Page 38 of First Comes Forever

eight

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.

---