by K. K. Allen
There’s a slight pause and then a light exhale before he speaks again. “It’s your father. He’s in the hospital. I don’t want to freak you out, but you should probably get here as soon as you can.”
34
No Show
Maggie
Desmond left for Dallas on a red-eye last night. He was quiet, stoically so, as he packed a small bag for his trip. I watched as he pulled clothes from his closet and tossed them in his duffel bag, all the while running down a list of things he needed me to take care of at the kitchen. Answer the phones. Call his students to let them know about the emergency cancellations. Donate food in the refrigerator before anything went bad. The list isn’t long, but I agreed without hesitation, knowing if there was any little thing I could take off his mind, I would do it.
Even in a state of emergency, Desmond seemed calm and business-minded, but I knew better. The air was thick with unspoken words and questions I didn’t know how to ask. I didn’t know if he was angry or sad, or how serious the issue with his dad was. But by the way Desmond flew out of here, I could only assume it was very serious.
When I walk into Edible Desire on Tuesday morning, it’s with a heavy heart, but it takes me less than two hours to complete Desmond’s list. I’m sitting at the reception desk with my cell phone in hand, hoping to hear back from him. While I’m trying to give him his space, it’s killing me to not know what’s going on or how he’s doing. I broke down this morning and texted him to see how he was doing, but I still haven’t received a response.
The doorbell of Edible Desire chimes, letting me know that someone is walking in. I left it unlocked in case someone wanted to take a tour of the kitchen or book a class. My intentions were good, but the person who walks in makes me wish I had decided to keep the doors locked.
“Hey, Mags,” my dad says, letting the door shut behind him.
This is the second time I’ve seen him since moving to Washington, and just like the first time, it feels surreal. I spent so many years knowing I would never see him again, adamant I would never forgive him. So standing in the same room with him is enough to send a jolt straight to my heart. Emotion clogs my throat, and there’s even a tiny spot in my chest swelling at his nearness, happy that my daddy’s here. Despite that small breakthrough, my guard still stands tall and strong.
“Hey, Dad.” I stand and step to the outside of the desk, tilting my head in question. “Desmond isn’t here. He had to fly to Dallas.” I swallow, the words sticking in my throat.
“I know. Um, actually…” My dad runs his fingers through his hair, the same way he used to when he was uncertain. His nervous habit. “I’m here to see you.”
His eyes dart to my hands, and that’s when I realize I’m wringing them together. My nervous habit. I guess some things never change.
“Why?” I don’t know what to say, do, or think. So I just stand here and wait. For what, I’m not sure. Maybe I’m waiting for his excuse for tearing our family apart, or for a meaningless apology after years of nothing. I’m waiting for the words I know I’ll reject. But what he finally says surprises me.
“I miss you.” His response is simple, honest, and sweet.
The small piece of my heart that swelled for him earlier just grew in size. I try to take a normal breath, but it’s impossible. My inhale is uneven, catching on air. The corners of my eyes burn with the threat of my tears, and I shake my head, like I have a chance of stopping them.
“I miss you,” he repeats. “And I wanted to check on you to see if you’re okay.” He glances around the kitchen. “Desmond said you’ve been a big help to him around here and that he left you in charge.”
I follow his gaze before looking back at him and pulling my brows together. “Yeah, but I don’t see how any of that concerns you.”
“I’ve got a couple hours free if you need some help.”
It takes everything in me to refrain from giving him another snotty retort. I don’t need to be angry with the man for the rest of my life. If anything, I want to feel free from the haunting memories that arise every time I think of him. Forgiveness worked for Monica. Maybe it could work for me too.
I let out a sigh. “That’s really nice of you, but without Desmond, I don’t have much to do.”
He checks his watch. “Well, how about lunch, then? My treat.”
As hard as I want to try, my entire body seizes up at his efforts. “That’s really not necessary.”
He levels me with his gaze. “It’s been a long time. I just want to get to know you. What have you been up to since you’ve been here? Do you like Seattle? Do you miss LA? I know we can’t get those years back, but I don’t want to lose any more than we already have.”
I swallow past the thickness still building in my throat. “I hear you say you’re sorry. I hear you tell me you miss me. But what makes you think I trust any of it?”
He nods and drops his head before picking it back up and looking at me again. “If you need more time, then I’ll give it to you. The last thing I want to do is push this, but I’m not going to stop showing up. Whenever you’re ready to talk, I’ll be here.”
“That’s just it. I don’t want to rehash the past. What’s done is done, and I need to find a way to accept that.” I can feel my voice already starting to quiver. “I just want to stop hurting.”
My dad’s entire face crumbles like I’ve just delivered a blow. “Me too, Mags. I’ll live with my mistakes forever. I’ll carry them to my grave. But you shouldn’t have to. If I could have remained in your life when things blew up between your mother and me, then I would have. And I tried everything in my power to do just that.”
“Well, you should have tried harder. Do you realize how mean Mom got when you left? How she poured all of her energy into molding me into something I never wanted to become?”
His face crumbles. “I thought you loved modeling.”
