Page 37 of Dirty Husband
"You've finally finishedThe Da Vinci Code?" He smiles. "Jasmine, I'm so proud of you. Finally seeing the light."
"No." My laugh is easy. I pull a chair next to his bed. Take a seat. "I'm still struggling."
He shakes his head. "One day, you'll see the brilliance."
"One day." I have time now. I can read anything. Everything. I can build a library of historical fiction. Or especially smutty romance. Or literary classics. Or every play in the English language. "I've been busy."
He waves his handpsh. "You're always busy. You work too much."
"Actually." I bite my lip. Try to find the best way to phrase this. One with the fewest lies. "I've been spending my time on other things."
His interest piques.
"An old friend." I motion to the door. Raise my voice so he can hear outside. "Come in."
Shepard opens the door and steps inside. "Mr. Lee, it's nice to see you again." He moves close enough to the hospital bed to shake Dad's hand.
Dad looks at me funny, but he still shakes. "You too, Shepard." He turns his attention to Shep. "I haven't heard about you in quite some time. And what I did hear wasn't the most complimentary."
"Yes." Shepard nods. His voice gets soft. Sheepish even. "Your daughter and I didn't part on the best terms. That was my fault. I didn't realize she was willing to go to such great lengths for the people she loved."
Dad raises a brow.What is he talking about?
There's no easy way to say it. And I'm not about to open up the wholeShepard is an alcoholicconversation.
Dad is old-fashioned about these things. He doesn't buy into the idea of addiction and sobriety. If you drink too much, you learn some responsibility and drink less. End of story.
Rehab and addiction are problems for spoiled white kids.
Which…
Sure, that's true a lot of the time. But addiction doesn't discriminate. We know plenty of people who'd benefit from a twelve-step program. And that whole hardworking immigrant, the only problems that matter are the practical ones thing—
It can be good, in certain ways. It keeps us from taking ourselves too seriously. But it denies our emotions too. Grief isn't as big a problem as poverty.
And the tools for dealing with it?
We don't talk about therapy or medication or even acupuncture. We don't talk about it, period.
I've held this grief on my own for such a long time. I've kept things together for such a long time. I don't mind it, exactly, but I am tired.
I'm tired of pretending there isn't a hole in my heart.
"Are you okay, sweetie?" Dad rests his hand on mine. "Did you skip dinner again?"
"It's early." Earlier than I usually visit, at least.
He shakes his head. Motions to Shepard. "Are you going to talk some sense into my daughter? She's never eating enough. She's getting too thin."
Shep smiles. "She looks beautiful."
"But thin?"
Shep's eyes flit over my body. It's quick. Too quick for Dad to notice. But it screams of him picturing me naked.
"I'll make sure she eats something after this." He smiles at Dad. "She doesn't always take care of herself."
Dad nodsshe doesn't. "She has the tea covered though."
