Life's Too Short

by Abby Jimenez

  “What does your dad do for a living?” he asked.

  I shook my head. “Now? Nothing. Not really. He used to be an accountant. He’s really smart. Then he found out that he could sell all the random stuff he liked to collect, so he quit his job to hawk things on eBay and Craigslist full-time. Dad’s not very handy, though, and most of what he tried to sell was junk, so he never made enough. That’s when the whole clutter thing went from bad to worse, because everything became something that could be ‘fixed and sold.’” I put my fingers in quotes. “He’d bring anything home. A toilet sitting on the curb. Broken luggage, someone’s old ice skates.”

  “Bikes.”

  I scoffed. “Soooo many bikes.”

  I sighed. “I know I give him a lot of shit, but I think he did the best he could.” I paused. “It wasn’t easy living through the things he did. I think enough tragedy can unravel anyone.”

  Adrian turned to me. “I think it depends on who you are. You know, you’ve been through all the same things he has and you’re not unraveled.”

  I smiled softly at him. “Yeah. Well, I think that stuff tends to get worse the older you get. Let’s just hope I live long enough for it to really hit me. Turn me into that eccentric aunt who wraps things from her house to give away as gifts at Christmas.”

  He laughed.

  I nudged him. “Hey, so when do I get to meet your crazy family?” I asked. “It doesn’t seem fair that mine gets all the attention.”

  “My whole family’s in Nebraska now. My mom moved there with her husband and my grandma in October. Richard and Mom invited me down for Christmas, but I’m not going.”

  “How come?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t feel comfortable. I don’t like Richard.”

  “Oh yeah? Why not? Is he a dick?”

  He laughed a little at my joke. Then he paused for a moment before letting out a long breath. “Richard is my dad.”

  My mouth fell open. “What? Like…the dad who took off and left the family? That dad?”

  He nodded. “That dad. They got back together a year ago. They’re remarried now.”

  I blinked at him. “Oh my God,” I breathed.

  He scoffed. “Yeah.”

  “I mean…why? What was his reason for leaving in the first place?”

  He shook his head at the windshield. “He had an affair with some woman he worked with. Left us for her. It didn’t last.”

  I sat back in my seat. “Wow.”

  “Yeah. Mom was a mess. For years. In and out of depression. I had to do everything for her. Pay the bills, clean the house. I couldn’t even go to college out of state. I couldn’t leave her.”

  I shook my head. “Did he pay support?”

  He nodded. “He did. I’ll give him that. Paid child support and alimony—kept paying even when he didn’t have to. Tried to keep up a relationship with me, but I had zero interest in it.”

  I blew air through pursed lips. “Yeah, I can see that.” I peered up at him. “It’s kind of romantic though. That they circled back to each other.”

  He stared at me.

  “What?”

  His jaw twitched. “You sound like Mom.”

  I shrugged. “Well, it’s true. People fuck up. And it sounds like he realized it. Maybe they were soul mates and neither of them ever found that same happiness with anyone else.”

  “I don’t believe in soul mates,” he said, his tone clipped.

  I scoffed. “Well, Dad doesn’t believe in expiration dates, but that doesn’t mean they don’t exist.”

  He barked out a dry laugh.

  “Is your mom happy?” I asked.

  He looked at the windshield and nodded reluctantly. “Yes. I guess she is.”

  I shrugged again. “Good. You should forgive him.”

  His head snapped back to me. “What?”

  “Why not? I mean, you don’t have to like him. You don’t have to trust him or forget what he did or follow him on Facebook. But he’s in your mom’s life now and holding on to this vendetta is only going to hurt her and your grandmother. I mean, you won’t even go see them for Christmas? Why? Because he’s there? Fuck him. Go see your family.”

  He blinked at me.

  I shook my head. “Wow. Somebody in this car never had to ignore their drunk misogynistic uncle at Thanksgiving, and it really shows.” I pivoted in my seat to look at him head-on. “Adrian. Hate is exhausting. Life is too short to hate. Let it go. And while you’re at it, it might help you to try to see him as a whole person who isn’t all black or white. You know, he can be your dad who loves you and your mom, and someone who did something really crappy to hurt you guys once. He can be both.”

