More Than Words(21)

Nina nodded, too surprised to respond. She and Tim had only been dating for eight months. But her parents had gotten engaged nine months after they’d met. Nina wondered what her mother had thought about her and Tim when they were babies. Did she think they were meant to be together, too, from the time they were born? Or would she have pushed Nina to explore the world and see who she met on the beaches of Barcelona or Rio or Tel Aviv? Not follow the safer path.

“I’m sorry, Sweetheart, but I’m a bit tired,” Joseph Gregory said to his daughter. “I just . . . feel weak today.” Cansabil, Nina thought. Tired and weak. The word came easily, with her mother already on her mind. “How about picking out a movie? It’ll be like old times. You can watch a movie in my room until you fall asleep, and then . . .”

“And then you’ll carry me into my room so I can wake up in my own bed,” Nina finished, so aware that her father could never carry her anywhere now. He was clearly aware of it, too. She saw him brush a tear off his cheek with the back of his hand. Ignoring that, Nina put in The Princess Bride. The two of them had watched it together countless times, dissolving into laughter at the lines Anybody want a peanut? And Have fun storming the castle! Lines that perhaps weren’t funny to anyone else but had once made her dad laugh so hard that the club soda he was drinking bubbled out of his nose.

Another line they liked—I hate for people to die embarrassed—took on a more somber note now. She half paid attention to the movie while her father fell asleep. Then she left the room, the movie still running—the Ancient Booer doing her thing.

Nina wished she’d brought those financials with her today. Then when her father woke up, she could tell him she’d read through them. They could talk about whatever it was he wanted to, and she wouldn’t have to see disappointment on his face. After everything he’d given her, the least she could do was not disappoint him during his last months on Earth.





21



When Tim arrived, Nina was in the kitchen, surrounded by cookbooks. Cooking relaxed her. At least in the kitchen she was in charge. After catching Nina up on what her sons were up to and her new grandtwins were doing, Irena had left to change the bed linens. Nina had gone through the cookbooks looking for soup recipes. She figured that while she was cooking dinner, she could make her father broth if nothing else. And she could make him enough for the next few days at least. Maybe more, if she froze it. How much more would he need?

Nina hadn’t taken a psych course since she was nineteen—but in the recesses of her mind she remembered something about how knowing the outcome of a particular event made people more comfortable. It was why New York City had installed those time clocks on most of the subway lines. The trains didn’t come more frequently, but passengers could see when they were supposed to arrive, and knowing that they had to wait four or seven minutes made them less agitated. They were able to plan. Their faith in the transit authorities increased. The whole city was slightly calmer during rush hour. It was a smart psychological move.

Nina wished she had a time clock for life. If she knew she had a month left with her father, she would act one way. Two months would be something else. Three months. Four. She knew it probably wasn’t much longer than four months, but if it was, it would change her approach.

In our ignorance, we are at a loss, she thought. Without the facts, there’s no way to create a solid path. But the truth was, she had no idea how much time she had left either. Perhaps all her planning, all her father’s planning was for naught. For all she knew, she could die tomorrow.

“Hey,” Tim called, as he let himself in. Nina heard his voice echoing down the hallway. “Smells good in here.” When he walked into the kitchen, he wrapped his arms around Nina. “Mm, you smell good, too, like raspberries. It’s been too long.”

“I missed you, too,” Nina said, resting her head briefly on Tim’s chest. She felt relaxed around Tim. Calmer. Like her blood was pumping at the right speed when he was there.

Then she rose up on her toes to reach the spices in the cupboard. “I got it,” Tim said, as he pulled down the onion powder she’d been reaching for.

“Thanks,” she said. “Want to tell me about your day, while I cook?”

“Not much to tell,” he said as he watched her boiling and chopping and seasoning, following the recipe with precision. “I think the investors are interested. Darren, you remember him—the investment banker who’s helping us secure funding? He asked if we wanted to have dinner next week.”

“I could probably make that happen,” Nina said, checking the recipe before adding the peppers to the stir-fry. “It’ll depend on the campaign, though.”

Tim walked up behind Nina and slid his arms around her, cupping her breasts in his hands. “I’m going to be so happy when that campaign is over,” he said, kissing her neck. “I’ll get so much more time with you.”

Nina wriggled out from Tim’s grip. “Tim! We’re in my dad’s apartment!”

“What?” Tim said. “It’s not like he’s going to catch us.”

Nina froze. Tim saw it.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.”

“It’s fine,” Nina said, and kept stirring the vegetables. But it wasn’t fine. Not really. Even though she was living through her father’s illness with Tim. And even though they’d been friends forever, he didn’t get it. He didn’t understand how it all made her feel, like she was a table with a wobbly leg. She could prop herself up sometimes with a matchbook—a lot of times, really—but when the matchbook slipped, the whole table wobbled and everything on it threatened to crash to the floor.