“Yes, you do. You got lucky today,” Adley says firmly. “You might not get so lucky next time, and you’ve got a lot of living left to do.”
Dad pinches his lips together and reaches for the Jell-O. “You’re lucky I like you.”
Adley stands up and puts a gentle hand to his shoulder. “No, you’re lucky I like you.”
“That too,” he says, waving her off. “Now get outta here so I can talk to my son.”
“Come on,” Chloe says, waving for Adley to follow. “I know where we can grab a shitty cup of coffee.”
“I, uh… I can’t drink coffee,” Adley says, following her from the room.
“What do you mean you can’t drink coffee?”
“I mean I don’t drink it.”
I miss the rest of the conversation as they disappear from the room. When I turn to Dad, he’s studying the sheet wrapped around his legs.
“You okay?”
“No.” He shakes his head, but doesn’t look up. “I almost died today.”
“You’re too stubborn to die,” I joke.
He looks over and a smile cracks his face, but it quickly fades. “I don’t like the idea of kicking the bucket without telling you
I’m sorry.”
Shit. This is it. That conversation I’m not sure I’m ready for.
“I know, Dad.”
He looks up. “No, you don’t. I’ve said it before, but I’ve never meant it. I mean it now, Linc. I was a shit father to you and Chloe. I don’t deserve the kindness you’ve shown me over the years, and I sure as hell don’t deserve your forgiveness. But I want it.”
“I want to forgive you, Dad, okay? I’m trying to forgive you, but it’s hard. And this—you here in the hospital—makes it even harder, because I know our remaining time together is limited. But you filled my life with so much hate.”
“I know,” he laments. “I love you, Linc, and I’d give anything to take it back.”
I’ve teetered on several different emotions today—fear, hopelessness, hopefulness, and now anger. I’m angry at him for waiting so long to give me the words I’ve needed to hear. And now that he’s said them, I can’t even process that because I’m angry at him for asking for forgiveness when he sure as hell doesn’t deserve it. And I’m angry at myself because I don’t know if I can forgive him.
“But you can’t, Dad. You can’t take it back. It’s because of you that I was stealing food from the gas station to feed Chloe. I was a teenager, Dad. I should’ve been thinking about girls and getting my driver’s license, not caring for my baby sister.”
“I get it, okay?” He pushes up in the bed and runs a hand through his greasy hair. “I fucked up over and over again, and I know I can’t take that back. I can’t change the past, but I can sure as hell work on the future.”
“Where is this coming from? Why now? Why are you suddenly trying to make amends?”
“Because like you said, my time is limited. This just proves it,” he says, motioning to the hospital room. “And also because someone told me recently that I can’t receive forgiveness if I don’t ask for it.”
I roll my eyes. “Have you been watching that religious show again?”
“No,” he scoffs. “It was Adley. Adley told me.”
“Adley?”
“Yeah. We were talking at Chloe’s party. We had a good talk. I hope you don’t let that one go. She’s a keeper.”
“I know she is.”
“Do you?”