  I watched some sort of internal struggle move across his face. “So just…what? Show up for Christmas?”

  “Yeah. Why not? I’ll go with you if you want. If it sucks, we’ll leave.”

  He wrinkled his forehead. “You’ll come?”

  I shrugged. “Sure.”

  He nodded at the house. “What about your dad? Won’t he be alone for Christmas if you’re not here?”

  I waved him off. “Let Brent tap in. I’ll go see him Christmas Eve. I’ll take him to Denny’s or something for breakfast. He’ll be thrilled. We can leave after that and make it to Nebraska for dinner.”

  “You wouldn’t mind spending Christmas with me?”

  “I was gonna spend it with you anyway.”

  The corner of his lip twitched.

  He peered at me for a long moment. “Okay.” He nodded. “All right. I’ll go, I’ll try it.”

  There was something instantly softer about his face. Like deep inside he wanted permission to let this go, but he couldn’t give it to himself.

  Adrian didn’t change gears very quickly, I realized. That was part of what made him great. His devotion to the people he cared about was unwavering. It made him steady and reliable. But it also made him inflexible and prone to hang on to things that weren’t good for him for much longer than he should.

  “You know, maybe you should talk to someone,” I said. “A good therapist could help you work through some of this stuff.”

  He shook his head. “Mom went to therapy for years, and it never seemed to make anything better.”

  “How do you know it never made anything better? Maybe without it she would have been a million times worse.”

  He didn’t answer.

  “Anyway, this’ll be fun,” I said. “We should pick out an audiobook to listen to on the ride. Stop at the gas station and get, like, a million snacks.”

  He smiled at me.

  I was actually excited to go to Nebraska. I was over here hoping his mom’s house only had one guest bed and we’d have to share.

  Then the corners of my lips fell the slightest bit.

  He wouldn’t always be single. And when he wasn’t, I wouldn’t be going with him anywhere. Probably ever. He’d have a girlfriend for that.

  What if he started dating again?

  This thought killed me. What if he went full man-whore in a delayed Rachel-induced breakup death spiral? Would I be there in my dinky apartment listening to him bang other women through the wall?

  The thought broke my heart a little. It was so dumb, but I felt betrayed even thinking about it. It felt like cheating.

  I couldn’t imagine him being someone else’s. I knew technically he wasn’t mine. But in practice he was. Not in all the ways that mattered. Not in enough ways to be enough. But he was mine.

  At least for now.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked, looking slightly worried. “Your face just got serious.”

  “If I’m still alive and you’re single on my thirtieth birthday, will you marry me?”

  He laughed. “What?”

  “Will you enter into a marriage pact with me? One year from now, you and I tie the knot if you’re single and I’m still alive. We can be one of those Pinterest couples who wears matching flannels and goes to a pumpkin patch to take that engagement photo
where we both jump at the same time.”

  He looked amused. “First of all, you will be alive. Second of all, we both know you don’t jump.”

  I twisted my lips. “Right. Good point. And you don’t own a flannel. How about the one where it’s just our legs and a chalkboard that says, ‘she said yes’? Only we could change it to ‘he took pity on me’?”

  He laughed. “And you’re sure that I’m the man for this job?”

  “Totally. I’m not explaining my crazy family to someone new. It’s way too much work.”

  He laughed again. “Don’t you want to marry for love?”

  Yes. That’s why I asked you.

  I took a deep breath and changed the subject. “Hey, sorry about your office yesterday.”

  He gazed at me with those gorgeous green eyes, and I remembered how he’d gathered my hands in his and my heart had done a somersault.

  Adrian never touched me. I mean, of course he didn’t, we were just friends. But it had calmed me down like a gentle whisper for my screaming soul.

  I understood why Grace preferred him. His arms were everything safe and whole. And I hated that the only time I got to be in them was when I was breaking my own rules and mourning my own fate.

  “Do you want to talk about it?” he asked.