I shake my head, my eyes firmly locked on his. “No, Dad. I was told it was the only thing I’d ever be good at, and I believed it. I was told my looks would buy my way through life, and I grasped onto that like it was gospel. I spent nearly my entire life being someone I never chose to be.”
His eyes roll up to the ceiling, and I swear they’re bloodshot, like he’s about to burst into tears. “I thought you were happy.” He blows out a breath and looks at me again, this time tilting his head.
“I am happy now, but my happiness has not come easy. I was so young when you disappeared. There were times when I felt like I didn’t deserve happiness. If my daddy couldn’t love me enough to stay, then who out there ever would? I needed you then, but I’m happy now.”
My father’s chin is quivering like he’s trying to stop his own emotions from shining through. “Are you?”
I don’t know why I want to ease his sadness, but it feels important. “I mean, I’m worried about Desmond, and I have a lot of figuring out to do, but I like that I’m figuring it all out here.”
His eyes soften. “With Desmond?”
My cheeks heat. “With Monica, and yeah, I guess with Desmond too. He didn’t have to give me this opportunity. He had no reason to trust that I would actually be of any use to him.”
My dad nods, a smile lifting his cheeks. “Sometimes an opportunity is all a person needs to move forward in life. It’s something Desmond has thanked me for numerous times. Zach too. But Desmond is the one who did the work. Just like you’re the one putting in the work now. You two don’t give yourselves enough credit. Maybe it’s a good thing you found each other.”
I let out an embarrassed laugh. If anyone had told me that I would be talking to my father about guys, I would have shot them down fast. “You’re making it sound like we’re something serious, and it’s not like that, Dad.”
He raises his brows. “Are you sure? It sounds pretty serious to me.”
I can feel myself blush even harder. “If things were serious, then I might have some clue as to what is going on in Dallas. He didn’t give me many details
.” Then I realize I might be closer to information than I thought. “Did he tell you much more?”
My dad frowns. “He didn’t say much, but he didn’t have to. I’ve known Desmond for a long time. His issues with his father are… complicated.”
I think my dad might be trying to protect Desmond’s privacy. “I know about the drug abuse and his high-functioning autism. And I know Desmond tries to go see him every few months. Is this normal? For him to get calls like that?”
My dad nods. “Yes, but not because his dad’s in the hospital. It’s usually because he winds up in jail or has a problem in rehab.”
I let out a heavy breath, suddenly feeling anxious. “I just wish I knew what was going on. I hate being here, doing nothing, while he’s there.” My eyes snap up to my dad’s. “I feel like I should go to Dallas. Is that ridiculous?”
My dad shakes his head. “Not at all. He probably needs you, not that he would ever admit that.”
“Really?”
“One thing I learned early on about Desmond is that he’ll never ask for help. But when he’s offered it, he embraces it. He doesn’t turn it down.”
“But why wouldn’t he have just said something to me last night?”
“Desmond’s always considered his problems a burden. Deep down, I think maybe he’s embarrassed about the situation with his dad. And even deeper than that, he’s ashamed of those feelings. Desmond’s a good guy, Maggie, but he’s shit at asking for help.”
I swallow, wrapping my brain around everything my father is saying. Nervous excitement sets in, and in that very instant, I know exactly what I need to do.
35
Dallas
Desmond
The beeping of monitors and the stark white walls of the hospital keep me trapped in my own thoughts—for seconds, maybe minutes, maybe hours. I’m not sure, but I can tell morning has come and gone by the rise and fall of the sun through the shaded screen window. My heart feels like it’s still stuck in the dark moment of early morning when I first heard the stark news of my father’s diagnosis.
“Your father had a heart attack.”
The words repeat over and over in my mind along with everything else I’d been told when I arrived. My father got wasted again. My father got arrested again. But this time, after the cuffs were put on his wrists, he didn’t make it into the car. He fell to his knees as he endured a heart attack that landed him in the emergency room.
I stretch my arms and stand from the lounge chair I’ve been sprawled out on all day. My dad is currently hooked up to a bunch of machines. There’s a bag of saline dripping into his veins and a heart monitor keeping a regular beat. I’m told the scary part is over and that once he wakes up, he’ll be scheduled for more tests and doctor visits. Eventually, he can move from the ICU and into a regular room, where we can discuss recovery treatments such as rehab, therapy, and medications.
It’s all been done before, and no matter how serious my father takes it all in the beginning, he always has a relapse, each one worse than the last. I’m as sick and tired of the broken record as I am terrified and anxious over it all. I don’t know when enough is going to be enough. Every time I think he’s hit rock-bottom, he proves me wrong.
“Des.” My father’s throaty whisper freezes me in midstretch. I turn to see his eyes starting to open, revealing the same ice-blue color as mine. “What’d I do this time?” Even in a state of groggy half-consciousness, he manages to attempt a joke.
“Oh, you know.” I give him a half-smile. “Same ol’ thing. Boozed it up too hard, got yourself arrested, but this time, you added in a little twist and decided to have a mini heart attack while your rights were being read to ya. You always have to make a big production out of things, don’t you?”
