Page 29 of Sizzle
I head back through the living room, collecting my things. I’m not sure I should leave the two of them the way things are, but if I don’t head out soon, I’ll miss my bus.
“Going to work?” says Dad.
“Yep. I should be home before dark. Connie will be here until two, so if you need anything before then she can take care of it. Okay?”
Dad glares at the air behind me.
“Dad,” I say, bending down to catch his eye. He doesn’t look at me and now I’m getting pissed.
“All right, you don’t want to talk, fine. I’ll be back before dinner.” I head for the door.
“We don’t need her,” he says.
“I disagree,” I say, keeping my voice calm.
“She comes in here disrespecting me in my own house, talking about how I’m not working on getting better. I don’t need that kind of talk in my own house, Joelle. I won’t have it.”
All this time I thought Dad resented his therapists because he was in pain. I know he resents being dependent on me. But maybe I’ve had things backward—not that his pain is magically gone or something. Maybe what he really resents is me doing things for him that he should be doing himself. Maybe he resents the therapy team because they push him.
Maybe this is more about hurt feelings than it is about pain in his leg.
The anger comes bubbling up, overflowing before I can get ahold of it.
“You don’t have a choice, Dad. Not about this.” I’ve never talked to him like that, not once in my life.
“Connie is staying,” I say. “She’s going to stay with you because I cannot be here twenty-four hours a day anymore. If you have a problem with it, maybe it’s time you thought about what you can do about things, instead of all the things you can’t.”
“Just what the hell are you getting at, young lady?”
He’s swearing. That’s not a good sign, but this time his agitation only serves to fuel my own.
“I’m saying maybe Connie is right. You’ve spent way more time in that chair the last couple of years than is good for you, more than would be good for anybody. You only get out of when the team makes you. You only exercise when they make you, and you spend every minute of it complaining. Ever think that maybe it’s time you started taking some steps on your own?”
He scoffs.
“You’re off at work all hours of the day and night anymore. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t I? Aren’t I the one who makes sure you take the right meds every day? Aren’t I the one who actually keeps track of all your insurance? Aren’t I the one who knows down to the last goddamned penny how much longer we’ve got before I have no choice but to go to work?”
“Language, Joelle.”
“Hell with it.” I start packing up my things. “I’m going to work. You can kick Connie out—or try, anyway. I don’t think it’ll work. If you want to sit here and fester for another five years, fine. It’s your life.”
“Young lady, you get back here. We’re not done with this conversation.” I stop at the door, hand on the knob, but I don’t turn around. I’m so mad that if I turn around, I’ll say something I can’t take back. I’ve already said too much.
“You don’t get to talk to me like that in my own house,” he says, too loudly. “I’m your father. I raised you to show some respect.”
I can’t turn around. I can’t even speak now because I don’t want him to know I’m crying.
Instead, I hear Connie, mugs clinking together in her hand.
“You want respect, Hank? You get off your ass and earn it.”
10
Elliot
I reposition the tray for the fourteenth time trying to find a better angle, but the whole damn platter looks stupid. Everything looks stupid. But I followed Joelle’s instructions to the letter, so maybe the only stupid here is me.