I'm Fine and Neither Are You(64)

TWENTY-FIVE

I rose early the next morning, surprised Sanjay with a kiss in bed, ignoring his shocked response, then rushed through my routine. When I arrived at my office, I sat at my desk but didn’t turn on my computer. Before the day was swallowed by emails, meetings, and assignments, I needed to cross the most important thing off my to-do list. I reached for the phone. In spite of my plan, I had a split-second instinct to call Matt. But he had asked for space, and that’s what I was going to give him. So I dialed the number I had intended to all along. “Dad?”

“Ni?a? What is it?” My father’s voice was muffled.

“I’m sorry. Did I wake you?”

“No, no, I needed to be up.”

“Sorry,” I said again.

“It’s fine. Is everything okay?”

“No, in fact, it’s not.” I looked over my monitor at a picture of Stevie and Miles I’d hung on the wall. Miles, then a sturdy infant, was sitting on Stevie’s lap; they were both laughing, though I never did find out why. The photo was one of the many Sanjay had snapped while I was at work. At the time, I remember feeling jealous that he’d had that moment with them. Now I felt thankful that he’d been able to have it. How lucky my children were to know their father—to have experienced the kind of love that three words just can’t fully convey.

“Are you and Sanjay all right?” my father asked.

“We’re fine,” I said. “Well, actually, we’ve been having a rough go of it lately. Nothing catastrophic, but things have been strained.”

“Rough times can be worked out,” he said. “Maybe if your mother had understood that . . .”

“I know. I think so, too,” I said. “But that’s not why I’m calling.”

“It’s my stomach, then,” he said.

“No. Well, sort of.” I’d been thinking through this all morning. But as these things go, the conversation had been so much easier in my head. “Dad, I know you don’t want me to worry about your health, but I’m your daughter. I’m going to worry. And the more you keep me out of what’s going on, the more worried I’m going to be.”

“I see.”

I waited for him to say something else. And after a few seconds, he did. “I wasn’t really thinking about it that way. You and Nick are so busy, I don’t want to take up all your time.”

“I want you to take up my time,” I said, and suddenly tears were welling in my eyes. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you. What I’ve been trying to tell you for years now, though maybe I just wasn’t direct enough. I know you’re a private person—”

“I’m not,” he protested.

“You are . That’s okay. I’m not asking you to be someone you’re not. I don’t want to drag you to family therapy or make you tell me all your secrets or whatever. I just want you to call me sometimes—”

“I call,” he said.

“No, Dad,” I said quietly. “You really don’t. Even on the kids’ birthdays. And I know Sanjay called you last year to remind you about mine.”

“Hmm.”

I wiped the corners of my eyes. “I know you like your life in Florida. I’m glad you and Anita are happy. But it would be nice if you invited us down there sometime. Or came here. Or anything—we could even video chat, so the kids can get to know you a little better.” A tear splashed on my desk. “So I can get to know you better.”

“Penelope,” he said gruffly.

I sniffed. “I’m here, Dad.”

He said nothing for a very long time. Then he said, “It’s going to be a hard couple of months for me, now that I’m coming up on treatment. Surgery’s next month.”

“I know.”

“I don’t know that I can go anywhere or have visitors.”

“I understand.”

“But maybe I can call you more often.”

“I’d like that,” I whispered, because it was getting hard to speak.

“And maybe when you call, I’ll call you back sooner.”

Now I said nothing, because I was really crying. When I was finally able, I said, “Thank you.”

“No, ni?a,” he said. “Thank you.”



Sanjay was sitting on the porch when I got home from work. I had planned to tell him about my father, but I took one look at his eager expression and said, “You got the job.”

He broke into a grin. “I got the job.”

This time I didn’t have to force a smile. I threw my arms around him. “I’m so happy for you.”

He pulled back slightly and looked at me with surprise. “Really? Don’t you want to know about the salary or the hours?”

“Well, yes, obviously. But I can tell you’re thrilled—aren’t you?”

“I am,” he said. “I think I’ll like it there, and it feels good to be wanted.”

“Then that’s enough.”

He looked skeptical. “The salary’s so-so,” he said. “But I can probably negotiate it a little, and so-so is still better than sporadic.”

“I agree.”