Page 39 of First Comes Forever

“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.”

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