“I’ll be right in, sir.”
“I’m sorry, Dad. I just wanted to impress you. I—” Harry closed his eyes, but opened them quickly. The pain was worse with his eyes closed. “I just wanted you to be proud of me. It was meant to be a surprise. I was going to come home and say, ‘Look what I did, Dad.’”
“You did all this—the college trip, everything—to make me proud?”
Harry nodded.
“I am proud of you, Harry. So very proud.”
“You are?” He was?
“What you did took real courage. You faced your fears, and you’re an inspiration. On the plane, I was trying to figure out why I always want more from you. Why enough is never enough. Why I can’t ever say well done. I think you’re right, Harry. I think I have”—Dad stared down at the vinyl floor—“problems.”
“All the best people do,” Harry said. “Normal is vastly overrated.”
“I’m going to find a therapist.” Dad straightened up. “I want to fix this. I’ll do whatever it takes.”
“That’s great, Dad. Really great.” The pounding in his head intensified.
“I found this thing online called OCPD. I think that’s what I have.”
“Sounds like an STD,” Harry said. “What does it mean?”
“I don’t know, but I’m going to find out.” Dad paused. “And I’m sorry, too. Sorry that you’ve had to wait seventeen years to hear that I’m proud of you. Sorry that I pushed so hard about Harvard. Sorry that I’m the world’s most fucked-up father.”
“Yeah, but you’re my fucked-up father. The only one I’ve got. And I wouldn’t trade you.”
Dad smiled.
Harry rubbed his forehead and tried not to think about the pain bouncing through his brain like a beach ball with spikes. “Dad, can we take Harvard off my college list? I didn’t like it even before I got handcuffed and knocked unconscious.”
“Consider it gone,” Dad said.
Talking—just talking—with Dad was good. The Tylenol had kicked in, and the doc was off working on the release papers. And Harry was never coming back to Boston. Not even if Max’s band kicked off their first world tour in the city.
“You know the weird thing, Dad? I’m not that anxious about being in a hospital bed. I think I’m all anxiety’d out. Just incredibly relieved to be here and not in jail.”
A muscle pulsed in Dad’s neck. “Want to tell me what happened?”
Harry told him everything, twisting the edge of the hospital sheet tighter and tighter. “It was all a big misunderstanding, Dad. I didn’t really hit a cop. I couldn’t control the ticcing. I hit him because I was ticcing, and then I hit my head because I was ticcing.”
“I’m going to sort this out, Harry. There will be no repercussions. I’ll make sure of that.”
“But what about Steve? The last thing I remember, he was mouthing off about pressing charges.”
“I can assure you he won’t be when I’m done with him.” Dad’s voice was cold.
Harry’s elbow flapped. Maybe he should have downplayed Steve in the role of bastard asshole. After all, Steve wasn’t the one who’d thrown the first punch. “Can we just pretend it never happened and hope it goes away?”
“No. You have a neurological condition, and this kid judged you. That is not okay. That will never be okay.”
“I’m used to being judged, Dad. As long as no one’s pressing charges, I don’t care.” Harry tried to smile. “How do we find out what’s going on?”
Someone knocked on the door. A quiet little knock.
Dad turned. “Come.”
“It’s Annie,” Harry whispered as the door opened.
Chewing her fingernails, she peered around Dad and then darted to the bed. Her eyes were puffy and red, and she hadn’t buttoned her jacket right. He hadn’t meant to cause her pain, hadn’t meant for any of this to happen.
“Are you okay?” Harry said, and patted her hand.
She burst into tears. “You’re asking me?”