“Why are we doing this again?”
“It’s Christmas. You’re supposed to cook a bunch of food and eat it with your family on Christmas.”
I snorted. “Is that what this is? A family? Maybe I’m an idiot, but I think you need more than two people to make a family.”
I saw the tension radiate from his sternum to his wrists as he continued whisking the batter he was making.
“Family is family, Mike, whether it’s one person or twenty.” He looked up at me and his face was so tortured. “This is who we have and I love you. That’s family in my mind.”
I didn’t answer, choosing to continue swigging my coffee like it was the last caffeine on Earth. As I sat there watching him move around the kitchen, mixing and pouring and checking various dishes and pots, I remembered Loretta in that same kitchen, dirty dishes piled all around her, flour coating the countertops, muttering to herself as she tossed things into a bowl, moving too fast, talking too rapidly. We never knew what we’d get for dinner in my house. It could be an exotic five-course meal or something so butchered that you couldn’t even identify it. And oftentimes, there was no dinner because Loretta locked herself in her room in the dark for days on end.
My dad’s voice brought me back to that moment in the kitchen with him.
“Mike? Do you want mashed potatoes or au gratin?”
I looked at him, out of time and place for a moment, still hearing Loretta’s voice as she chanted, “Flour, water, eggs, flour, water, eggs, flour, water, eggs.”
I gave myself a shake, my dad looking at me, a potato poised in his hand, all of his movement and action suspended while he waited for me to tell him what to do. As if I had a clue what to do with the two of us.
“You know, Dad, I don’t give a shit what kind of potatoes you make. I don’t remember ever having a real Christmas dinner. I’m really not sure why we should start now.”
“It’s never too late to have a fresh start, Mike,” he answered softly as he started placing the potatoes into a big pot of water.
My skin itched with the burn to get the hell out of there. I couldn’t stand to have this conversation with him. He’d never understand. I was her son. I’d end up the same way. He was wasting all this effort on me exactly like he’d wasted it on her all those years.
“I’m sorry. I don’t want to do this. I’m going out. I’ll see you tomorrow. I have a flight out first thing in the morning.”
“I thought you were staying until Tuesday,” he said, his eyes sad but resigned.
“Yeah, something came up. But listen, hold on a sec.” I bolted down the hall to my old room. When I came back, I handed him a red envelope. “Merry Christmas and everything, Dad. Hope you have a good one.” With that, I grabbed my keys off the hook by the door and walked out, leaving my dad with a generic Christmas card filled with hundred dollar bills and signed ‘From Mike’.
I left town the next morning before he woke up.
That was nearly two years ago, and now, I’m boarding a flight to see him again, only this time, it might really be the last time. I’ve always assumed my dad would be there, this permanent fixture in Portland, waiting to pick up my mess when I finally succumbed to Loretta’s bequest. I haven’t wanted to be around him since I was sixteen. Not because I don’t love him. I love my father more than anything or anyone on this planet. No, I’ve avoided him because of the guilt. Knowing what he risked for me, sacrificed for me. I can’t live with it. I can’t stand to see him and be reminded every day of what he had to do. But I always thought he’d be here, in Portland, if I needed him. Now, I see that that might not be true. And if he’s gone, I’ll have no one when it finally happens. But then again, maybe I’d have no one anyway.
WHEN I step off on the cardiac ICU floor of the hospital, I’m immediately cognizant of the odor and the silence. Everything and everyone is quiet. Quiet is something I’ve avoided for a long time. I play rock guitar. I live to make noise, and noise blocks out the thoughts, the memories, the knowledge of those things in the past that gnaw at my insides. Jenny did that for me too. Gave me something else to think about, focus on, desire. But right now, Jenny’s not here, and I could really use some noise because my head is getting flooded with shit I don’t want to hear.
I walk to the main nurses’ desk, and as my boots clunk on the cold tile floors, I remember the last time I was in a hospital. When Tammy had her nervous breakdown and I told the secret about her and Joss—the secret that destroyed my band. I also remember the time before that, after Loretta died and the fabric of my life tore to pieces. Yeah, hospitals and me—we go way back.
