I step back and narrow my eyes. First, I don’t want to be close to her. Second, we haven’t talked in a long time. I rack my brain to try to remember when I last saw her. If I recall correctly, it was during the custody hearing for Asher thirteen years ago. I was twenty-seven…
She’s aged and she hasn’t. She looks older, but she still styles her hair the same and wears clothes that tell the world she is a member of the Daughters of the American Revolution, the ex-wife of a judge, and the sister of a former governor.
As politely as I can, I smile. “You and I don’t speak. Why would I have called you?”
“Because I’m his wife!” she says as if that’s the truth.
“Not for the last twenty-three years.”
I know right away she doesn’t like my answer. Her nostrils flare, her chin rises, and she looks at me with protruding eyes. “And whose fault is that? Remind me, Dextyn.”
My jaw clenches, but I exhale to keep my emotions in check, trying hard to not punch my own mother or start a screaming battle in the corridor of the hospital. That’s not how a Crawford should act. And in a way, she’s right. I am responsible for my parents' divorce.
Not that it seems to have bothered my father. He married his assistant a few months after the divorce was pronounced. Ellen was already pregnant, and I’ve always wondered if their love story started before my parents' marriage ended or right after. I believe my father was waiting for an excuse to run away and I gave him the perfect opportunity when I came out.
Announcing my sexual orientation after my brother had already run away with their friends' daughter was a betrayal my mother could never forgive. Her son being gay wasn’t something Belinda Diana Washington could accept, even if she loved giving thousands and thousands of dollars to different organizations supporting gay rights. When I said I would never get married to the daughter of her brother’s friend because I was gay, her exact words were, “I already give them money. Why did they have to take my son?”
She then told me to choose: live in her home or be gay. I was seventeen. I left and went to live with the Porters. My father told Belinda that he couldn’t fathom being in a marriage with someone so homophobic that she would kick out her own son, so she left and I came back home.
Dad and I grew closer, especially because Clay was away. We felt like it was the two of us against the world. Then Ellen entered the family with a pregnant belly as baggage and we became three. She has always been supportive of me and guided me through shit, especially when Ian and Virginia weren’t talking to me during Asher’s custody hearing.
A resentful silence falls between my mother, Emma, and me. We have nothing to add to our dysfunctional conversation. You would think my father being sick would make me want to rebuild bridges with her, but I feel more like burning the witch.
I’m at forty-nine ways to blaze my mother alive when the door finally opens, and Ellen appears, her eyes puffy from tears. I run to her when I see her knees weakening, and I envelop her in my arms. I know the gasp of indignation coming from behind me is my mother’s, but I don’t care. Ellen is the mother I always wanted.
“Where’s Dad?”
Ellen doesn’t answer, and I imagine the worst scenario.
“Is he dead?”
She shakes her head.
“Do they know what’s wrong with him?”
She shakes her head again.
“Are they keeping him?” I choke on my worries, barely able to say two words. I can’t be a mess right now. My family needs me. I can’t fail them again.
Ellen finally speaks. “The doctor wants to do some tests on all of you. We need to get Asher here. Doctor Mayer has an idea what it could be, and it might be genetic.”
It’s my turn to feel dizzy, my stomach coming up my throat. Ellen’s words appear as big flashing warnings in my brain. Asher. Genetic. Testing. Dad. Hospital. I breathe in and out a few times.
“Well, it’s a good thing if they think he can feel better.”
Ellen bursts in tears, her whole body shaking against mine. “They’re not sure he’s going to make it. His heart is too weak.”
“Nonsense,” I hear myself say. “Let me take care of it!”
And that’s what I do. I drive Ellen home with Emma, send my mother to fetch my stupid brother and tell him what is going on, then I go back to the hospital to make sure my father is properly settled. I speak with doctors, make arrangements for my father to be as comfortable as possible, check on my family, and make sure Clay doesn’t drink himself to death.
Once I think that everything is under control and everybody is taken care of, I take a few minutes to try to understand what’s really happening. My father is dying. I sit on the chair next to his bed and watch him sleeping. He’s not even seventy years old. We still have so much to discuss and do together. I get up, unable to look at him much longer without crying, and my chair fumbles, the noise amplified by the quiet of the room.
“Son?”
I flinch. Way to go, waking up a dying man, Dex. “Sorry, I didn’t want to wake you.”
“Come here,” he says, tapping the side of his bed.
I sit back down. My heart is aching. I feel as if today will never end. I wait for my father to say something. Shouldn’t he be delivering his last words of wisdom or something crucial that would help me change my life? But he stays silent, looking in the distance and squeezing my hand. He falls back asleep, and I decide not to move an inch, afraid to wake him again and weaken him even more.
When I open my eyes, it’s almost eight in the morning. I’m amazed I slept through morning rounds. I’m in the chair next to my father’s bed, a blanket covering my crumpled suit. I hear whispers and see Ellen, Emma, and Clay standing around my dad.
“Did you call Asher?” Ellen asks Clay.
“No.” They haven’t spoken in two years, not since Clay decided Asher wasn’t worth it after all. He’d used him for years against Virginia, but when the kid turned eighteen, he rejected him.
“I’ll do it,” I say, my voice strained with sleep and guilt. I can’t believe I forgot to call him.
Ellen and Emma nod, but Clay rolls his eyes at me. We butted heads for years about my involvement in Asher’s life.
It’s five in the morning in LA. I can’t call Virginia. Mainly because I don’t want her to worry about Ash, but also because she’s going to want to come. Between my mother, her parents, and Clay, I would prefer Virginia to stay home. I could call Asher directly, but I know he needs someone to support him. I’m not sure where Ryan and Virginia’s relationship is, so he’s out of the question. Only one person can help me, and he’s also the only person I want to talk to.
I excuse myself from my father’s room and find a peaceful corner to place my call.
“Hello,” a sleepy Luke answers.
Hearing his voice warms my heart and breaks it at the same. We haven’t spoken since last week on his sidewalk.
“Hey,” I say in a trembling voice. “I’m sorry to wake you, but I need a favor.”
“Sure, what’s up?”
I can imagine him in his bed, propping himself up on his elbow, the sheet falling off his chest. It would be hot if I weren’t sure Bruce was lying next to him. I growl.