“Your dad is not doing great. No one’s expected to be at their best right now. Don’t worry about me, okay?” he says.
“But—”
“I mean it. I’ll work on your mom, figure out how to get her to like me. It doesn’t have to be right away.”
I’m too tired to argue, so I tell myself I’ll figure everything out later. For now, I just nod and let myself relax in his arms. I let him hold me up. I’m so grateful he’s not making this harder.
“Do you have everything you need? Want me to get you anything?” he asks.
“I think I have everything.”
“I can ask the nurses if they can bring in a cot or something.”
That suggestion reminds me of the long night ahead, and I sigh. “It’s probably better if I don’t sleep. But you should. You have work tomorrow. You should go home, actually.”
“I don’t mind staying,” he says, and I can see from the look on his face that he’s worried about me. “I can take tomorrow off.”
“You don’t need to, and maybe … I want to have some time alone with my dad.”
He searches my face before saying, “Okay, but you can call me whenever and I’ll come right away.”
I touch his cheek and scrape my fingertips over the buzzed hair on his scalp. “Thank you.”
He kisses me on the lips once and pulls away. “Text me if you need someone to talk to, okay?”
“Okay.”
With one last smile at me and a silent glance at my dad, he leaves, and I’m alone with my dad. It feels like good-bye as I sit there with him. I hold his hand. I look at his sleeping face, which looks like him, but not him. I remember our times together. He used to be an engineer at an international semiconductor company and was out of the country for most of my childhood, but he always tried to be there for the big moments in my life—opening concerts, graduation, et cetera. He made an effort to be there for small moments, too, even though he was gone so often, and looking back, those were more important. He wanted to know what I was interested in. He always wanted to see me when he came home. He quietly checked up on me when I got in trouble with my mom and often defended me, even though he was scared of her, too.
I miss his full-bodied laugh. I miss his dry humor. I miss his crotchety stubbornness. I am afraid, very afraid, that those parts of him, the parts that differentiate him from everyone else, the essential parts of him, are gone forever.
TWENTY
Quan
MONDAY MORNING, MY ALARM WAKES ME UP AT THE REGULAR time. After shutting it off, I immediately check for text messages. I don’t have any. I rub my face and sigh. Knowing Anna, she didn’t want to bother me.
She doesn’t understand yet that I want her to bother me.
But I’ll do my best to help her understand. Toward that end, I quickly type out a message: Hey, just woke up. How are you? How’s your dad?
She doesn’t respond right away—I don’t expect her to—but my bed, my whole goddamn apartment, feels enormous and sterile. I want to wake up with her next to me. I want to continue where we left off yesterday.
Thinking about what we did, the sounds she made, the way she called my name when she got close, makes me instantly hard, and it feels completely normal when I lower my boxers and grip myself in my hand as thoughts of Anna fill my head. Just remembering the way she looked as she searched under the couch for her phone, wearing nothing but my T-shirt, makes me groan out loud. I fantasize about what I would have done if circumstances were different, things like putting my mouth on her and making her come on my tongue, then pulling her hips back and pushing myself deep into—
My phone dings loudly, and I yank my hand away, pressing my palm against the cool sheets as my lungs heave. When I can string two thoughts together, I pick up my phone and read her message: I’m okay. My dad is the same as yesterday. My sister just got here from NYC, and things are really hectic.
I throw my head back and stare up at the ceiling, all sexy thoughts banished from my mind. Is there anything I can do?
Not really, but thank you for asking, she says, and her next message is a red heart.
It’s super pathetic of me, but I fucking love getting hearts from Anna.
Because I’m crazy about her, I send her a heart of my own, followed by Do you want me to come see you?
It’s probably better if you don’t for now, she replies.
Okay. Just let me know, I say.
I will. Thank you. I have to go, she texts, and I know that’s the last that I’ll hear from her in a while.