And three, because once Claire came into the picture, she stole the show, just like he knew she would.
His parents loved her.
Asking for seconds of the pancakes and eggs his dad had made was all it took for Claire to skyrocket to the top of his list.
Then she happened to mention something about Schitt’s Creek, which apparently his mom had started this past week while in bed, and they didn’t take a breath for like an hour.
Graham and his dad had just sat there quietly, drinking coffee and reading the paper, content to listen to them chat.
When his mom excused herself for a nap, Claire said she’d noticed a missed call from her mom, though Graham got the feeling she was trying to give him and his dad some alone time.
He’d always loved sitting with his dad. He was easy to talk to—straightforward and interesting, and few topics were off-limits. Every time Graham hung out with him, he learned something new about his dad’s childhood or some outrageous story from his early twenties. They never got old and he hoped his dad never ran out of stories to tell.
Today, though, wasn’t one for stories. They mostly talked about his mom and how she’d been doing. This relapse was worse than the last one, though she’d been doing well for a long stretch beforehand. Graham hated the unpredictability of MS, and how she could be fine one day and had difficulty seeing or speaking the next. She’d started a new drug last year which had improved things considerably, and she relapsed less often, but still. It sucked.
He’d do anything to take it away from her.
His dad tried to thank him for the money he sent and Graham quickly cut him off, cheeks filling with heat. His parents had done nothing but do their best by him and he owed them nothing less than the same in return.
“We’d rather have you than your money, though,” his dad said quietly.
He sighed. “Don’t try to guilt me. You know why I don’t want to live here.”
“Yeah. I do.”
Graham had asked his parents to visit several times, but being away from home made both his parents nervous. If his mom started feeling bad while they were in another state or on the road, she’d be miserable. “I need to get down here to visit more often. I’ll do better.”
His dad nodded. “You’re happy there. We know that. We’re proud of you.”
He sort of wanted to say it back, that he was damn proud of his dad and everything about the man he was and had taught Graham to be. But it felt like a weird thing to say, so he just offered a small smile of acknowledgment.
A few minutes later his dad stood, gripping the porch railing for support. It creaked and wobbled, and Graham glanced up.
“Bring a toolbox out here, would you?”
“With that cast?” his dad asked with a frown.
“I can fix it sitting down, old man. Stop worrying.”
That was how he spent the next hour outside alone, and walked inside to hear Claire’s loud voice in his parents’ bedroom.
“Dammit, Nancy!”
Graham cast wide eyes at his dad, who pressed a fist to his mouth as if trying not to laugh.
“I wouldn’t go in there if I were you,” his dad warned.
Yeah, that wasn’t happening.
Graham crossed the living room and swung open the door.
Claire sat in a chair at the side of his parents’ queen-size bed, a deck of cards strewn across the comforter. His mom sat propped up in bed with…
…a huge smile on her face?
She fairly cackled with glee when she saw Graham. Claire, on the other hand, jerked her head around and glared at him.
“Your mom beat me three times in a row!” She lifted her chin and narrowed her eyes at his mom. “I’m starting to think you’ve played gin rummy before.”
“Never,” his mom said, trying to straighten her expression. “Beginner’s luck.”
Claire pointed at Graham. “You. Should I trust her?”
He barely heard her over the blood rushing in his ears. His heart hadn’t been this full in…well, ever.
He swallowed. “Definitely not.”
Claire grunted and grabbed the deck to shuffle. “Up for another round, Nancy? If that is indeed your real name.”
Graham laughed and shook his head as he walked back out, finding an identical smile on his dad’s face.
“Told you,” his dad said.
Graham joined him at the counter and turned on the faucet to wash his hands, trying to hide the slight tremble in his fingers.
His dad nudged his shoulder. “I like her.”
“Dad.”