Page 63 of Present Tense

“Ethan has a sleepover tonight at Ben’s house. The moment he’s gone I’m going to suck you off until you have temporary blindness.”

He turns his head and looks at me as I lick my lips. “Please never do the dishes again.”

“That I can promise you.”

“I love you, Bella, mess and all.”

39

JILLIEN

I snuggle back into him and my cozy white winter comforter. It will soon be traded out for the light yellow one that matches my spring sheets. I like a monochromatic bed. And the white and yellow work with the soft gray of my walls and the bright, light stain on the furniture in my room. I’m getting used to him being in my space. Sleepovers started six weeks after he moved to Chicago. It’s still very new and bizarre letting him stay over with Ethan here. We had super quiet sex, but it left me tingly and in love. And Liam still has his corporate apartment. It’s where we have freaky loud sex. Liam can’t stay over two nights in a row. I try to make sure Ethan sleeps over at Ben’s at least once a week, so I can spend time completely alone with Liam at the house. It’s hard to schedule, but it’s working.

I apologized to Christopher for being a raging bitch when his girlfriend slept over at Christmas. And he was accepting of Liam. I see things a little more clearly where he’s involved. Ethan’s heading out to California for spring break next week. I’m headed to the Vineyard to finally see Liam’s favorite house. My bamboo side table is covered with his glasses, a glass of water, and nasal spray. They look like they belong there. I cleaned out drawers and part of my tiny-ass closet for him. I turn over, and he stays asleep. I’m just looking at him. He belongs here, too. That scares the hell out of me. It’s surprising and lovely when he cooks dinner or picks up Ethan’s crap from all over the house. Last week when I came home, he was vacuuming. It was sexy as hell, and I was glad Ethan was still at the film editing lab at ChiKid working with Ben on their latest project.

I drift off again, surrounded not only by the comfort of his breathing, but also by the comfort that maybe I’m not in all of this alone.

Ethan’s six-year-old voice stabs me in the night, and I reach for my phone. I alternate between the little Ethan ringtone and the thirteen-year-old yelling at me. It’s not a number I recognize, but my heart sinks at the Philadelphia area code. Some part of me is always waiting for this call. I guess I should be glad it’s finally here. Things were too good, and that’s when he likes to fuck up my life the most.

I scurry out of the room, and the sleeping giant just turns over. I pull his long Black Dog Saloon T-shirt down over my sleep shorts. It had bunched up, and he was sleeping with my boob in his hand. I loved it.

“Hello, this is Jillien Meier.”

“Ms. Meier, you’re the top of the HIPPA contact list for Jeffery Thompson.”

“Yes. Is he alright?” My palms are so sweaty I almost drop the phone. I’m pacing, my heart racing.

“He’s sedated and resting. He had a heart episode that resulted in a minor heart attack.”

“But he’s ok?” My whole body panics as lists race through my head of all the people I have to tell and the arrangements that need to be made.

“Yes. Can you hold for a minute? The doctor would like to speak with you.”

I pace our hallway and keep forgetting about the creaky floorboard near Ethan’s room as I rapidly do laps around our muted red and cream patterned rug. He peeks out of his room, and I wave him off. But Ethan doesn’t go. Instead, he stays while I wait to hear how badly my father fucked-up. I don’t have to tell Ethan why I’m on the phone in the middle of the night. He knows. As much as I try to shield him from all of this shit, he knows.

My father has no one except nurses and aides. My brother is probably up in the middle of the night bottle-feeding that sweet new niece of mine. It’s ok. I’ve got it. I always do.

E walks up to my side and nuzzles in. I’m still slightly taller than him, but he puts his head on my shoulder. I pull him closer. Vacuuming and dishes are one thing, but my father’s destructive behavior is all mine. This is for me alone, not Liam.

“Ms. Meier.” I perk up. Ethan takes the phone and puts it on speaker. I try to take it back, but he walks downstairs, and I follow him. He puts his hand up to me and nods. I’m not comfortable with him being a part of this, but he’s not giving me a choice. I’m still in shock, and I can’t put words together to tell him to stop listening.

“Yes. I’m here.”

“I’m Dr. Chandler, your father’s cardiologist. There’s been some damage to his heart. I would suggest we go in and repair it. It will leave him with a stronger chance of avoiding another heart attack in the near future.”

“I was told it was a minor heart episode.” Fuck. Fuck. Fuck my fucking father.

“It was his third minor in as many months.” I quickly snatch the phone from Ethan’s hand and take it off the speaker.

“Each time his blood alcohol level was dangerously high. His caretaker took him home after the last two hospital stays, but this time I’m afraid I can’t release him until I know he’s not a danger to himself.”

I exhale slowly. Inhale quickly. “I understand. I’ll be there in a couple of hours. What are the next steps?”

“He’ll need to be sober for ninety days to be strong enough for surgery. Also, he’s either refusing or forgets to take his prescription medicine. There’s no trace of it in his system.”

“Thank you for letting me know. I’ll tell my father the pre-op requirements.”

“Ma’am, with all due respect, he needs to be in a rehabilitation facility, under supervision.” I flop down on our leather couch that makes a farting noise underneath me. Ethan’s in the kitchen; I think he’s making me coffee. He’s such an intuitive kid.