Courtney
Iwas going to bake, but that reminded me of Julian.
I was going to go for a walk and lie on the grass in Riverdale Park, but that also reminded me of Julian.
So, instead, I’m sitting on my couch alone, eating ice cream from the tub.
Ha. No. I’m not that much of a stereotype.
I’m actually looking at pictures of terrariums online to give myself ideas. I figure making a terrarium will be a nice little project to distract me. But then a particularly phallic cactus reminds me of Joey, which in turn makes me think of Julian. I can’t help thinking of him, even when I try not to.
Damn.
My phone rings.
“It’s me,” Dad says. “I’m downstairs. Can you buzz me up?”
I do as he asks, and then I start freaking out.
Dad would never visit me without warning on a Sunday morning. What’s going on? Is Mom with him...or did something happen to her? I pace my living room until he knocks on the door, and I immediately pull it open.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
He frowns. “Nothing’s wrong.”
“Then why are you here? It’s Sunday morning.”
“I’m aware of what time it is.”
He sits down heavily on my couch, his face a mask of concentration, his gaze on his hands. My father is nearly seventy, and his hair has been gray for a while. He’s also thinner than he used to be, I notice now. I take a seat on the chair across from him.
“I’m sorry,” he says at last.
“For what?” I have no idea what we’re talking about.
“For refusing to accept that you were sick.”
Oh.
“Jeremy came to talk to me.” Dad’s not looking at me—I think that’s too difficult for him. “He said we screwed up. Me, him, and your mother. Though I think it started with me. I guess I thought...maybe if I denied it, it wouldn’t be true. You’d snap out of it. Be yourself again.”
“Don’t you hear how ridiculous that sounds?”
“I know.” He nods. “I know.” He looks down at the floor. “My father...you never knew him because he died when he was forty-eight. He threw himself in front of a train. Before that, he wasn’t well. Depressed, maybe, but we didn’t call it that.”
“Aunt Darlene told me.”
“Oh.” He pauses. “I don’t let myself think about it, but when you were...” He makes a vague gesture with his hands. “I had to think about it again, and I couldn’t deal with it.”
“Maybe if I’d gotten proper help earlier, it would have been easier. But the first time, I was only sixteen. I needed my parents to help me get treatment, and you dismissed it. Honestly, I wasn’t surprised. I hadn’t wanted to tell you in the first place because I knew how you’d react. And when I was in university...” I shake my head. I don’t want to talk about that.
He didn’t even visit me in the hospital. Naomi came every day, and Mom and Jeremy came once, but Dad never did.
I swallow. “Thank you for the apology. It doesn’t make everything okay, though.”
“I know. I will do better in the future if it happens again.”
“It’s starting. I can feel it. Every five years...”
