Families and Other Nonreturnable Gifts (17 page)

“He hates being so helpless. That’s what makes him irritable.”

“Yeah, well, he makes
me
irritable. If you stay, you’ll save us both from a lot of irritation.”

“All right, then,” he says with an easy smile. “What do you like on your pizza?”

10.

D
ad barely manages to get down two bites of the turkey sandwich before he pushes it away and says he just wants to sleep. He took a painkiller a few minutes earlier, so it’s not surprising he’s drowsy.

He’s sound asleep before the pizza even arrives.

Jacob and I take it over to the small round table in the living room, the one near the window, which means we can look out on that amazing view, although it’s subdued at night. The river doesn’t sparkle the way it does during the day. It’s black and serpentine, and its edges blur into its equally dark banks.

Since we’ve left the door to Dad’s bedroom open in case he calls out, we keep both the lights and our voices low, like teenagers who’ve come home late from a party and don’t want to wake up the parents.

In that spirit, I decide we need to track down some alcohol. I search through Dad’s cabinets and finally score something: not the beer I was hoping for, but a couple of bottles of red wine that were languishing in the bottom of the kitchen closet.

I show them to Jacob who says, “You know, there’s a chance those are really good. People are always giving him bottles to celebrate some occasion or another.”

“So they could be worth, what, like thirty bucks each?”

“Yeah. Or even like a hundred and thirty.”

I tighten my grasp on the bottles. “You think I should put them back?”

“It’s your call.” Then Boy Scout Jacob surprises me. “But he’ll never notice they’re gone. He didn’t even know they were there in the first place—I’m the one who put them away. Let’s go for it.”

He doesn’t have to tell me twice. I find a corkscrew rolling around in a big drawer that’s otherwise empty, and we open a bottle.

“Nice,” I say after we clink glasses and each take a sip, but it’s more of a question than a statement, because I don’t really know that much about wine. “Yeah,” says Jacob and I suspect he doesn’t know any more than I do.

We dig into the pizza, and before long, Jacob is refilling our wineglasses. I get a buzz going pretty quickly, which feels good. It’s been a tough week, and I don’t think I’ll be able to fall asleep in that apartment without being at least a little bit drunk.

We talk about the hospital—which nurses we did and didn’t like, how Dad’s roommate always had the dividing curtain closed and his TV on, the eternal mystery of why they wake up patients for routine stuff when sleep is so healing—and work our way back to the night Jacob found Dad on the floor of the apartment.

“When I first saw him lying there, I honestly thought he was dead,” Jacob says. “I instantly flashed to having to tell your whole family.”

“We’d have taken it well,” I say with the cheerfulness of the semi-drunk.

“I figured you’d all blame me for it. If I’d just come earlier—”

“Blame’s a harsh word. Let’s just say we would have held you responsible—legally and morally.”

“Thanks.” He pokes at the tangle of pizza crusts left on his plate. For a small guy, he can scarf down a lot of pizza. “I don’t ever want to have a moment like that again.”

“Then the next time you see someone passed out on the floor, run away.” The apartment phone rings. I get to my feet and sway there for a moment, waiting for the sudden head rush to pass. “I’ll get it.”

He rises, too. “I’ll go check on your dad.”

We head in opposite directions. I go into the kitchen and answer the phone. “Hello?”

“Hey, Keats. How’s Dad?”

It’s Hopkins. We may not talk very often on the phone, but I recognize her flatly brisk voice almost immediately. “He’s doing pretty well, I think. Not that I know anything about anything, but he seems like he’s getting better. He’s lost a lot of weight, though.”

“Huh?” Hopkins’s voice fades and then comes back. “—in a cab. Don’t know why it’s affecting our connection but it is.”

I wonder if she heard anything I said.

“I’ll have to jump soon, anyway,” she says. “Only have a second or two. Is Mom there?”

“She was, but she left. Now only Jacob Corwin and I are here. And Dad, of course.”

“Tell Jacob I say thank you. He was the one who found Dad, you know.”

I feel vaguely annoyed by her “you know.” I’m the one who’s there in Boston with Mom and Dad. She’s the one who’s never around. Of course, I know. “Yeah. He’s a good guy.”

“Best assistant Dad’s ever had. Can I talk to Dad?”