“Excuse me?” I say to the plump, middle-aged nurse staffing the desk. “I’m here to see my father. Richard Owens?”
She looks up at me then clicks away at her computer keyboard. “Yes, he’s in room 263, down the hall to your left.”
“Can you tell me anything about his condition?” I ask.
“I’ll send in his nurse on duty to talk to you.”
“Great. Thanks.”
I slowly make my way down the hall, trying to prepare myself for what I might find behind the door to room 263.
I open it and there sits Walsh, next to my dad’s bed, reading a magazine. When he looks up, a sympathetic smile spreads across his face. My eyes shift from him to my old man and I feel an ache of fear and longing lodge itself in my gut.
“He’s stable,” Walsh says as he approaches me. “But he hasn’t regained consciousness yet.”
I give him a handclasp and a slap on the back. “Thanks for being here, man. It means a lot to me.”
“No problem, brotha’,” he responds, watching me as I gaze at my dad.
Dad looks years older than the last time I saw him, his frame slight in the large hospital bed and his skin pale and thin. He has monitors, tubes, and wires everywhere, and his breathing is so labored that I can hear it even from yards away.
“So, do you know what happened?” I ask Walsh as I move slowly into the room and stand next to the bed.
“From what I can tell, he was able to call it in himself. By the time the ambulance arrived, he’d lost consciousness, but they gave me the name of the dispatcher who talked to him, so if you want to know more about what happened, that dispatcher can tell you.”
“And did the doctors talk to you like I asked them to?”
“Yeah. They told me that everything went fine in the bypass surgery, but in some cases, it just takes a while for people to come around afterwards. It’s still been less than twenty-four hours, so they seem to think it’s just a matter of time.”
I look at Walsh, remembering everything he’s been through in the last year. I feel selfish for asking him to come when I’m the one who should have been here for my dad.
“Well, hey, you need to get back to your pregnant wife. I’m sorry for keeping you here all day. It meant a lot though to know that, um…” I have to clear my throat as emotion takes over. “That he wasn’t alone right now.” I think about how alone he’s been since I abandoned him when I was sixteen, and the guilt is overpowering.
“That’s what brothers are for, man. And no matter what happened to our band, we’ll always be brothers.”
I nod, unable to speak. Walsh lays the magazine he was reading down and puts his hand on my shoulder. “I’m going to go home, see what Tammy’s up to. But we’ll be back. Where are you going to stay tonight? You know you’re welcome at our place.”
Walsh and Tammy have the world’s biggest, gaudiest house. I could probably stay there for days without ever running into them, but somehow, I know that I need to be with my dad. If I leave, it’ll be to go to the house I grew up in, to face the demons that live there. I’ll do that to help him get well. I only hope I get the chance.
“I’m going to stay here for now,” I tell Walsh. “But I’ll let you know if I need anything.”
“All right then. I’ll talk with you later,” he says before he walks out, shutting the door behind him.
&nbs
p; I sit down in the chair closest to the bed and reach over to grasp my father’s wrist lightly. His arms seem so small. I’ve never thought of him as anything but my dad, but I see now just how human he really is. How breakable and fallible and mortal. This man was handed a life no one would have chosen. It was full of strife, heartbreak and destruction, yet he loved me and cared for me the best he could through it all, making the ultimate sacrifice for me alone.
Whatever little good exists inside me is due to him and his love. I’ve been careless with that, self-absorbed, and it hurts deep inside me in places I didn’t even know could feel pain.
“I’m so sorry, Dad,” I whisper. “I never meant for any of it to happen. I’m here now, and I’ll stay. As long as you need me. Just please don’t give up. After everything we’ve been through together, Dad, please don’t give up.”
I sit with his hand in mine, and I close my eyes and wait.
