Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 84000 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84000 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
Noah stands and pulls me in for a hug. His embrace is so much more than I’m pleased you’re here. It’s thank you for coming, our dad’s sick, our family’s falling apart, I love you. Long seconds tick by in the longest hug I’ve ever shared with my brother.
I blink back tears as Noah releases me and stuff my hands in my coat pockets. “How are you feeling?” I know my words sound cold, but it’s all I can manage.
“Better, much better. They’re keeping me in a couple of days, but just as a precaution.”
I don’t move to hug him and he doesn’t ask for one. “You need to stop with the bacon,” I say.
He nods. “I know, I know. I have a thousand pamphlets telling me the same thing.” He nods to his bedside table. “Noah picked them up for me.”
“You need to read them,” I say. “Maybe get a Peloton or something.”
“I know,” he replies, his voice quieter than usual. “There are a lot of things I need to start doing.” Silence echoes in the room. I stare at my shoes. I’m so angry with him, but I’m so pleased he’s okay. “I really appreciate you being here,” he finally says. “I know there’s a lot we need to talk about.” He can barely finish his last sentence.
“You need to rest,” Oliver says, sitting in the chair beside the bed. “Don’t stress out about anything.”
I pull in a breath. That’s easier said than done. Dad has split apart his family—has been splitting us apart for twenty-five years. “We can talk when you’re better,” I say.
Dad catches Oliver’s and Noah’s eyes and nods at the door. They both get up and leave. I don’t stop them. I don’t really want to be alone with my dad, but at the same time, I want to hear what he has to say. I desperately want there to be something he can say to stop this anger bubbling inside of me. I need that from him.
I don’t move. I stand still at the bottom of his bed.
“I have a lot of regrets,” he says, “but being your dad isn’t one of them.”
“Is that why you sent Noah and Oliver out? You don’t want them to hear I’m the only one you don’t regret?” It’s meant to be a joke, but it doesn’t land. They’re the words of innocent, fourteen-year-old me, who’d sit on the couch with Dad while he watched the game, telling him everything I knew about Taylor Swift. Today it seems like I’ve lost my sense of humor, and no wonder.
“We’ll always be a family,” Dad says.
I don’t want him to see me cry, and I don’t want to argue with him, but that’s bullshit. We were never a family. At least, we’ve never been the family I thought we were.
I don’t respond.
“I’m sorry—”
“Let’s do this another time,” I say, turning to leave. “You need to rest.”
“Sophia. Don’t leave. Just wait.”
I stand still, facing the door.
“I love you. I love the daughter you are. I know you’re upset—”
“Please, Dad. I don’t want to be the reason for your second heart attack today. Just focus on resting and getting better. There’s plenty of time for this conversation.”
“I hope so,” he mumbles.
No regrets, Worth said to me. That’s what his dad’s death taught him. To live life with no regrets. But wherever I turn, all I can see is regrets. If we talk about it now, the stress could kill him or at least hamper his recovery. If we don’t talk about it now, I’m not sure I’ll be able to bring myself to try again. I don’t know which way to turn.
I release the door handle, head over to the bed, and press a kiss to my father’s cheek. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Dad. Just focus on getting better.” I open the door and pause before turning back to say, “I love you.”
No regrets.
I text Worth my location and ask him to meet me. My head is so full of thoughts, my body so full of emotion, I don’t think I can successfully navigate my way out of the hospital without his help.
“Are you okay?” Mom asks as I shove my phone in my pocket and slump down into the seat next to her.
I shrug.
“I think we should go home,” she says, smoothing her hand over my back like she used to when I was a child. Even before she finishes her sentence, I know I can’t go back home tonight. It will only make my racing thoughts worse. I need space. Distance.
The elevator doors ping and Worth emerges. I let out a breath. Somehow, he makes things less complicated.
“Mom, this is my friend Worth,” I say. “He arranged for me to get here today.”
She looks from me to Worth, then stands and opens her arms to hug him. “Thank you so much. It’s good to meet you.”