Page 147 of Never Forever

My dad was sick. Really sick. I was supposed to leave to go to school. With Carrie. In Boston.

This whole time Dad was telling me his treatment was no big deal. But I realized, the smell of his sick in the air, that my dad was completely wrong.

My dad was not on the mend. He was fucking fighting for his life.

“Want to go to bed?” I asked him.

He shook his head. “Can’t sleep. I’ll go downstairs and watch TV.”

“Okay,” I said and helped him out the door and down the steps.

I got him settled on the couch with the clicker and a glass of water on the table by the lamp. I gave him a blanket and a pillow and then I just stood over him, worrying. Literally wringing my hands.

“Come on, son,” he said, putting his giant calloused mitt over mine. “The first few times are the hardest, that’s what the nurses said.”

“Dad…” I didn’t know how to finish that sentence.

“Matty, it’s okay. We’re going to be okay.”

But we weren’t.

Things got worse. The next few days, I skipped school to stay home with Dad.

Which, of course, he hated.

“Dad, they already gave me the full ride,” I said, bringing him the watermelon I’d cut into cubes and frozen. One of the chemo nurses told me to try that because the inside of Dad’s mouth was going to be raw and chapped. It might bleed, she said. “They’re not going to take it away now.”

“You still have to graduate,” he said, trying to get comfortable on the couch.

He took a piece of the watermelon and put it in his mouth, sucking on it. His eyes closed and he sagged a little, looking as grey as the couch.

“I’ll talk to my teachers.”

“No,” he said, eyes open and sharp. “No. You’re not talking to your teachers about me. You’re not skipping school because of me. You’re not changing your life in any way.”

“Dad!” I laughed, but he wasn’t joking. “Be realistic. You are getting treatment for cancer. We can’t keep it a secret.”

“Whose business is it?” he asked.

“Look,” I said, walking toward the kitchen. “When Carrie gets back-”

“No,” he said.

“What?” I came back into the room.

“I know what you’re going to say and it’s bad enough you’re waiting on me like a nurse, I won’t have her doing it, too.”

“Dad. You asked me not to tell her about you being sick, but this is a big deal. She’s going to need to know.”

“No, absolutely not. I didn’t want her to get distracted. You see what’s happening, don’t you? It’s a commercial now, but it will be something bigger, and soon.”

Suddenly, I was angry. Because he was right. Things were starting to happen for her. She’d texted me last night that her agent was going to line up a few more auditions while she was out there.

She was over the moon of course.

Still, I told her nothing.

“Carrie loves you, Dad.”

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