Page 55 of Fake Fiancée for Dad's Best Friend
“Well, your dad told me not to tell you yet, but he was diagnosed with prostate cancer.”
“What? Oh my God, Mom,” I hold her trembling body in my arm and stroke her back. “It has a high survival rate, right?”
“Yes, but,” my mom starts to cry. “He’s in an advanced stage.”
My body becomes cold. No way. This isn’t real. My dad is eighty, but it still feels too soon. “Christ,” I mutter, tears escaping my eyes. I don’t believe it. I refuse to. “How’s dad taking the news?”
“He’s okay. You know how he is. He never whines. He still plays golf every day as if nothing is wrong, but he does drink more now, saying it’s pointless to stay away from alcohol anymore.”
I don’t like what I hear. My dad is strong and seldom shows weakness, but drinking must be his way to cope with the bad news. “When did you find out?”
“Just a little more than a week ago,” she says. “But I suspected it long before that because he has been having trouble urinating. If only he would agree to see a doctor sooner.”
My dad has always been healthy and seldom needed doctors. He does get sick sometimes, but he takes care of himself over minor problems.
Nonetheless, I’m upset that my mom didn’t let me know about it sooner. “Why didn’t you tell me about his symptoms when I was visiting?”
“Because your dad told me not to. He didn’t want to spoil the festivity. I’m sorry, Alex,” she wipes her tears. “That I have to tell you the bad news. Your dad loves you so much. He wants to see you settle down, although he doesn’t say it. Money means very little to him. You didn’t have to prove anything to him. He’s proud of you even if you don’t have your successful company. But he is sad because you don’t have a family.”
“Well, I’m getting there, Mom.” I suddenly feel like a loser now. “I’m so sorry!”
“It’s all right,” she stops crying and smiles.
I sigh. “What’s the real purpose for you guys to be here, then?”
“My friend Betty recommended Dr. Swanson, an experienced urologist at Columbia University Medical Center, to us for a second opinion about treatment options. We’ve made an appointment on Tuesday.”
“I see.” I nod with a heavy heart. “I’ll go with you.”
“Okay.” My mom drinks some water, and then she places her hand on my arm and sighs. “There’s another purpose I’m here.”
“What is it?”
“I like your fiancée. She’s such a sweet thing,” she says with a smile. “Are you sure she…err… loves you, not your money? I can’t imagine anyone wouldn’t, but just to make sure.”
I’m taken aback by the question because it’s never come across my mind. But I understand my mom’s concern because plenty of women have dated me for my money. “Y-yes, Mom. Vivian is a good girl. She isn’t after my money.”
“Good,” she smiles. “In that case, son. What do you say if we push the wedding forward? I don’t know what would happen to your dad in a year.”
I’m overwhelmed with sadness. Both of my parents are healthy, and I’m lucky not to have to worry about them much. Now, suddenly I’m facing the inevitable.
I glance at my dad, who is laughing as he points at the skyline in the distance. He’s a great dad. Although he was disappointed I decided not to return home to take care of the ranch, he’s never blamed me and always supported me. I’ll do anything to make him happy. “I’ll speak to Vivian,” I say to my mom, without the vaguest idea what consequences my promise leads to.
We spend the afternoon at Rockefeller Center, lunch, shop, and sightsee. After we return to my condo, my parents rest, and I find myself alone with Vivian in our bedroom. She’s browsing the pictures we took earlier at Top of the Rock.
“Are you sure you have enough money to get started in Paris?” I ask her. “You haven’t gotten enough for tuition yet.”
“Not yet,” she says, still swiping on her phone. “But I’m going to when I’m done with the internship. You’ll pay me, right?”
“Of course,” I say. “But what about living expenses?”
She pouts. “I haven’t thought about it. I mean. I’m sure I’ll get a job.”
“What if I pay for them, too?”
She stops what she’s doing and looks up at me. Her eyes widen. “You mean, err, you’ll loan me the money? Pay in advance?”
“Sort of,” I shrug. “But with a condition.”
