Page 190 of The First Time
She looks at me with pity. "I'm sorry about your mother."
I nod. I don't need her pity. Or her sympathy. I need Mom to give a fuck about this, to care enough to go to rehab and get clean.
But it's not like I can talk. I've been clean for less than a year. I wouldn't bet on my future.
"Your mother is going to be okay for now," the nurse says. "But at the end of the day, if she doesn't stick with rehab, this will eventually kill her."
I nod. Yeah. This is stuff I know.
Dad nods back to the nurse. "Thank you. For everything. We shouldn't take any more of your time."
The nurse smiles, charmed. Then she's offering me a look of sympathy. "Good luck, son."
I turn over the words in my head. "Mom agreed to rehab?" That can't be possible.
"She hasn't been conscious much of the night." He pats me on the shoulder again. "But tomorrow—"
Bullshit, she'll agree tomorrow, but I'm too tired to fight right now. And it's not like he really believes Mom is going to go to rehab, get clean, and stay clean.
"You want to stay, wait for her to wake up?" he offers.
I do. Don't particularly want to talk to him, but I want to stay with mom. I nod. "I'll get coffee."
"It's only the vending machine at this time."
Doesn't matter. "You want anything?"
"Black coffee." He pulls out his cell to make a call.
I don't stay long enough to figure out who it is. I head back to the lobby. It's still crowded, but now it's a blur of faces and noises. None of them make an impression.
There's a pattern on the floor. That doesn't make an impression either.
The coffee machine is around the corner, halfway down the hall. It's the standard machine in every hospital and bus station. It's going to be shit coffee, but I need the energy.
I get two cups of black coffee and move back to the waiting room.
Dad is sitting in that same chair, only now he's sitting up straight.
As I hand off the coffee and sit next to him, I note the signs this is wearing on him. He has dark circles. His eyes are tired. His perfect suit is wrinkled, and his shirt isn't tucked in—that never fucking happens.
He's still a handsome guy, but he looks like he hasn't slept in days.
Probably hasn't.
I probably look worse.
Dad takes a sip of his coffee. "Thanks."
I nodno problem. I don't have anything to say to him.
He motions to my left arm. "New ink?"
"I guess." I got the left sleeve a year ago, but that's new to him.
"It's nice work."
I look at my father and cock a brow. "You would know?"