“I think he’s asleep. Jacob’s in there checking. He’s totally paranoid about him now.”

“Tell him he doesn’t need to be. I looked over all his tests before they discharged him. He’s fine. For now. But he is getting old—it’s just a matter of time until something more serious takes him down.” She says it the way you’d say,
It’s nice out now but it might rain tomorrow.
“So where’s Tom tonight?”

“Out with friends.”

“I didn’t know you guys ever spent time apart. Mom says you’re joined at the hip.”

“She’s crazy—we’re not like that at all.” I realize I’m swaying a little on my feet, so I give into it, and let my body shift from side to side, which feels kind of nice, like being rocked to sleep. It occurs to me I’m a tiny bit drunk, and I don’t want Hopkins to know, so I take extra care to enunciate carefully. “How’s work these days?”

“Way too busy. That’s why I haven’t made it to come see Dad yet. I have to, though. Mom keeps saying she won’t relax until I’ve seen him with my own eyes.” She gives a short laugh. “It’s crazy—she’s surrounded by the best doctors in the whole world but doesn’t trust any of them. It puts a lot of pressure on me.”

“Mom told me you were coming tomorrow.”

“That’s why I’m calling. It looks like I’m going to have to postpone my trip for another day or two.”

 I try not to sound whiny as I say, “The thing is…Mom doesn’t want Dad sleeping here alone. If you don’t come and stay with him, I’ll have to keep doing it.”

“Ask Jacob,” she suggests. “He’s the kind of guy who’ll do whatever you ask him to.”

“That’s not entirely true.”

“Really? I’ve always gotten that impression.”

“Can’t you just come tomorrow? You said Mom needs you to—”

“You know who really needs me?” she interrupts impatiently. “The twenty-seven-year-old mother of three who was brought in here last night having stroke after stroke after stroke. I think the fact that her kids could lose their mother just might take precedence over the fact that you and your boyfriend can’t curl up together in your matching jammies for a night or two.”

I’m instantly ashamed of my own pettiness. “Jesus,” I say. “A mother of three? Really?”

“Yeah, and at the moment she can’t talk or move her legs. The dad brought the kids to see her, which was just— Oh, shit, I think I just missed a call I need to take. I better go.”

And she’s gone, just like that. But the familiar uneasy feeling she leaves me with—insecurity mixed with jealousy—lingers on even after I hang up.

“How’s Dad doing?” I ask Jacob, who comes back in the living room a minute after I do.

“Sound asleep. I should probably confess that I poked him just to make sure he wasn’t in a coma. He moved a little, which was good, but if he wakes up now, it’s my fault.”

“He won’t. He said those painkillers really knock him out.” Hopkins’s call has successfully killed my buzz, so I retreat to the corner table, reclaim my wineglass, and refill it. We’re on the second bottle now. Well into it, actually.

While I’m at it, I refill Jacob’s glass and bring it over to him.

“I better not,” he says. “I’ve got to drive home.”

“If you get too drunk to drive, you can crash here.” I press the glass on him. “There’s this sofa and the pull-out one in the office. We can do rock-paper-scissors to see who gets which one.”

“Yeah, maybe,” he says, but he puts his glass down without taking a sip.

I’m bummed. I want him to stay. I don’t want to be there alone, checking every hour or so to make sure Dad’s breathing.

Because what if he’s not?

We both look around the room, trying to figure out what to do next. “You want to watch something?” Jacob asks.

“Definitely.” I plop down on the sofa while he searches for the remote.

He finds it on top of the TV set—Dad still has the boxy kind you can put things on top of—and comes over to the sofa. I’m sitting right in the middle, so even though it’s the only piece of furniture positioned to watch the TV, he hesitates. I slide over a foot and pat the cushion next to me. “Put ’er down,” I say brightly.

“Her? Why is my butt a her?” But he sits.

“Why wouldn’t it be? You sexist?” I’m still clutching my wineglass. Since it’s there, I take another sip. As if in response, my head gives a sudden involuntary bob. It occurs to me I might be pretty drunk. To disprove that theory, I hold myself extra erect and say very clearly: “So what should we watch?”

“Anything that’s not set in a hospital.” He turns on the TV and flicks past some talking heads and commercials and lands on a show where a handful of overtanned and overmuscled shirtless guys are sitting in a hot tub, shouting at each other and sucking down some beers.

