I roll my eyes and say to Aisha, “We want you to locate yourself here.”
My mom narrows her eyes at me.
“Too soon?” I ask.
“Much too soon,” my mother says.
“Be nice to your mom,” Aisha says.
“Sorry.”
I crawl over and kiss my mom on the cheek, and she cups my chin in her hands.
“Apology accepted,” she says.
I hear the door to my father’s bedroom creak open. Dad and Turk emerge slowly. My mom and I stand up. Dad looks small. He stares at the ground, emotionless.
“It’s chilly in here,” he says, and no one responds. No one says anything and no one moves. We’re all just waiting for something we can work with, I guess.
When she gets tired of waiting, my mom goes over to my dad. She clasps his hand in hers. The she leans in to him, and he puts his head on her shoulder. She envelops him in a hug, and he hangs there in her arms, his own arms splayed out and not around her, and someone who didn’t know my dad might think he didn’t want the hug. But I know him a bit, and I know he does want it, that he desperately needs it. He just doesn’t know how to react because he’s sad and he’s broken, and that’s a tough combination.
Watching my mom hold my dad is like the time I went to the planetarium and watched this show about the stars and the planets. There’s this place where the planets shift, or maybe the sun covers the moon completely or vice versa, I don’t remember exactly what. I just remember feeling like the earth was shifting and my balance was gone and even though I was sitting and looking up at the ceiling, I felt like I could just fall over.
Turk comes and stands on my right, and Aisha stands on my left. I lean on both of them. They hold me up, and I’ve never felt this way before, supported like a building needs support beams. They keep me upright as the planets of my parents collide and stay collided.
Eventually we all sit down, my mom and dad on the love seat and the three of us on the big couch. No one says much of anything.
My dad finally says, “He was alone and sick, and I couldn’t help him.”
Turk shakes his head slowly. “He wasn’t alone.”
My dad nods vacantly.
“He loved you very much and he knew you loved him and that’s the truth,” Turk says.
“Why did this have to happen to me?” Dad asks. “Us, I mean.”
No one has an answer for that one.
“All this wasted time….” he says.
Turk tells a few funny stories about the things my granddad did in San Francisco, like the time he dressed up for Halloween in a blond wig, pantsuit, and poofy hat, and around his midsection was a bulky felt square, with six round white dots on the back side, one round white dot on the front.
“He was Princess Die,” Turk says, and my mother, of all people, laughs. My dad hangs his head, and I realize it’s not that easy taking this all in, hearing about what your dad was doing when he wasn’t with you, for whatever reason. Like if your dad can’t be with you, he should be miserable the whole time. I definitely know that feeling.
I guess Turk gets it too, because he says, “At least once a week, Matthew, I’d wake up to your dad’s sobs. He was an utter mess, not being able to be with you.”
My dad chews his bottom lip. My mom squeezes his hand, and after a while, I see him squeeze hers back.
It’s after midnight when we finish talking, and my mother tries to figure out where everyone can sleep. Turk will get the living room couch, she says, and she brings out fresh linen for him.
“Would you be happier on a nice, working air mattress?” I ask.
He moves his head from side to side, considering this. “You have an extra one?”
“Nope. We don’t have any. We have one that leaks air, and Aisha’s been sleeping on that one. I’ve been sleeping on the rug with a blanket. But on the positive side, I now have a wealthy grandfather who owes me presents.”
“Carson,” my mother says, but Turk laughs.
“He’s right, you know. I’m a single guy in my seventies with money and no one to spend it on. Until now, that is. Let’s go shopping in the morning.”
“That meeting,” my dad says softly.
“Of course,” Turk says. He looks at all of us and says, “Your father has asked me to take him to an AA meeting. Aisha, would you take a look online and find one tomorrow morning?”
She nods, and the room seems to soften. I close my eyes and it’s almost like I can feel my grandfather’s spirit expand and sigh and relax. And I know that whether or not that’s really happening, wherever my grandfather is or isn’t, he’s happy about this.
THE NEXT MORNING, I jump out of bed as soon as I’m awake, kiss the still-sleeping Aisha on the forehead, and speed upstairs. It feels like Christmas morning to me. Like there are presents under the tree.
Turk is snoring on the living room couch, and even though I don’t hear any other creatures stirring, I go into my dad’s room. He’s sleeping. I stand and watch, and then I find myself looking for glasses and bottles, which is kind of terrible. I know he’s going to a meeting today, but part of me is worried that the conversation with Turk was too much for him, and he must have snuck a drink.
“What are you doing?” he groans when he opens his eyes and sees me on all fours, peering under his bed.
“Nothing,” I say, standing up. “Sorry.”
“I guess I can’t blame you,” he says. “But no. No booze. I promise.”
I sit on his bed next to him. The sheets are a bit sweaty, and he feels warm.
He yawns audibly. “Everything okay?”
“Everything’s fine. I just …”
My brain and my heart are full. It feels like I could open my mouth and everything I ever held in there could come out, jokes or yells or tears or who knows what. I don’t know what’s first and what’s last, and I’m tired of trying to control it.
“I miss you,” I blurt. “Goddamn … Not like a week’s worth. Freakin’ … Like years’ worth. Can I just sit here with you for a bit? We don’t have to talk. I just want to be with you.”
A smile pours over his face. “Sure, kiddo. Yeah. That’d be all right.”
I smile back, then I put his hand in mine and I squeeze. I try to squeeze life into it.
“I told you I’d come back,” I say.
“Yup.”
“It was a long trip,” I say. I’m fishing for a compliment, so I stop.
“Thanks,” he says. “If I didn’t say that yet. Thanks.”
“It was nothing.”
“Yeah.” He tickles my palm with his fingers. “Sounds like a whole lot of nothing.”
I want to ask him everything at once. I want to know how he’s feeling, and what’s going through his mind. But he’s staring off into the distance, and sometimes it’s okay to not say anything. No jokes, just being together in the silence.
He finally says, “Thanks for not listening to me and doing what you did. You’re a good son.”
I look at him. His eyes are young like a child’s, and they’re weary like an old man’s, and then he smiles, and his teeth are yellowed in places. I don’t know if he’ll make it to fall, and that’s not something I can deal with. He has to be okay. He just has to. You can’t come back into someone’s life and then die. It’s just not right.
“You’re a … dad,” I say, leaving the “good” part out.
He laughs. It’s good to have someone who shares your blood, who gets your jokes and you don’t have to explain. I’ve missed that in my life. And now, at least for this moment, I don’t have to.