Page 174 of Please Hate Me

Mason

Hospitals had always been a special type of hell for me. They smelled too strongly of bleach, and the floral air freshener used to cover the sterile smells was overwhelming. Despite all that, I marched through the halls with my head held high and a warm hand on my back, doing my best to ignore the beeping of all the monitors from the numerous rooms.

My heart was cold, not because of the knowledge that I was preparing to say goodbye to my father, but at all the lives soon to be lost in these rooms.

I hoped none of them were alone.

Lucian and I kept walking until we came upon a placard with the room number the receptionist promised my dad would be in.

“Are you sure you want to go in alone?” Lucian asked, keeping his voice low.

He was the only one I brought with me. The others wanted to come, but life got in the way. Jasper and Juniper didn’t have passports, so they had to stay home, and while Sophia’s moms would have taken them, it didn’t feel safe to have all the adults sofar away from the kids. After Cameron agreed to stay home with the twins, Sophia tore the house apart looking for her passport, only to discover she’d lost it. I had never seen her so frantic, but ultimately, she also had to stay in Maine.

Seb wanted to go too, but he already had a work trip planned. He had his phone in hand, dialing his boss’s number to cancel it when I told him not to bother. His job was more important than a two-day trip to Lyon.

Lucian didn’t seem to mind being the only one here with me, and neither did I. The entire flight over, he reminded me of every reason he hated my dad. But as soon as we landed and settled into the hotel, he showered and slipped into his funeral best. Dressing up that way felt a little preemptive, but I fought the urge to tell him as much. It was hard enough for Lucian to be respectful toward someone he hated as much as my dad.

“I won’t be alone,” I reminded him. “My dad’s in there.”

Plus, the conversation I had with my dad needed to be between us and us alone. I didn’t want to fear judgment for what I had to say, and this was my last chance to get closure—a chance I desperately wished I had before my mom passed.

That’s what I had spent most of the flight thinking about. I didn’t believe in heaven, and even if it existed, neither of my parents were going there. But I hoped somewhere in the great beyond, their souls found each other. In another life, one where my parents learned to control their vices, I’d like to think they would have stayed together.

Lucian smoothed my hair before adjusting the collar of my dress.

“Just remember, I’ll be out here when you’re ready.”

A lump formed in my throat as I nodded.

“I love you,” he whispered.

My lips quivered, and a few premature tears escaped, forcing me to look up and take a deep breath.

“Wish me luck.”

Lucian rested his forehead on mine as he held my cheeks. Together, we shared a few last breaths before I turned and entered my dad’s room, sealing the door behind me.

I greeted Dad in French, letting him know I was there. He gave no response, and I felt guilty for the relief that washed over me.

The only light in the room came from the monitors displaying my dad’s vitals, and that simply wouldn’t do. Slowly, I wandered to the windows before pulling on the chain and causing the blinds to rise. The sun filtered in through the bottom, climbing as the curtain did.

The world was bright, and the birds were chirping; unseasonably warm for October, but I guessed it was kind of fitting. My dad hated the summer, fall, and winter, all for various reasons. Today just happened to be one of those weird autumn days that read more as spring than fall, and I was glad his last day was one he would have enjoyed. From my dad’s window, there was a beautiful view of the hospital’s chapel, and I’d like to think he would have enjoyed that too.

Slowly, I turned around, taking in the faded pink wallpaper, counting the speckles in the linoleum, reading the literature on the walls about proper hand-washing... focusing on everything else in the room before my gaze finally landed on my dad.

His shaggy black hair was knotted, and his face was cobbled together with a mixture of gauze and stitches. I did my best not to read any details about the car accident, so all I knew was that it was bad, and my dad had been drunk.

“I begged you for years to get sober,” I whispered, taking the lone chair beside his bed.

I looked at the wooden table, hoping to see flowers or balloons that I had missed, but ultimately found nothing. My dad was a celebrated rockstar, and in his final days, no one wished him well. James Albright inspired the next generation of musicians,but at the end of the day, no one cared that his life was about to end.

No one other than me.

I apologized for not sending flowers as I took his hand. His fingers were cold and hard, but they twitched as I twined them between mine. I gazed up at him, partially expecting to see his brown eyes scowling into mine, but they remained closed.

The only movement was his chest, which rose and hollowed with an artificial breath.

I should have asked the doctors to remove his breathing tube before I came in.

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