,” I say. “My freak-out was because of you. Let’s go with that. But if that’s the case, it’s because that’s all I know. I only know what you showed me growing up, and, let’s face it, that wasn’t someone telling me they love me for funsies on a Saturday night.”
I blow out a breath as the tears begin to slow.
“Audrey says I think of love as something to be earned and as a form of self-protection. It sounded a little whackadoodle at first, but when I thought about it, I realized she’s right.
But as I lay in bed last night, missing Drake and wondering how I could un-fuck this situation, I started to wonder—why were you the way you were?
Did you two have trauma as children? What caused you to be so cold?
To care so much about what everyone thought?
Why did you think it was okay to prioritize everything above Lucia and me? ”
I wipe my face again and then stand tall. My chest doesn’t shake, and my eyes are dry. The band that’s squeezed my chest for days is finally loosening, and I can breathe.
“Whatever the reason was, it’s no excuse.
Your family, your little girls—me and Lucia—should’ve been everything to you.
” I take a breath. “But I forgive you. Maybe your decisions were like mine when I screwed up my life, and you were only doing what you know how to do. I have to forgive you. If I don’t, I’m going to be as miserable as the two of you were, and I deserve more than that. ”
I watch as a crow lands on a tree branch on the edge of the cemetery. It studies me, its little head cocked to the side, and I wonder how many people it’s watched do the same thing I’m doing.
“Drake and I will have a life together filled with hugs and children and buttons on the floor and hopefully tea in the fridge.” I blink back another round of tears—happy ones, this time.
“And if you’re watching from wherever you are, I hope you’re proud of me.
” I grin. “If not, that’s okay. I’m proud of myself. ”
I press a kiss to the headstone and let my palm linger on the top of it for a few moments. Then I turn on my bare foot, heels dangling from my fingers, and leave.