Page 85 of You're So Vine
Nate’s voice has the effect of a sluice of ice water.
“Yes, Nate,” I reply from Cam’s lap.
“I know I’m being a huge buzzkill—”
“Never!”
“It’s my superpower, I embrace it,” says Nate. “But you should call Mom and Dad. They’ve been worrying themselves into a state.”
“And calling you on the hour every hour.”
It’s not a question. I know our parents. Mom will be polite and “just want to know if anything’s changed”, while Dad will be demanding, like it’s ridiculous that a whole hour has passed without someone providing him with an answer.
I think about talking to Dad and my heart sinks. As I said, when we were growing up, his mantra was every variation along the line of “No excuses”. Unless we had a broken limb or a fever that required hospitalization, we had to keep going. Weakness of mind or body was not to be tolerated. “No pain, no gain, shut up and train” was another of his motivational gems.
His attitude didn’t change even when Doc diagnosed his heart condition. Dad was convinced he could beat it on his own, with pure living and supplements sourced from rain forest fungi or whatever. Took him weeksto accept that surgery was the only option.
Now, he’s mellowed a little, but I know that he still worships at the altar of self-discipline. If I tell him that my illness is potentially nothing but fatigue … I can almost feel the coldness of his response from here. I can feel his disappointment in me the way I always have. Even now I’m a grown-ass woman who should be thrilled she’s not dying, I find myself falling back down into a slump.
But it seems Nate’s been reading my mind. “Dad will be happy you’re okay,” he insists. “Remember how he was after I passed out that time? He didn’t give me shit because it wasonlyanemia.”
Shelby is back with the battered coffee pot. I swear, there’s a black film on the outside of it, like the coffee is strong enough to seep through the metal.
“Mitch adores all you children,” she says. “Ofcoursehe’ll be happy.”
Shelby has known our dad all of a few months. Plus, she believes everyone is as nice as she is. Which they are when they’re around her. Wish I could have the effect on Dad.
She pours Cam a coffee that steams in a way that suggests it’s become sentient. Cam pulls the mug toward him absent-mindedly, and frowns.
“Your dad would give you shit for not having a serious illness?” he says to me.
I wriggle off his lap and onto the next chair, and shrug. Still not able to be fully honest about this subject.
“I’m probably projecting,” I deflect. “Dad always drove us pretty hard, and I hear his voice in my head a lot.”
“You too, huh?” says Nate with a small smile.
“I get it,” says Cam, nodding. “My sergeant could clean a rifle just by shouting down it.”
“Oh, boy…”
That’s it. Everything has caught up with me. I fold my arms on the table and rest my head on them. Not good manners, but I am done.
“I can call Mom and Dad if you like,” says Nate.
He’s such a good brother. I think I’m going to cry.
Nope, Ava, pull yourself together. You’ve been given a reprieve. This is your newly minted life to take charge of, so do it.
I sit up and grab my phone. Head out of the kitchen for some privacy, and to give them all a break. Call Mom first because I always do. Talk to her, and then, briefly, to Dad.
When I come back into the kitchen, everyone stares.
“It went fine,” I tell them. “But I have some bad news.”
“Jesus, what now?” says Nate.
“We’re all having dinner at Mom and Dad’s this evening.” I turn to Cam. “Including you.”