He coughs and then grunts. “A heart attack, huh? That’s a new one.”
It’s silent for a few beats while my dad seems to take in the space around him again. Then his eyes flit back to me. “Got any new recipes to show me?”
On the flight to Dallas, I prepared for my reunion with my father. It’s never long into our conversations before he starts to ask me about cooking, and his questions always start off with “Got any new recipes to show me?”
I smile and pull out my tablet. “I’m going to tell the nurse you’re awake. Enjoy these.”
My words aren’t necessary. The moment my dad lays his eyes on the first photo, he is in another world. He stares at the first one for nearly a minute, taking in every pixel of the photo like he’s studying for a final exam. Then he swipes to the next and does the exact same thing with that photo.
I step out of the room, knowing he’ll be preoccupied for a while, and walk up to a small desk with a window that oversees my father’s room. Kari is the nurse who has been on duty since seven in the morning. She’s tapping away at her computer when I approach. “Hey there,” she says with a smile.
“He just woke up.”
“Oh, wonderful.” She checks the time on the wall over her head. “Just in time. I’ll check his vitals and see if we can get him a food tray. He’s probably hungry.”
“I can always run down and get him something if needed.”
She smiles and pats my hand. “Aren’t you a good son? I’ve got this. But maybe you should run down to the cafeteria and get yourself something so you can join him.”
Now that my father is awake and in good hands, I feel better about leaving. So I nod and take off down the hall, toward the cafeteria. I’m halfway to the main door when the waiting room comes into view. I have to do a double take when I see a woman with a bright-green sweater, dark jeans, and lightened brown hair swooped up in a ponytail. I almost laugh when I think the woman could be Maggie. That just goes to show how much I miss her, especially at a time like this while I’m bored and scared out of my mind.
My steps slow until they halt completely at the same time the woman looks up from her phone. Her eyes lock on mine.
Holy shit. “Maggie?”
She jumps up from her seat and walks over to me. Just the confirmation that she’s really here, that she’s not just a mirage, gives my heart a hard jolt.
“Hey,” she says. “I-I just wanted to be here in case you needed… anything.”
The way she’s staring back at me, like she fears she’s imposing, packs my throat with emotion. I reach for her, pull her close, and engulf her in a giant hug. “I can’t believe you’re here.”
She relaxes into me and tightens her hold. “Of course I’m here. I would have come sooner, but I wasn’t sure if you’d want me here.” She peers up at me with bloodshot eyes. “Is everything okay with your dad?”
I nod and give her a small smile to let her know everything is going to be okay. For the first time since coming to Dallas, I truly believe it. “He’ll be fine. Just a little scare, but he’s up and talking about food, just like normal.” I drop a kiss on her forehead then bite down on my lip. “Do you want to meet him?”
Her eyes light up. “Yes. Are you sure that’s okay?”
I nod. “He’s about to eat. Just…” I hesitate, not knowing how much I should explain about my father. “Don’t get offended if he doesn’t talk much. He’s not a talker. And he doesn’t really express much emotion, so it’s not you. It’s just how he is.”
She nods, her gaze still locked on mine. “That’s okay. I’d love to meet him.”
I take her hand and walk her into my father’s room, where Kari is pulling away her equipment after checking his vitals.
“How was everything?”
“His blood pressure is a little high, which could be because of the environment. I’ll have to check again in an hour, but for now, I gave him something to relax him.” She darts a glance at my dad, who is currently engrossed in viewing the photos I left him with. “Although he seems pretty relaxed to me. Keep him that way, okay?” She winks and claps me on the shoulder before walking out.
I pull Maggie around to the other side of my father’s bed, where I positioned the loun
ge chair last night, and step in front of it. “Hey, Dad.”
It takes him a second before my voice registers, but then he looks up, his bushy gray brows bunching together. “Huh?”
“I want to introduce you to someone.” I nod to my left and smile. “This is Maggie. She helps me at the kitchen.”
He slides his gaze to her and stares at her for a full few seconds before saying anything. “You cook?”
She smiles and darts a bashful look at me. “I try. But I’m not as good as your son.”
“She’s amazing, Dad. Better than when she first stepped foot in the kitchen, that’s for sure. She’s been a big help.”
My dad holds up the tablet and points at the photo he’s looking at now. “This you?”
Maggie’s eyes bulge when she sees the photo of her eating her breakfast two mornings ago. I still remember how sexy she looked wearing my button-down shirt, and how desperately I wanted to capture all the bits she’d cleverly hidden from the frame. I’d only chosen the photos of her where all her bits were covered, but there’s definitely no mistaking that it’s her in that picture.
“That’s me,” she says as she smacks me in the chest with the back of her hand.
My pop doesn’t seem phased in the least. “Did you make that?”
Maggie shakes her head. “No. That was all Desmond. But…” She leans down and taps through the tablet a couple slides back to find the broccoli salad she made for the wedding reception. “I did make this.”
She’s beaming so wide, my chest swells with pride for her. She’s come such a long way since we first met last summer.
“You found yourself a sous-chef, I see.” My father doesn’t smile, but I can feel his approval in his words.