Jenny
I’VE BEEN on three dates with JR, and this one is to church. I’ve never taken a date to church before, but it’s nice that he’s willing. JR is one of the nicest, easiest-to-be-with guys I’ve ever known. He’s more sophisticated than the guys I dated at home, but he’s not obnoxiously slick. He’s funny and considerate, and I could see that it would be simple to fall for him.
When he asked me to breakfast today and I told him that I usually go to church, he said, “Can I come along? Then we’ll go to breakfast afterward.”
If you aren’t Baptist born and bred, Sunday church services can be a little much, but JR has handled it like a pro.
As we walk out of the church I attend when I’m in Dallas, JR reaches down and weaves his fingers through mine, holding my hand while we walk to the car. It’s comforting in this moment, as church makes my heart ache in longing for my mother. I sent her a card a few days ago, but so far, no response. She’s usually the one who gets the mail, but maybe she hates me as much as my father does.
JR looks handsome with his blond hair mussed and his tie loosened. He’s wearing aviators and he smells like some sort of fresh, citrusy cologne. I can’t help but smile at him as we reach the car and he turns me so my back is to the door.
“So, you ready for some breakfast?” he asks as he looks down at me.
“I sure am. That bowl of corn flakes I ate before we came left town a long time ago. I’m starved.”
He leans closer, lifting his glasses so they rest on top of his head and he can look me in the eyes. “Yeah? I’m pretty hungry myself, but I don’t think it’s for food.”
I feel my face heat up, and I look away for a moment as I try to think of what to say. But before I can respond, he’s put a finger under my chin and he presses up so I’m looking him in the eyes. His face is a mere breath from mine.
“Don’t go shy on me, Jenny. You know I like being with you, and if you don’t realize that you’re incredibly hot, then you haven’t been looking in the mirror.” Then he presses his lips to mine as he leans into me, trapping me between him and the car.
JR and I have kissed exactly two times before this and both times were short, sweet goodnight kisses. This is different. His hands find my hips and he splays his palms across them, not touching anything but indicating that he wants to feel as much of me as he can.
His tongue has slid into my mouth and he alternates tasting me with nibbling my bottom lip. My heartbeat picks up pace and I try to relax as best I can, but all I can see behind my closed eyes is Michael. Michael’s face when he lay over me in bed. Michael’s chest when he took off his shirt. Michael’s eyes when he told me he wanted me. I try to be there with JR, but I’m not, and it’s guilt-inducing in a whole new way from anything I’ve ever felt before.
JR stops and gives a little moan. “God, you’re kind of amazing, Jenny. I’m having a hard time not pushing you too fast.”
I give him a small smile. “I appreciate you being patient, JR. I’m, uh, I’m just not sure exactly what I’m doing. My life is so in transition right now. I can’t see two days ahead sometimes. I think that’s making it hard for me to know what to do about certain things.”
“Like me?” he asks, smiling.
“Maybe.”
“I could show you all sorts of things you could do with me,” he teases in a low voice as he kisses up the side of my neck, making me shiver all over.
I giggle and give him a little push. “JR DuBois, what would your momma say?” I scold.
He laughs and steps back before opening up my car door and helping me in. “My momma is a firm believer in going after what you want in life. Her favorite saying is, ‘You’ll never know unless you try.’ This is me trying, Jenny. Just let me know when you’ve figured it all out. I’ll be here. Trying my damnedest.” He winks at me and shuts the car door. It makes me think of riding in Michael’s truck. Everything makes me think of Michael, and I’m sick to death of it.
JR takes me to a charming breakfast restaurant in Highland Park, one of Dallas’s most upscale neighborhoods. But, just like JR, the place isn’t pretentious. It’s beautiful and has fabulous food, but the atmosphere is welcoming and I don’t feel out of place at all.
When breakfast is over, he asks what else I have planned for the day. I tell him that I have a bunch of reading to do for the continuing education exam I’ll have to take for my annual teacher’s license review. He says that he has paperwork to do too and asks if I want to come to his new place and we can both work then maybe have some dinner together. Given the choice between sitting at the hotel by myself agonizing over Michael or hanging out at JR’s trendy loft—well, it’s not much of a choice.
