Page 12 of Crash
Or, at least, it was what she told herself.
Quynh checked her phone after a few fortifying sips of her coffee. The sweet flavor of the caramel danced across her taste buds. She imagined the caffeine as it flowed through her body and woke up all of her sleepy brain cells. She was already more awake in the short time she sat there.
No new messages on her phone, but it looked like Ruth saw her text, judging by the read receipt. She wished she’d brought a book with her. There was no rush to do anything today, considering her car would not be ready until later, anyway. She’d have to take a walk down the strip and find the bookstore she’d seen when they drove in last night.
The cafe was relatively quiet as people came and went as they started off their day. It seemed to be a pretty popular spot, with friendly locals. She stuck out like a sore thumb. She didn’t recognize anyone who came in and didn’t expect to. It had been so long since she was last here, and she was just a kid.
The bell above the door chimed again as a woman entered. Quynh didn’t pay it any mind until she noticed the scowling woman approaching her table. She straightened up as the woman hovered over her.
“Quynh?” the stranger said.
“Um, yes, that’s me.”
“You don’t recognize me, do you?”
Taken aback by her haughty and angry tone, Quynh looked over at the woman carefully. Dark blonde hair hung around her face in curls. Her blue eyes glared at her, though she thought the shape seemed familiar.
“Ruth?” she hazarded a guess.
“Yeah, Ruth. Jesus Christ. You don’t even recognize your own sister.” With a huff, Ruth pulled out the chair across the table and plopped down.
“I’m sorry. It’s been a really long time…” she stammered. And they werestepsisters.
“Yeah. It has.”
Quynh straightened and tried not to fidget under Ruth’s assessing gaze.
“How are you?”
Instead of answering, Ruth furrowed her eyebrows in anger.
“How am I? Oh, I’m just great. Shouldn’t you be asking how our father’s doing? Do you even care?”
Ruth’s loud voice seemed to echo in the otherwise quiet cafe, and Quynh tried not to shrink at her accusation.
“Of course I care. I came as soon as you texted.”
Ruth let out a disbelieving sound.
After another tense moment, Quynh broached the topic.
“How…how is…how is he doing?”
It was so weird to think of her father, a man she only knew for a short period of her life.
“He’s still dying, last I checked.”
Ruth’s callous response was a shock to her. It made her wonder what her relationship with their father was like.
“Where is he?”
“At home. He’s on hospice. Old bastard wanted to die in his own bed.”
“Oh.”
Quynh had some experience with hospice patients. Mainly when she worked as a bedside nurse. She understood the sensitive situation surrounding death. Everyone coped differently, and it was a delicate balance of providing dignity to the dying while being respectful of the living, who were in varying stages of mourning. Grief made people do strange things sometimes.
Clearing her throat, Quynh asked cautiously, “Can I see him?”
