“Ask Dad what he thinks. He might surprise you.” Maybe she should interfere, issue them a hold-the-damn-sleepover directive.
“I dunno, Mom. Me and Dad? We’re like that Simple Minds song you played for me the other week, ‘When Two Worlds Collide.’”
She and Harry were always sharing music. Ella closed her eyes and listened to the dissonant bleep of her monitor. “You should play Dad some Simple Minds.”
“Why?”
“Just something from way back when . . .” But she couldn’t grasp the memory. Even thinking drained her energy. “Listen, baby, I’m fading. It’s been another action-packed day for us cardiac patients. Finish up your homework and get to bed.”
“’Kay. Love you.”
“Love you too.”
Ella lay back down, but within seconds her phone trilled with a text alert.
can you ask dad about the sleepover
No.
please ????
Nice try. Answer still no. This week you and Dad have a special assignment: figure out how to deal with each other without me playing piggy in the middle.
She flopped back. Texting was exhausting.
suppose he yells at me
Dad doesn’t bite, you goon! He’s just a little quirky.
i’m a lot quirkier
Yes and no. Dad needs a lot of support right now. Be nice. HUGS. xox
The pale gray bubble came up, the one that meant Harry was still typing. Ella groaned. She never said no to Harry, but she needed rest. And really, if Felix was willing to put his life on hold, Harry had to meet him halfway.
If she was ever going to get home, she had to start listening to her body; she had to start rethinking life as a woman with a heart condition. Katherine had nailed it when she’d told Ella to stop worrying about Harry and put herself first. She needed to unlearn her mothering instincts, become a bad mother. And she needed to believe in Felix, trust that he could be the father she’d always hoped he would be.
The gray bubble was still pulsing. Harry had more to say, and she was making the decision to ignore him. Midconversation, and she turned off her phone. The worst part? She had no guilt.
TEN
Harry gobbled a large smiley-face cookie—crumbs shooting everywhere—and stopped briefly to slurp hot chocolate. He swallowed with a gulp before hunching forward to resume his maniacal munching. Felix watched. Could his son not slow down to eat? In fact, could he not slow down for life?
The Mad Hatter had been Harry’s choice, not his. Felix would have preferred a café with less buzz and fewer students, but at least they had a satisfactory view of Duke. Parts of the campus always reminded him of Oxford.
Felix crossed his legs and brushed a piece of lint from his thigh. Fifteen minutes until they had to leave for Harry’s after-school voice lesson. Plenty of time to ask about the girl and throw in a quick tutorial on table manners. Should that preempt the condom conversation?
“Dad, I want to—”
“Harry, please. Not with your mouth full.”
The waitress squeezed past to deliver a plate of scrambled eggs, home fries, and toast to the old geezer sitting next to them. Breakfast food at three thirty in the afternoon? How utterly absurd. Maybe it wasn’t just his son who confounded him. Maybe it was people in general.
“How’s your girlfriend?”
Harry’s chin jutted up in a salvo of tics. “I-I d-don’t have a girlfriend.”
“Cute, blond, mismatched Converse. Five foot four, if I had to guess.”
“She’s not really . . .”
“You’re not doing that casual hookup thing, are you? You do know that’s how kids get STDs.” Or AIDS, like your uncle.
“Dad. I’m not interested in flings.”
“So how does she fit into your life?”
“You really want to know?” Harry blushed.
“No, Harry.” Felix scratched at the label on his small bottle of Perrier. “That’s why I asked.”
“I think she’s, like, amazing.” Harry paused to clear his throat. Of all the tics, this one bothered Felix the least. It could easily pass for an allergy symptom. “But she has serious family stuff going on.”