Until May (Until Her/Him #11)(22)

“Please, Marla, for the love of all that is holy, call me Aiden.”

“That’s not appropriate,” my mom states in her thick Southern belle accent as she comes around the corner, looking prim and proper in a pair of slacks and a button-down shirt with heels on her feet, even though she’s home and most likely not going anywhere.

“What’s not appropriate is having Dad’s nurse answer the door like she’s here to cater to you rather than what her job actually is,” I tell my mother as Marla walks away.

“She wasn’t doing anything but sitting in the chair next to your dad’s bed, watching TV,” my mom says, then looks down at my side. “I see you’ve brought your dog.”

“I have.” I pat Dozer’s head.

“Well, don’t let him pee anywhere.” She turns on her heels and heads in the direction the nurse had gone moments ago.

“How’s Dad doing today?” I ignore her comment, and she clasps her hands in front of her as we walk down the long marble hallway.

“The same as yesterday but better than the day before.” She stops at Dad’s office door, which he’s been staying in since he got home, because all the bedrooms are on the second floor. “How did the walkthrough go this morning?”

“Fine, clients are happy, and we’re set to close Friday.”

“That’s good news.” She looks past me. “This week, you have the meeting with the board. Are you prepared for that?”

No, thank you for stepping in. No, I appreciate you coming home to sort our shit out. Just, are you prepared for the meeting with the board?

“There’s nothing to prepare for.”

“They will want to know what we plan on doing if your father doesn’t recover fully.”

“Since Dad will recover with time, we don’t need a plan for that.”

“This isn’t the time to be ignorant, Aiden.” She sighs, shaking her head. “We need to be realistic.”

“Dad just had a stroke a few weeks ago, and the doctors explained it is very likely he will regain use of his left side with rehab, which he’s getting.”

“I just think…” She looks at the closed door to the office. “I just think we need to think about selling. Maybe you can talk to your dad and—”

“Bender and Sons has been Dad’s whole life since he was a kid,” I cut her off. “I’m not bringing that shit to him now, not when he’s already facing an uphill battle.” I scrub my fingers through my hair.

“Stop using such crass language.” She sniffs, then adds, “And I don’t understand why you’re so worked up. It’s not like you’ve ever wanted to run the company.”

“You’re right. I didn’t. But I’m here now.” I move past her and shove open the door to the office without knocking. Dad, who’s sitting up in the hospital bed that’s been set up in the room, looks to me then over my shoulder, his head barely moving. Even with only one side of his face working, I can tell he’s not happy to see my mother, which makes me wonder if she’s been talking to him herself about selling the company.

“Hey, Dad.” I walk over to him and squeeze his shoulder while Marla, who’s sitting next to him, starts to stand.

“I’ll be just outside if you need me.”

“Stay,” I tell her, knowing that if my mother sees her out of the room, she will have her doing some chore she doesn’t get paid to do. “How’s he been today?”

“Good, he already completed his exercises for the day, and he spoke a couple of words, which is a good sign,” she tells me, and I lift my chin, then look down at my dad. My father had always seemed untouchable, so it’s strange to see him so helpless.

I take a seat in one of the chairs at the side of his bed as Dozer falls to his belly in the corner of the room. “You’ll be happy to know that the Graysons didn’t have one complaint about the house on the final walkthrough and are set to close Friday,” I tell him, and his eyes slowly close, which I’m guessing is a sign he’s relieved.

Unlike the subdivisions my father is known for building in, the Graysons’ fourteen thousand square foot house on ten acres is a project he has been working on for two years. And even I had to admit when I saw it the first time that it’s an architectural masterpiece and fitting of the famous music producer who hired my dad to design and build it.

Thankfully, when Dad had his stroke, most of the work had already been completed, but there were still finishing touches that needed to be made, and with everything tits-up, no one knew if the closing would happen on time. And every dollar going out on that project was a loss of profit for Bender and Sons, which left those on the board nervous.

“And things at the office are finally starting to get back to normal,” I tell him, and he reaches his right hand toward me. I cover it with mine. Touching him feels foreign. Fuck but I don’t even remember the last time I hugged my dad, and I wonder if I ever did when I was a kid.

“I….” The word is slurred, and his eyes squeeze closed like he’s frustrated. I’m sure he is; I would be. Hell, I remember lying in the hospital bed, feeling frustrated as hell after I was injured, and I could still talk and even walk with the help of crutches.

“Don’t worry about work. Just focus on getting better,” I tell him, and he meets my gaze before dipping his chin ever so slightly.