Chapter Five
Natalie
The wallpaper is yellowed and peeling. The entire place reeks of decay and depression. How can he live like this? I’ve been here for almost a month, and it’s getting worse by the day.
I pick up a string of beer bottles that line a circle around my father’s recliner. The ashtray on the foldable TV tray is overflowing with cigarette butts. There’s nothing left but the filters and a fraction of an inch of paper and tobacco. He’d smoke the butt if he could.
When my cellphone chirps, I jump and glance behind me to see if he’s going to come after me for interrupting his television show. Only the TV is black, and the last time I looked, he was passed out in the middle of his bed.
I jerk my phone out of my back pocket. Why didn’t I put it on silent? As fast as I can, I answer the call. I don’t want it to ring again and wake him up. Lillian.
“Hey, sis.” My voice is barely above a whisper.
“I take it you’re still there.” She sounds irritated with a touch of condescension.
“Yes, I’m still here.” I sneak to the doorway and peer at my father. He’s wearing dirty jeans which sag down past his hips. Not that he’s making a fashion statement but because cancer has taken his will to eat. But never to drink.
He’s paired the jeans with a yellow pitted wife beater. How apropos. I shut the door without a sound. As the child of an alcoholic, you learn from an early age how to be quiet.
“You should fucking leave. He’s not going to appreciate you.”
“I know,” I sigh and move to the sofa. My nose wrinkles. Shit. I can’t even sit down. There are piles of newspapers and empty cigarette cartons everywhere.
“Call hospice. They deal with this shit for a living.”
“Lillian, I can’t do that.” My sister has lived in our hometown her entire adulthood, but I would hazard to guess she’s not visited him as often as I have, which has not been many times. “He called and said he needs me.”
“He just doesn’t want a stranger wiping his ass.” She snorts.
“I’m not doing that either.” I shudder. Why am I here? My father is an abusive asshole. Am I hoping he’s had a change of heart and wants to make amends? The last month should have answered the question. He’s still a prick.
I grab a trash bag out of the empty pantry that boasts of one can of soup and a half stale package of crackers. When I arrived, I offered to buy him food, but he scoffed, ‘No girl of mine is providing for me.’ He lives on block cheese from the food pantry and spoonsful of peanut butter.
“You can stay with me if you want to be back here so damn bad. You don’t have to subject yourself to him. Or pretend he’s the reason you’re back. He’s scum.”
My hand stills with an empty box of cigarettes in my hand and the trash bag in the other. Is that why I’m here? To see Trey again.
My heart skips a beat. Shit. I jumped at the chance to move back here on the slim possibility Trey’s single and never forgotten me. I snort. Fuck. He’s probably had more pussy this week than I’ve had dicks in the last twelve years.
“I know,” I sigh again and shove trash by the handfuls into the bag. He never lived like a pig, so it’s clear he’s given up on life and is waiting to die. Fucking wonderful. I’ve got a front-row seat for the shitshow of the week. “I’ll think about staying with you. Thanks for the offer.”
“It’s always open. It always has been. I love you, little sister.” The irritation in her voice is gone. She’s two years older than me and remembers more of the knockout drag-out fights between our parents before mom took off. After she was gone, he completely lost it. That part, I’ll never forget.
“I love you, too.”
“Have you seen him?”
I don’t have to ask who she means. She knows I’ve never gotten over Trey. I plop down onto the sofa, and a cloud of dust wafts up from the cushions, causing me to sneeze. Good Lord, this is ridiculous. “Yes.”
“How does he look?”
“You know how he looks.” One of her favorite pastimes, when she’s not caring for my niece and nephew, is taking photographs of Trey and sending them to me. She’s a total perv. How he never noticed her following him around is beyond me.
“Yeah, I know. He’s hot. Are you going to sleep with him again?”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Why not? He’s single. You’re single, and you’ve never gotten over him. What’s the big deal?”