  I paused a moment and looked out the window at the snowy lawn.

  “You know how when you ask someone what they’d do if the sun was headed for Earth and they had twenty-four hours left to live? And everyone always says they’d be with family, eat their favorite food, go someplace they’ve always wanted to go? Nobody ever says they’d spend the last day curled up in bed crying—because they wouldn’t. That’s not what anyone wants to do with their final hours.” I looked back at him. “I mean, yeah, you’d cry. And you’d be scared because you’re gonna die. And you’d find yourself looking at the sky throughout the day, knowing what’s coming because that’s just human nature. But for the most part, you’d just enjoy the time you had left. Especially because there’s nothing you could do about it. There’s no escape, nowhere to hide. So why bother? Obsessing over the end is pointless.” I held his gaze. “If you spend your life dwelling on the worst possible thing, when it finally happens, you’ve lived it twice. I don’t want to live the worst things twice. I try really hard not to think about the bad stuff. But every once in a while I’m human and I look up.” I studied him quietly. “Yesterday was just one of those days that I looked at the sun.”

  He peered at me, something gentle on his face. “You are a remarkable woman, Vanessa Price, you know that?” he said quietly.

  I smiled a little. “We should probably go inside,” I said. “Dad’s waiting.” I grabbed my purse. “Remember, it’s easier if you breathe through your mouth.”

  Adrian gave me a reassuring smile and got out of the car.

  We stood on the front porch while I knocked and the door opened a few seconds later.

  Dad beamed at us with a smiling Sonja right behind him. “Welcome to my humble abode,” Dad said with a flourish. “Please, enter.”

  He moved from the mouth of the doorway, and my jaw fell open.

  The first thing that hit me was the light. Dad’s house was always dim. It reminded me of the Upside Down in Stranger Things, all eerie and gray. But the entry was lit. Warm. And when I stepped inside, I saw why.

  The house was spotless. The cleanest I’d ever seen it. I peered around the living room from the entry in total shock. “Dad…” I breathed.

  The piles were gone. All the trash and clutter were gone. I could see carpet—and it was clean. New, actually. I think he’d even painted. The flat-screen TV that had been propped against a wall had been mounted. Someone had framed and hung a painting that Melanie had done in grade school that used to be stuck to the wall with a thumbtack. There was a new-looking playpen next to the sofa with a crocheted baby blanket carefully folded and draped over the side. And the smell—there wasn’t one. Not a bad one anyway. The house smelled like simmering tomato sauce.

  I grabbed Adrian’s arm and clutched it like my legs might give out.

  Dad stood rocking back on his heels, beaming at the house.

  Sonja smiled at me. “We talked a lot about goals. And do you want to know what your dad’s number one goal is, Vanessa?”

  I looked at Dad, so overwhelmed I felt out of breath.

  He nodded at the playpen. “I want Grace to have sleepovers at her grandpappy’s house.”

  I started to laugh. And then, just as quickly, I started to cry.

  I don’t think I ever really believed that my family was capable of being okay. In any sense. It’s the thing that terrified me most about being sick, the thing that kept me from being at peace with dying. But maybe Dad could change. And if he could change, maybe Annabel and Brent could too. And if they were okay, Grace would be okay. Then I could go. I could focus on me and what time I had left, if that’s what was happening, and ALS would take one less thing. It would take my life, but maybe it wouldn’t take my family with me when I went.

  Adrian leaned down and whispered in my ear. “I thought you said this place was a shithole…”

  I did a laugh-cry, and he gave me a sideways hug.

  Dad hung up my purse. “I made goulash for dinner, just like old times.”

  I blinked at my dad through the tears, standing there in his clean house. And then I cleared the space between us and hugged him.

  We weren’t really an affectionate family. I didn’t see the hug coming and neither did he. But we were both happy to be in it and for a flicker of a second, I was a little girl again.

  I broke away from him, wiping under my eyes as Brent came around the corner with Joel, holding a martini. “Oh my God. Oh my GOD.” Brent gestured dramatically to the house. “I mean, I saw the dump trucks outside, but I thought they were bringing things in.”

