It’s his own damn fault, and it’s the third time this year so the news hadn’t been as jarring as the first time, but the pit in my stomach remains as endless as it’s always been.
The doctor says he needs to stop drinking, or make his peace with God.
One of my residents, Jada, rushes past with a short “Hey Kim!” and a poorly concealed white claw tucked into her jacket.
“Hey.” I mutter, but she’s halfway down the hallway, giggling. I wonder when her liver will give out.
Mom called last night when he was admitted. “Your Dad’s in the hospital.” Her voice was devoid of anything but its usual smoky tiredness. The kids were yelling in the background.
I knew what she was going to ask me before she was able to draw the heavy, rattling breath to say it.
“Can you come over? Entertain the kids while I figure this out?”
Yeah, right. ‘Entertain the kids’ means I’ll cook them the first homemade meal they’ve had in months and try to get them to bed before midnight. ‘Figure this out’ means she’ll sit in the lumpy leather armchair in the living room and try to drink herself sick enough to join him.
I told her I’d drop by this weekend. She hung up without an ‘I love you’.
The next staple- a ‘D’ this time- is more forceful than the last few. I step back to admire my work. The cheerful, sparkling words “Family Weekend” arc over a myriad of smiling stock pictures the university had provided me.
Marlee Gaitanis studies and writes underneath the thick canopies of Tallahassee, Florida, her hometown. Having just recently rediscovered her love of writing, she’s been vigorously putting pen to paper, hoping to attain a level of prowess that will allow her to follow her dream of becoming a published author. When she’s not behind a keyboard, you’ll find her going toe-to-toe with a heavy bag at her kickboxing gym or becoming the next great detective on her Nintendo Switch. Find her on Insta @marlee.gaitanis
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