Rufus leans against the wall with folded arms. “So: this proposal?”
“My mother turned him down twice. He said she liked playing hard to get. Then she found out she was pregnant with me and he got down on one knee in the bathroom and she smiled and said yes.”
I really like that moment.
I know I wasn’t there, but the memory I’ve created in my head over the years is crystal clear. I don’t know exactly what that bathroom looked like, since it was in their first, shoebox-sized apartment, but Dad always commented on how the walls were a muted gold, which I always took to mean aged yellow, and he said the floor tiles were checkered. And then there’s my mother, who comes alive for me in his stories. In this particular one she’s laughing and crying about making sure I’m not brought into this world a bastard, because of her family’s traditions. It never would’ve mattered to me in the long run. The whole bastard thing is stupid.
“Sweetie, I wish I could wake him up for you. I really do.”
Too bad life doesn’t allow us to turn its gears, like a clock, when we need more time. “Can I have ten minutes alone? I think I know how I can say bye.”
“Take your time, dude,” Rufus says. It’s surprising and generous.
“No,” I say. “Give me ten minutes and come get me.”
Rufus nods. “You got it.”
Elizabeth rests a hand on my shoulder. “I’ll be out by the front desk if you need anything.”
Elizabeth and Rufus leave. The door closes behind them.
I hold Dad’s hand. “It’s time I tell you a story for once. You were always asking me—begging me, sometimes—to tell you more about my life and how my day was, and I always shut down. But me talking is all we’ve got now, and I’m crossing my fingers and toes and unmentionables that you can hear me.” I grip his hand, wishing he’d squeeze back.
“Dad, I . . .”
I was raised to be honest, but the truth can be complicated. It doesn’t matter if the truth won’t make a mess, sometimes the words don’t come out until you’re alone. Even that’s not guaranteed. Sometimes the truth is a secret you’re keeping from yourself because living a lie is easier.
I hum “Take This Waltz” by the late Leonard Cohen, one of those songs that never apply to me but help me lose myself anyway. I sing the lyrics I do remember, stumbling over some words and repeating others out of place, but it’s a song Dad loved and I hope he hears me singing it since he can’t.
RUFUS
4:46 a.m.
I’m sitting outside Mateo’s father’s room and I’m charged with telling Mateo it’s time to go. Getting him out of his apartment was one thing, but I’m probably gonna have to knock the dude out and drag him out the hospital; someone would’ve had to do the same to get me away from my pops, coma or no coma.
That nurse, Elizabeth, looks at the clock and then at me before carrying a tray of stale-smelling food into another room.
Time for me to grab Mateo.
I get up from the floor and crack open the door to the room. Mateo is holding his father’s hand and singing some song I’ve never heard before. I knock on the door and Mateo jumps, straight startled.
“Sorry, man. You good?”
Mateo stands and his face is flushed, like we got into a snapping battle and I played him hard in front of mad people. “Yeah. I’m fine.” That’s a damn lie. “I should tidy up.” It takes a minute before he lets go of his father’s hand, almost like his father is holding him back, but Mateo manages to break free. He picks up a clipboard and drops it into a rack above his father’s bed. “Dad usually leaves all his cleaning for Saturdays because he hates the idea of coming home from work on weekdays to more work. On the weekends we cleaned and earned our TV marathons.” Mateo looks around and the rest of the room is pretty damn clean. I mean, I’m not eating off the floor, but that’s a hospital thing.
“Did you get your goodbye in?”
Mateo nods. “Sort of.” He walks toward the bathroom. “I’m going to make sure it’s clean in there.”
“I’m sure it is.”
“I should make sure they have clean cups ready for when he wakes up.”
“They’re gonna take care of him.”
“He might need a warmer sheet. He can’t tell us if he’s cold.”
I walk over and hold Mateo by the shoulders, trying to still him ’cause he’s shaking. “He doesn’t want you here, okay?” Mateo’s eyebrows squeeze together and his eyes get red. Sad-red, not pissed-red. “I didn’t mean it like that. I say stupid things. He doesn’t want you wasting away here. Look, you got a chance to say goodbye—I didn’t get that with my fam. I took too much time trying to figure out what I was gonna say. I’m happy for you, but mad jealous, too. And if that isn’t enough to get you out, I need you. I need a friend by my side.”