Page 15 of The Circus

“You have to say that. You’re my father. It’s like, dad code.”

He chuckles, covering his mouth with his fist as it turns into a pitiful cough. Straightening out my legs, I swing them over the side and plant my feet on the ground, prepared to grab him a glass of water. Before I’m able to, his favorite nurse waltzes in with his next round of pain meds and a tray of food.

He waves me away with his handkerchief, bright blood dotting the white linen, and my heart sinks at the sight.

“What do you have for me today, Betsy? More gruel?”

She chuckles, sliding his tray onto his table and handing him the little clear cup of pills. “Funny. My son says the same thing at dinner every night.”

My dad downs the meds with a swig of water, nodding in my direction as he swallows. Betsy fiddles with his oxygen mask, her scrubs dotted with daisies. I’ve always liked her, and I’m thankful I found a place like this for him. Somewhere peaceful that he could go to die with whatever dignity remained.

“Eden, do you know her son? Cash? Just found out you two go to the same school.”

My heart, on the floor a moment ago, gives an angry thump, and I do my best to hide my shock as I smile wanly at Betsy.

“Umm, yeah, yeah I do. He’s nice.”

She smiles, and it’s then I see their resemblance. They have the same mouth and nose and kind brown eyes.

“He’d better be. I’ll take his precious Mustang to the junkyard if he isn’t. That boy has put more miles on that car than should be legal.”

“Eden isn’t too fond of the students at Prep. Says they bully her.”

“Dad,” I hiss, indignant, my cheeks flaming to life as I smile again at Betsy. She laughs, hand on her hip as she holds my gaze.

“Oh, honey. Cash hates it there, too. We wanted him in a good school, but you’re right. The kids are…harsh. I’m justthankful he met Teddy. Those two…peas in a pod. Can’t ever separate them.”

My dad lifts the lid on his tray, sniffing at whatever steaming pile of food is on his plate. Distractedly, he asks, “You know him, lovebug? Teddy?”

Teeth grinding and heart clenching so hard it aches, I feign nonchalance and fool no one.

“Yup.”

Betsy and my dad quickly share a knowing look before he glances at me coyly.

“Anything I need to know, Eden? If he’s wanting to court you, he’d better be a gentleman and come meet me.”

“Dad!” I yelp, slapping a hand to my face to cover my eyes. If only the floor would swallow me whole. It would fix an innumerable amount of problems. Betsy lets out a generous laugh.

“He’s quite the gentleman, Rob, I assure you. Still calls me Mrs. Johnson after all these years. Are you two going to prom together?” she asks, eyes dancing.

“Ugh! No! No, there’s nothing going on between him and me. The only thing we have in common is that we’re freaks.”

Silence befalls the room, and I freeze, my tongue plastered to the roof of my mouth. Betsy looks away as the awkwardness grows, and my father…he looks wounded. As if he’s in more pain because of what I just said than any pain his cancer could cause.

“You’re not a freak, Eden, do you understand me?”

His voice has gone cold and quiet, and tears suddenly brim my eyes. He worked so fucking hard to get me back, to make me feel whole again after what my mother did. I was a freak in her world, and she made sure everyone knew it, even as they continued to exploit me. And once I was free, I became a freak in this world, too.

Betsy leaves silently, and a chill befalls the room. His stare is unwavering and potent, his militaristic background pushing to the forefront in this moment. He’s always been hard on me because of how he was raised, and because of his job. As much as I used to hate it, I appreciate it now that I’m about to go it alone in this fucked up world.

“I…I have to go…have to catch the ferry. I have a work meeting,” I lie easily. After a moment, he shakes his head, releasing me in his disappointment. Every time I leave, I have to wonder if it will be the last time I see him. I’ll replay every minute interaction in my mind on a loop, praying I hadn’t said something I’d regret. It’s the worst form of torture I could ever imagine, the not knowing, the slow decay of life before your eyes. If I could give my life for his, I would do so a thousand times over.

“I love you, Eden,” he says, reaching across the bed for my hand. I grasp his fingers tightly, and he tries to hold me back, his strength waning more each day. The lump in my throat burns. His eyes flick between mine, aged beyond their years. There’s a sort of melancholy to his gaze now. He knows his time is soon, and knows he can’t keep fighting it anymore. I can’t imagine it, knowing your death is coming, just not knowing when or how badly it will hurt to get there.

“I love you more,” I say, my tears slipping loose and trailing down my cheeks.

TEN

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