Page 23 of The Two of Us

8

NOW

It’s not a good idea.

“This isn’t a good idea,” I say, verbalizing my thought.

“Hon, I’ll be back before you know it. It’ll only take me forty-five minutes. An hour, tops.”

“But what if he needs something? What if there’s an emergency and I don’t know what to do?”

It’s Wednesday morning and I was enjoying a scalding mug of black coffee, catching up on work emails. I was in my element until I wasn’t. It only took seven words out of Laura’s mouth to throw my body into fight-or-flight mode. I need you to watch your father. She retrieves her keys from the fruit bowl near the sink and points at a yellow piece of paper held to the fridge by a rainbow magnet. Hers, I’m sure.

“These are all the numbers you’d ever need in case of an emergency, including mine. Mara, you’re going to be fine,” she says, hands on my shoulders. “I’m going to come back.” She sounds like she’s talking me down from a ledge. She might be.

But I refuse to go down without a fight. “Is it the store? Because I told you, I don’t mind doing the grocery shopping.”

“No, it’s not the store. What I need to do isn’t something you can help me with.”

Her voice is somber, and for the first time since meeting her, she looks uncomfortable. I don’t want to push, so I remain silent. But to my surprise, Laura divulges anyway. “It’s my sister. She’s a bit… all over the place right now and she needs me.” Her mouth turns downward, and it looks unnatural on her usual chipper face.

I instantly regret my incessant protests. Of course she has her own family with her own problems and it’s selfish of me to expect her to overexert herself when the whole reason I’m here is to pick up some of the slack.

“I’m sorry, Laura. Take your time. I’ll be alright—I’m just being a baby.”

I don’t even sound convincing to myself. She graces me with one of the warm smiles I’m becoming accustomed to and moves a stray curl from my forehead. The gesture’s gentle and motherly and I lean into the feeling of safety it offers.

Glancing at her watch, she quickly slips on her shoes. “I just fed your father, so no need to worry about that. He’s actually having a pretty good day. He was awake and alert when I left his room. Maybe you can go in there and talk to him for a bit. I know he’s been wanting to catch up with you since you’ve been here.”

“I’ve spent a lot of time in his room,” I reply defensively.

An amused snort comes from Laura. “How about spending some time in there when he’s actually awake? Hmm?”

I stick my tongue out at the door she exits like a five-year-old and slam my laptop shut. The house is hushed and I realize I don’t care much for the quiet during the day. It’s been strangely comforting hearing Laura’s humming throughout the house and the clinking of pots and pans as she makes herself food. The night is made for silence. Stillness. But the daytime? It deserves more movement, more sounds, more life. I crane my neck around the corner and spot Otso passed out on his doggy bed, which looks more like a twin-size bed.

I crack the door to my dad’s room just slightly, careful not to wake him just in case he happened to doze off while Laura and I talked.

Please be asleep.

“Mara?” a soft voice speaks.

I mutter a curse under my breath as I enter, dragging my feet to the visitor’s chair near his pillow. Nobody’s ever stopped by to visit but I imagine Laura sits and talks with him sometimes. She’s too kind not to.

“Hey, Dad.”

Laura was right. If you’re going solely off his appearance, he’s having a good day. His eyes still look sunken but they’re wide open instead of their usual half-mast state and his brown eyes are as warm as I remembered.

“How are you feeling?”

His voice is scratchy, but when I go to grab water, he makes a sound as if to say leave it. “I don’t want to talk about me right now. You can see for yourself what I look like. How have you been since coming home, princessa?”

Only my dad would ask about me while he’s on his deathbed. My shame magnifies. I don’t deserve this man.

“I’m fine, Dad. You know you don’t have to worry about me.”

“That’s why I worry. Your old man is wasting away in hospice and you’re fine.”

I scrunch my nose. “You’re not wasting away, Dad, jeez. Don’t be so morbid.”

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