“It’sokay,” I replied, so pathetically meek and small.
“I’llsee you around, Andy,” he said, offering a grin so genuine and beautiful I thoughtI would float right through the ceiling from my elation.
Andy, Ithought as he headed toward his father’s room. He’d called me Andy. Nobody hadever called me Andy before. I liked it, it was casual and cute, and it felt sopersonal. Maybe eventoopersonal for what our relationship was, but … Iliked it.
Ilikedhim.
AndI really wanted to know more about the old woman following him down the hall.
CHAPTERSEVEN
VINNIE
“Pops,can I help you with that?”
Ihurried to my father’s side as he struggled to put his shirt on withoutsnagging the tubing that hung around his neck and connected to the oxygen tankat his side. I reached out to help him with the buttons, but he quickly swattedme away. I pulled back with the shame of a puppy who’d just been scolded.
“Ithink I can manage to button my own goddamn shirt,” he snapped, just beforetwisting the tube around a button and snagging it inside the shirt. He huffedwith agitation, tugging at the cannula, and pulling it from around his ears. Hethrew it to the side and finished with the buttons. After tucking the shirtinto his pants, he shot a triumphant look in my direction. “See?”
Icould’ve fired back obnoxiously and reminded him of how I had needed to helphim use the bathroom just a day ago. But I was too focused on the weightedsound of his breath, the wheezing and struggling with every rise and fall ofhis chest. Had it always sounded that way? And if so, how had I not noticed it?
“Youneed to wear this,” I said, snatching up the cannula and fitting it back intohis nostrils, up around his ears, and under his chin, all while ignoring hisscowl.
“Youneed to stop treatin’ me like a little kid.”
“Youneed—”
“Hey!”
Iturned at the sound of Andy’s voice and lifted my mouth in a feeble smile. Popshad only been in the hospital for a few days, but I had found myself lookingforward to every fleeting moment with his nurse. She was infuriating in her ownright, like the way she mysteriously knew of his condition without apparentlyknowing him, but she was also endearing and sweet. It was her job to be, Iunderstood that, but it was still a comfort I found myself needing.
“Hey,”I grunted, wishing I was capable of sounding a little happier to see her.
“Youguys excited to be out of here today?”
Underher arm, she carried a folder that contained, I’m assuming, Pops’s dischargepapers. The doctor had given him the okay to get back home, with strictinstructions to come right back if he had any chest pain or difficultybreathing. Pops had nodded eagerly, ready to get the hell out of the hospital,while I wished my older sister and brother were there to handle this shitinstead of me.
Ishrugged. “Sure, yeah.”
Popsscoffed. “What kinda question is that? Of course, I’m excited to get the hellout of here.”
Andylaughed, meeting my eye. “You’ll be happy to get some sleep without being wokenup every couple of hours.”
“You’redamn right,” Pops grumbled, slipping his feet into his loafers.
Isniffed a quiet laugh, not so sure I agreed. Sure, I was looking forward to mybed and trading the beeping of machines with the symphony of the streets, but Iwasn’t prepared to become his caregiver. I wasn’t prepared to wait quietly forhim to die. Nothing could prepare me for that.
“Now,you’re not going to be alone, right?” Andy asked, laying the folder on his bedand flipping it open.
Popsshook his head as I said, “No, he lives with me.”
Admittingthat to women was always difficult, but now, it rolled off my tongue withoutany shame. She wasn’t asking to speculate or criticize; she was just doing herjob. Still, I waited for a sign of judgment. A barely-there smirk, or anearly-silent chuckle—anything to make me dislike her. But it didn’t come.
Shesmiled. “Is that a new arrangement?”
“Nah,”I said, surprised by how easily I could tell her the truth. “I’ve lived withthe old man my whole life.”
“Andyou guys haven’t killed each other yet?” she teased, her eyes volleying betweenmy father and me.
