“With things the way that they are . . . with our family in a state of upheaval and my father’s health. . .” My words became oddly choked before trailing off. It was the first time that I had referenced his health aloud, the first time that I had addressed the fact that he might not recover.
My father and I were not close by American standards. The truth be told we were not close by any country’s standards, but the man still meant more to me than I had the words to express—either to her or myself.
“Your father’s health hasn’t changed,” Manya dismissed coldly. Somewhere between the beginning of my explanation and now, her expression had shuttered, her eyes closing off into black, fathomless voids.
I could feel the tension within me stretch even tighter, pulled almost to the point of snapping, and it was all that I could do not to let go of her entirely for her stark indifference.
“And you are suddenly certified to be making those kinds of diagnoses?” I asked silkily.
“No, I know this because nothing has changed over the past—”
“Nothing but his coughing is getting worse and his lungs sound waterlogged when he does, he’s weak, and he is not even smoking his cigars any longer,” I snapped tersely, raising my voice to override whatever dismissal she was going to offer me next. I could feel my grip loosening from her, something within me shifting as I watched her look of surprise.
“I didn’t know that you two were close,” she muttered, lifting her fingers to brush down the side of my cheek almost in apology.
“We aren’t,” I backed my face away from her hand. He is still my father.” Again, the words were too short, absent any explanation to convey the yawning worry and fear that seized me at the topic I had chosen to bring up.
My father’s mortality was not something I had ever had to consider in any real way.
“I’m sorry,” Manya breathed, closing her eyes with something akin to grief herself as she leaned in and up in order to rest her forehead against mine. “You are right, he is your father. And I am your wife. I’m sorry for not being a better one.”
My lips caught the side of her hand before she could pull it back, pressing my thanks and response into the softness of her skin. Something still lay in the air between us, a choked sort of unknowing, but I couldn’t stop my head from dropping against hers, accepting what warmth she offered.
I wasn’t sure I could stop myself with anything concerning her anymore.