“This,” I say and put my hand over his to get him to stop pushing the buttons. “Stay on this.”

His fingers twitch under mine. “You really want to watch this?”

“I don’t
not
want to watch it.”

“You actually like this crap?”

I flutter my eyelids. “I don’t
not
like it.”

“You going to keep talking like that for the rest of the night? Because nothing’s keeping me here now that the pizza’s gone.”

“I’m not going to
not
talk like this.”

“Do I have to leave?”

I promise I’ll stop.

We watch in silence for a moment. I realize then that my hand is still on his, on the remote, so I withdraw it. “Am I allowed to change the channel?” Jacob asks hopefully.

“No.” I don’t know why I’m forcing him to watch some horrible reality show about people I would go out of my way to avoid in real life. I mean, if I walked into a bar and these characters were shouting and hooting in there the way they are on the screen, I’d turn around that second and leave.

But I guess I’m enjoying the irony of watching Jacob watch these idiots—brilliant academician comes face-to-face with the lowbrow sordidness that’s reality programming.

I keep sipping my wine until this glass—my fourth?—is gone. I lean over and put it on the side table. My head’s starting to feel a little rolly, like it needs to be propped up on something or it will fall over, so I curl up sideways and rest it on the sofa pillow that’s between me and Jacob. When he turns his head to see what I’m doing, his face is just a few inches from mine.

“You okay?” He sounds mildly concerned.

“I’m fine. Just tired. It’s been a tough week.”

“Poor Keats.” His face is a little too close, his light gray eyes a little too intense. So I shut my eyes. It’s easier than moving.

I feel his hand on my leg and open my eyes to see what he’s doing. He’s just patting my knee. All very fraternal and comforting. His voice is low, soothing. “I know how rough this has all been on you. Not just your dad, but all the stuff going on with your mom, too. All the changes. Let me help in any way I can. I’m truly happy to stay over here until your dad’s better if that makes your life easier.”

It’s a good thing Jacob is basically a brother to me, otherwise the whole situation would be awkward, between the wine, the dark, the intimacy—and the fact that on the TV, one of the orange-tanned guys is now feverishly kissing a similarly hued girl who’s wearing only a bikini top and the briefest Daisy Dukes I’ve ever seen. They’re at a bar, but it doesn’t seem to be restraining them in any way—his hands are going everywhere, under the bra, inside her shorts.…

I wonder what it would be like to go out in public in a tiny pair of cutoffs and a bra. I can’t imagine it. I mean, I literally can’t even
imagine
it. I’m like those little Orthodox girls who redress Barbie dolls in modest outfits with long sleeves and dowdy skirts: I instantly put more clothes on my imaginary self.

 “It’s okay,” I murmur drowsily. “You do plenty for Dad. More than anyone else.”

“I don’t mind.”

There’s a pause. We sit there very cozy, my head practically on his shoulder, his hand still gently touching my knee. It occurs to me that if Tom were to walk into the living room right now, he might not like what he saw. But it’s
Jacob
—I can cuddle up to him, and it doesn’t mean a thing. He’s like the sane brother I never had.

“It is a little weird,” I say after a moment.

“I know. She’s supposed to be his best friend’s girlfriend if I’m understanding this correctly.”

It takes me a second to realize he’s talking about the TV show.

“No, not that.” My tongue feels thick in my mouth, and it’s making the words come out distorted. I lick my lips and work hard to form the sounds correctly. “I mean that you’re willing to spend so much time on my father. It’s weird. It’s not helping your career any at this point, is it?”

“It’s never been about my career,” he says. “You know that. I’ve told you how much it’s meant to me to get to work with him, even just to spend time with him. If I can pay him back for all he’s given me in some small way by helping out now—”

My eyes hurt. No, it’s my head that hurts. It’s the part of my head that’s right behind my eyes. I yawn, which makes my head ache more, which makes me irritable, which makes me say irritably, “You do know he’s not actually your father, right?”

There’s a pause. “Yes, Keats, I know that,” Jacob says evenly.

“I’m sorry you don’t have one of your own, but that doesn’t mean you can have mine.”

I feel a sudden movement. He’s shifted away so abruptly that the pillow he was leaning against falls down, and my head goes down with it. I tumble sideways and have to struggle back to a sitting position.