“You didn’t have to wait on me. I would’ve stolen your fries if you’d kept me waiting,” I said, taking a drink of my root beer. “This is so good.”
“You haven’t even tried it yet.”
“The anticipation of it is even good,” I said picking up the cheeseburger and looking at it, the extra cheese melting over the sides. “Sometimes the anticipation is the best part.”
“If the anticipation is the best part, you’re doing it all wrong,” he said.
I blinked, startled, and met his eyes, his sexy eyes that were heavy-lidded and dark with suggestion. I felt his words between my legs like a lick.
I think he realized what he’d said right after I did, because he looked away before taking a big bite of his chicken sandwich. I took his advice and dug into my burger, which was great, but I couldn’t shake the tingle between my thighs from his innuendo. I shifted in my seat uncomfortably but tried not to squirm too much. He had made me wet just saying that one little thing, that thing he hadn’t meant to say to me.
“How’s your mom?” I asked, trying to veer away from dangerous territory.
“She’s doing okay. She’s remarried now.”
I nodded. I remembered his dad had died when he and Damon were in high school. I’d been made to wear a dress and have my hair braided for the funeral and threatened if I didn’t behave myself.
“Oh, that’s good,” I said. “Anybody I know?”
“Russell Bern, that owns the gas station out by the interstate,” he said.
“I remember him,” I nodded.
“Yeah, they spend a lot of time driving cross country in their RV. So she’s not home a lot. Which is good. I mean, she shouldn’t have to be alone,” he faltered a little.
“I’m sure it wasn’t easy seeing her with someone besides your dad,” I said.
“Not at first, but it’s fine,” he said. “Better than fine. I mean, he fixed up a lot of things around the house, made things easier on her. The thing was, it seemed like she was starting a new life, starting over, which she was.”
“I’m sure it helped her that you accepted him.”
“Like it’s helped your mom to have you home. It has to have been rough on her, seeing your dad so sick and trying to handle it on her own.”
“Yeah, she acts so relieved. She never even complained. I just had to figure it out for myself that it was too much, that it kept getting worse and it was more than she could manage. For one thing, he wouldn’t even let her get a visiting nurse or any help around the house because he was weird about it. Then I come in and I’m like, ‘Dad, cut the crap. She’s one person and you’re being unreasonable. This ain’t 1950 and you don’t make all the rules, my dude’.”
“I can hear you talking to him like that, too.”
“I did. I also told him that if he didn’t ease up on her, I was gonna try a DIY enema on him and see if it helped. The thing is, it’s better for him, too. Because they’re both less stressed out. Damon pitches in, plus I got a lady to come in and clean and a nurse for half days. I know he wanted Mom to do everything for him because it made him feel safe and more normal, but it’s—I mean, it’s not as bad as it could be, but it’s pretty bad. Beyond what one person could handle on their own.”
“Especially more than a husband or wife could do. Because there’s that weight on you of, this was supposed to be for the rest of my life, but I’m losing them. She can’t do everything and try to wrap her mind around that. And I’m not saying your dad’s gonna die or anything—”
“If he doesn’t get a transplant or there isn’t some kind of miraculous drug combo they find to help him, he is going to die. Which is horrible beyond anything I can say. It’s worse than someone telling me they’re gonna cut off my right arm. He and I are so much alike—just loud and smart-mouthed and irreverent. Like, we think everything’s a joke. It’s how we get through life. It’s a wonder my mother didn’t take Damon and leave. He’s got a sense of humor but he knows how to be mature if he has to be. Me and Dad, no way. We’re cut from the same cloth, and losing him is—I want to say it’s a not an option that we lose him, but that’s fiction, and we all know it.”
I dipped fries in my ketchup and ate them and licked the salt off my fingers. I took a drink of root beer and looked up at him.
“I think it would’ve been better if I’d been able to say all that when Missy was sick. I held it in, and I didn’t want to let anyone in the house to help for a long time. I only gave in because she insisted. Maybe it’s a male pride thing, I don’t know. But I think it’s healthier to lay it all out there, be open and say how you feel. It hurts either way, but keeping a lot of it secret is a kind of pressure I put on myself. I think maybe your dad was doing the same thing. I’d—if you think he’d be okay with it, I’d come by and talk to him sometime.”