  I laughed.

  Brent put a hand up. “Dad, you should be very proud of yourself.”

  Dad beamed, looking a little misty-eyed. “I have a special surprise. To the living room, chop-chop.” He clapped his hands.

  He herded us over to the sofa and when I saw what he was leading us to, I gasped.

  On the coffee table were our family photo albums. The ones Dad said he couldn’t find. The ones I was worried were lost in the hoard, never to be seen again.

  “You found them?” I breathed, picking one up.

  “I did,” Dad said proudly. “With the help of this lovely lady, of course.”

  Sonja smiled, sitting on a chair that used to be stacked with board games. “He’s the one who put in the work. I’ve been very impressed with him.”

  Dad practically glowed.

  Dad was always a hundred times prouder of himself than he should be. Delusions of grandeur abounded. But this time he deserved to be proud.

  I sat on the sofa and opened a photo album with reverence. This was the one with pictures of Mom. My eyes started to tear up again as I flipped through the pages. Mom sitting in a lawn chair, and me and Mel playing in a kiddie pool on the grass. Halloween, Mom dressed like a biker chick, smiling with a jack-o’-lantern. Birthdays with the Baskin-Robbins ice cream cakes she always liked to get us. The house was clean back then too.

  There were pictures of Dad, twenty-five years younger. He had sideburns and clear eyes.

  He wasn’t broken yet.

  I wondered how long the ripple effect lasted after someone died. Maybe until everyone who knew them was dead too? Or was it something that went on for generation after generation because the damage was handed down, touching each new person and changing them, even if they don’t know why?

  Something told me it was that one.

  Grace would never know her aunt Melanie, but the loss of her would ruin her just the same—because that loss ruined her mother.

  Annabel used drugs to dull the memory of what she witnessed at the hands of ALS. She couldn’t do what I did—live a good life in spite of it. She needed something to take the edge o
ff the pain and devastation she’d endured. And so her loss was now Grace’s loss too. Grace would ride the ripple of it her whole life unless Annabel got clean—or unless I took Grace out of the pool. Got her adopted by another family who didn’t share this tragedy.

  I shook it off.

  There was no point in thinking about it. I’d spent enough time dwelling on things I couldn’t change today. I didn’t want to look at the sun again.

  Adrian sat down next to me, so close his thigh pressed into mine. He peered down at the album. “She looks just like you,” he said.

  I nodded. “Yeah. She did,” I said quietly.

  And just like me, her disease was invisible—but it was there, lying in wait inside of her, ready to spring its trap.

  Mom had been a dancer. She taught at an academy. Losing her ability to do the one thing she’d loved the most, one muscle-withering day at a time, would have been extra cruel. It was a reminder that some things are worse than death—losing the things worth living for are worse than death.

  Traveling was what I loved.

  I never saved anything for the long run. I didn’t go to college. I couldn’t afford it back then anyway, and why waste my life sitting in a room working on a degree when I’d die before I’d get to use it?

  I didn’t watch my cholesterol or exercise. I didn’t worry about where I’d be in ten years. I made long-term plans for my family, not myself. But I did plan for this.

  Back when I’d started my quest to travel the globe, I’d researched all the best cities in the world for wheelchair users. And in all my journeys, I didn’t visit a single one. Barcelona, Vienna, Singapore, Sydney, Berlin—these were my things to look forward to. To keep living a life worth living and having new adventures for as long as possible. I’d squeeze every drop of happiness from my time on this Earth. I’d cherish every second.

  Especially now that the seconds were likely running out.

  * * *

  Dinner was amazing. For the first time in longer than I could recall, I didn’t feel worried or angry or resentful toward my dad. I just got to enjoy him. I got to hear him tell his funny stories and laugh and remember how charming he could be. And the best thing of all was that Adrian saw it too. I could tell. Dad would say something witty and Adrian would look over at me and I’d see it in his eyes. It was like taking someone to a magical place from your childhood and having them see all the same wonder that you did once, even though it didn’t hold the same power over them. And I couldn’t explain how precious this was to me.