I’m not noticing any results yet.
“He didn’t kill Jamie,” Penelope says. “Nobody killed Jamie. She died. It’s not anyone’s fault.”
He puts his oxygen mask back over his mouth and nose and folds his arms across his chest with the universal guy gesture that says, “She’s going to make us talk and there’s nothing we can do about that, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it.”
After a few seconds, the mask comes back up a little and Ed’s saying, “So did you actually want to talk to me or did you just come here for the thrill of watching me wither away?”
“I really miss our talks, Ed,” I tell him. “Everyone needs to hear some good bullshit every once in a while.”
“Me bullshit?” he asks. “You’re the one always saying that my daughter resented me,” he seethes, “that she didn’t want to be around me.”
“What are you talking about?” I burst. “I never said anything like that.”
“Yes you did, you lying sack of shit,” Ed says, “yes you did.” For a second, I’m actually a little worried that he’s going to climb out of that bed and we’re going to have to throw down.
“I said basically the same thing that your wife just said,” I tell him. “I told you that Jamie didn’t like that we’ve never gotten along. Ed, would it be the end of the world if we were to have one conversation where neither one of us tries to push the other one off of a cliff?”
“Oh, you’d love that, wouldn’t you,” Ed says. “You’d love to come in here and say you fixed everything right before the old man keeled over. That way, you’d be the hero and I’d be the old fart that was wrong about everything all along. Well, I’m not buying it and you shouldn’t be selling it.”
“Penelope, I’m sorry, but I really don’t think this is going to work,” I tell the only friendly face in the room.
“Give it a chance, you two!” Penelope shouts. “Listen, if the two of you can’t speak with each other with some kind of respect, then why don’t you both shut your mouths and just listen.”
I’m perfectly fine with that arrangement.
My phone starts to ring, but I press the mute button through my pocket. Ever since that first heavy breathing call—which I was very surprised to find out is a real thing, by the way—Rita, if that’s really her name, has been calling me on the hour, every hour, and as I glance at the clock I’m kind of wishing will fall from its place and just put Ed out of my misery, I’m reasonably certain it’s her.
If not, I’m sure whoever’s calling will leave a voicemail.
“Now, do the two of you remember that one Christmas dinner where I’d forgotten to go out and get the sweet potatoes?” Penelope asks.
“I’ll keep my mouth shut,” Ed says, “but I’m not going to bear listening to the sweet potato story one more goddamned time.”
The way he says it is kind of mean, but I actually agree with the sentiment.
The story of the sweet potatoes is that Penelope thought she’d forgotten to get sweet potatoes for Christmas dinner, but after enlisting Jamie’s help and my help and Ed’s help, we discovered that she actually had a bag in the pantry all along.
The end.
I know she likes to tell that story because it’s one of the few times that all four of us were together and nobody was arguing.
Actually, as I think about it, Ed and Penelope were arguing about whether or not sweet potatoes were actually traditional Christmas fare or not, but it wasn’t the hatefest that Ed and I have so long enjoyed.
“Fine,” Penelope says. “Just think about how much the two of you have in common, though. You both love movies. That’s something, right? Damian, what’s a good movie you think Ed might like?”
“I have no idea,” I answer quickly.
I think we’re getting a bit off topic, but Penelope is trying anything to get us to find some common ground.
“We both loved Jamie,” I tell her.
“That’s true,” Penelope says, “and that’s the most important thing of all.”
“You couldn’t have supported that child even if everything had gone off without complication,” Ed says.
“Ed,” I scoff, “even when I was trying to do the normal life thing, I still had a couple hundred thou in the bank at any given time. I don’t know exactly how much you think a baby costs, but—”
“That’s not what I’m talking about,” he says. “Supporting a child isn’t just about money. It’s about your whole life. Every moment of your life from the moment that child is born is about that child and for that child. That was never you. You were always more content to just go on acting like responsibility was a four-letter word.”