Page 64 of Fly Boy
Maybe you don’t deserve the gift I got you.
Wyatt
Then the new name is fitting.
Teddy pokes his head through the doorway, and I look up from my phone. He points at me, his gaze jumping from my face to my cell. “Now I know that smirk isn’tnothing. You’re texting some chick.” I lock the screen even though from where he’s standing,he won’t see a thing. He sticks out his lower lip. “Boo, keep your secrets. I’m going to bed. See you in the morning?”
“Yeah, man. Sleep well.”
Bowie’s next to say goodnight, and before I know it, I’m alone watchingA Christmas Storyfor the millionth time. I’m not sure where Sadie and my dad are, but I know they’re not in bed when I hear the back door close.
“Miles, please, not now.”
I try to focus on the film playing on low rather than the hushed voices of my stepmom and dad in the hallway outside.
“He’s not returning my calls, and this is the first time I’ve seen him in weeks,” Dad replies, sounding angry, yet I know it’s not directed at his wife. “He’ll just text me random superficial crap about the game or respond with some stupid innuendo in the group chat. He’s avoiding, Sadie.”
And now I feel like shit.
“I know that, but it can wait. It’s Christmas,” Sadie snaps. “I will not have you ruining my boy's day because that woman…” Her voice wobbles as she cuts herself off. “When is she going to stop messing with his head?”
And now I feel worse.
Dad sighs, and I can picture him pulling her into his chest. “I know, baby. But I need to talk to him.”
I close my eyes, listening to his footsteps as he walks into the living room. I don’t move, don’t look at him as I wait for him to speak first.
“Can I have a word?”
His tone is gentle, like one you’d use on a kitten, terrified that if you’re too rough, it will get spooked and run away.
“Dad…”
“I’m sorry, Wyatt, I am. I really don’t want to do this now, but if you’d called me back weeks ago…”
“And said what?” I ask, my gaze snapping to his. Dad runs his hands through his hair, blowing a long breath from between his lips.
“Nothing. All I need is for you to listen. Hear what I need to say before you make up your mind.”
I grit my teeth, my pulse picking up speed. “Fine.”
“Your mom—” I glare at him, and he clears his throat. “Fiona’sgot metastatic glioblastoma, Son…” I see his lips move, but it takes a while for the sound to register as he says, “Brain cancer.”
There’s a high-pitched ringing in my ears at the truth of her diagnosis. The pit in my stomach that formed when I listened to the voicemail is back, growing larger with each distorted word, his sentences sounding like he’s underwater.
“The doctors have tried everything, but unfortunately, the tumor has stopped responding to treatment.” He pauses, swallowing hard. “It’s progressed faster than they thought, and she’s now receiving palliative care.”
“How long does she have?” I ask, my voice sounding cold. Detached.
Dad winces, scratching his chin. “That’s the thing, Wyatt. Paul, her partner, called yesterday and said she’s started having seizures and has been in and out of consciousness… Fiona was wondering—hoping—that you’d go and see her before… before…”
“Before she dies.” My fingers coil around my beer bottle, my knuckles white as I stare unblinkingly at it.
“Before it’s too late. Before you miss your chance to speak to her… To get closure.”
“Closure,” I breathe, the word bitter on my tongue. I swallow, but the movement’s hard as my throat feels like it’s closing.
“I can go with you or even drive to the hospital…” Setting the bottle still in my hand on the floor, I push to my feet, silently walking past my dad. He whirls around, confusion and concerncrossing his face as he calls after me. “Wyatt? Where are you going?”