We stop by my hotel so I can change into something more comfortable and get my books. JR waits in the sitting room of my suite while I go to the bedroom to change. That’s when I notice the light flashing on my bedside phone—a message from the front desk. I pick up the handset and follow the instructions for the voicemail. What I hear is a computer-generated message that tells me that Michael has left town and will be in contact about his schedule. I hang up much harder than I need to, anger soaking me from head to toe.
It figures. Right as we’re putting together the final list of tracks, he takes off to parts unknown. He probably met a Vegas showgirl somewhere and decided to have himself a vacation. I can’t believe he’d do this. Leave town without telling me first? Leave me here alone?
But then I think about him storming out of my room the night we tried to have sex. I remember how fast he pulled away from me, how distant he’s been ever since, and I realize that I have to quit expecting anything from Michael except for him to be Michael. Not the Michael I thought was mine, but Mike Owens, the rock star guitarist who treats most people like dirt and most women worse than dirt.
And it all comes crashing down, what I haven’t even wanted to admit to myself. The Mike I thought I knew, the one I thought of as “my Michael,” never existed anyway. He was an anomaly, an enigma. Some sort of trick my mind created to help me through a period of transition.
“Well, Jenny Lynn,” I tell myself softly as I look in the mirror at my reflection, “those days are over, and he’s gone. It’s time for you to saddle up and ride the horse you’ve been given. It he won’t be here to work, you’ll just work without him.”
I’m finding decisions about JR much easier to make all of a sudden.
Mike
I’VE BEEN sitting in my dad’s hospital room for about six hours when he finally wakes up and his eyes open. They’re blurry and confused.
“Dad?” I say, squeezing his hand.
“Mike?” he croaks out.
“Yeah. Let me get a nurse. Just a minute.” I jog out to the hallway and flag down the nearest person in scrubs. Turns out, it’s the RN on duty, and she comes right in.
“Well, Mr. Owens, how nice it is to see you,” she tells him as she begins punching buttons on the monitors and holds his wrist to take his pulse. She also presses the call button on the side of the bed. “Do you remember what happened?” she asks my d
ad as she shines her little pen light into his eyes.
He nods slowly.
“Can you tell me what year this is?”
“2014,” he answers.
“Good.” She gets a stethoscope out just as a guy not too much older than I am walks in.
“Hi,” he says, putting his hand out to me. Then he stops and blinks. “Mike Owens?” He grins.
I shake his hand. “Yeah. This is my dad.” I gesture to the bed, hoping he’ll take the hint that I’m not here to be a rock star. I just want someone to tell me that my old man’s going to be okay.
The guy’s a professional. I can tell he wants to do the fan thing, but he nods and grabs the clipboard off the end of my dad’s bed. Then he glances down at it before he looks at my dad.
“Mr. Owens,” he says smiling. “I’m Dr. Park. Do you know where you are?”
“Hospital,” my dad whispers.
The nurse pours a cup of water from the pitcher that’s sitting on the nightstand and puts a straw in it before holding it up to my dad’s mouth. He takes a couple of sips then nods his head and she puts it back on the table.
“You had a pretty serious cardiac event,” the doctor continues. “You had three arteries completely blocked and they’d become compromised by the plaque buildup. We had to divert the blood flow around those blockages. You’ve heard of the procedure—bypass surgery?”
Dad nods, and I feel my own heart beating double time. Just imagining how close to dying he came is making me feel weak.
“So we’ve taken veins from other parts of your body—two from your legs and one from your abdomen—and we used those to move the blood the way it needs to flow to keep your heart muscle healthy. Does all of that make sense?”
Dad nods again, shooting me a look that seems a little panicked—or maybe he’s just having the same feelings I am.
The doctor turns to me. “Is your dad married?” he asks.
“No. My, uh, my mother passed away. A long time ago.”
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