“I know,” my father said. “I’m not either. But I don’t have the luxury of waiting until I am.”
It wasn’t forgiveness. It wasn’t healing. It was just three people in a too-small room, holding coffee they didn’t really want, pretending they had all the time in the world. incesto madres e hijos comics xxx 1
Silence. Then the sound of him pushing himself up. I stood in the hallway, frozen, watching the shadows move. He appeared in the doorway of the living room, one hand braced against the frame. He’d lost forty pounds. His skin had the grayish-yellow tint of a bruise healing wrong. But his eyes—his eyes were the same. The same hard flint I’d spent my whole childhood trying to earn a spark from. “I know,” my father said
I was washing a mug that was already clean. I didn’t stop. “So you came back to watch.” It wasn’t healing
“He asked for both of us.” Lukas poured two fingers of Scotch into a jelly jar—he’d always been allergic to ceremony. “He wants us at the house. This weekend. Said there are things he needs to say.”
“He’s got six months,” Lukas said. “Maybe less. The doctor used words like ‘aggressive’ and ‘palliative,’ but you know Dad. He just said, ‘I’m not doing chemo.’”
That stopped me. I set the mug down and turned off the water. “He’s not asking for me. He’s never asked for me.”