In the weeks that followed, we lived as a family. Julia stayed away, working on projects, but she visited every other day. I was yet to get Julia to sit down and talk to Kat but they developed the ability to exist in the same room without it turning in to an episode of the Jerry Springer show. Everything was great until the day my father arrived.
Val was completing a chemo session while running a slight fever. Unable to find any sign of infection, I had to assume it was exhaustion. He had been trying so hard to stay active and mobile, I was becoming worried that it was too much.
Sitting on the floor in a t-shirt and jeans, I was attempting to chart Val's vitals into a program on the new laptop Kat gifted me. "I'm want to limit your time in the basement gym." I specifically said the basement gym since that was the weight room/sauna.
Val grumbled from the comfort of his recliner. "You can't tell me not to walk on my own two legs."
"I'm not." I placed my hand upon his leg. He was still strong, and I knew that. "I'm just politely requesting you not to bench press on your own two legs."
Val's eyes were closed. He had a gel sleep mask on, to combat the warming effect of the chemo. He reached over, pawing at the side table. Clearly, he was trying to grab his nearby iPhone in an effort to prove a point.
Right on cue, Kat appeared behind me with a cup of coffee in one hand and her adorable rosegold phone in the other. And, of course, her internet game was on point. Kat read aloud, "Exercising while tired may be atypical, but research has shown that exercise has a role in improving the well-being of chemotherapy patients." She kissed her father's cheek and handed him his phone to conduct research of his own. "Oh, your mask tastes so refreshing. I've got to get one of those."
Val chuckled and groaned as he removed the gel mask to get a better view of his screen. He held down the home button, activating the voice command feature. "Siri search exercise during chemotherapy."
"Do your fingers not work?" Thankfully, I managed to say that witty line only in my head. Val's hands often trembled and there was a notable weakness to his grip. So there was no need for me to be an ass about it.
The digital voice replied, "Exercise during chemotherapy can also reduce the number of complications arising from treatment, and may improve your immune function."
"Thank you, Dr. Yahoo Answers," I said as I stood up. "Val, I never said you couldn't walk. I just don't want you to overexert yourself."
Val rolled his eyes with a dismissive sigh. "I'm not a damn child, Jack. I know my limits."
"I know. And I'm not trying to treat you like a child," I said, patting my hand to his shoulder. "There are literally hundreds of ways to engage in light exercise."
Val chuckled. "Siri read 'The Gay Kama Sutra by Colin Spencer."
Kat laughed. "I think I have a copy you can borrow, maybe you two can put on a show after I get back from my run." She lifted my face for a goodbye kiss, before heading in the direction of the door.
Val turned his head to glance at the wall clock. "Is this chemo shit almost over?"
"Just three more minutes." The timer would be up soon and I knew Val could disconnect it on his own. So I got up to help myself to a cup of coffee.
The doorbell rang. In the less-than-ten seconds, it took Kat to make it to the door my phone also pinged. She opened the door to the sight of my father calling my phone. I could see the logic in his actions; in case I didn't answer the door, he needed a way to prove he actually knew me.
"Hi, Dad." As I glanced at his smug, khakis and polo shirt. I truly wished Kat hadn't opened the door. It would have been easy to call the police, telling them we had a lost golfer who wondered on to our property.
"Hello, Jack."
I stood arms crossed, with Kat by my side. "Well, this is certainly a surprise."
Kat leaned on my arm, acting every bit the devoted girlfriend. "Hello Jack's father, I'm Katerina Kepler." She reached out her hand like a European stereotype looking for a kiss.
"Don Miller," my dad said as he shook her hand. "But you can call me Dad, seeing that you're the mother of my future grandchild." His delivery contained a heavy dose of smug as if it was some kind of secret that we were trying to hide.
But my bad-ass girlfriend was prepared. "Oh how sweet, did you read that on my Instagram or maybe my Facebook?"
My father ran his fingers through his box-dye brown hair. "Well, Young lady I'm sure you're well aware that what you put on Instabook or whatever gets picked up other local media. I actually read it on yahoo news as reported from TMZ."
"Yes, that's called going viral," my gorgeous girlfriend replied with supermodel confidence. "It's kind of what I'm known for." Kat reached for my hand. "Plus I'm not ashamed. Jack is a beautiful human being. He's going to be a wonderful father."
For a moment I was too mesmerized to speak. But then my father cleared his throat, reminding me that this nightmare was still happening.
I didn't even bother to ask why he was standing there. The fact that my father seriously, traveled across the country to see if I was behaving myself, made me want to vomit on his leather shoes. "I'm kind of busy, but we can talk later at your hotel. You are staying at a hotel, right?"
"Yes, of course, Jack, I would not want to impede on your host family." He still, clearly wanted to be invited in.
Kat took a step forward, ever so subtly, pushing me out of the way. "And yet you decided to show up at MY front door?"
My father took a breath, he was about to formulate a reply when we all heard the sound of a crash coming from the kitchen. It was the sicking sound of glass breaking followed by a body hitting the floor.
"Dad?" Kat shouted as she ran.
I followed her to find Val's body on the kitchen floor. From what I could see, he somehow managed to trip on a chair that had been placed awkwardly close to the sink. This caused him to drop a drinking glass, hit his head on the kitchen table, and now he appeared to be completely unconscious or suffering a mild seizure.
I made sure his airway was clear and laid him in the recovery position. "You're ok, Val, you're ok." I could feel him trying to reach for my hand. That somewhat distracted from the cut on his forehead. "Kat, could you grab me a bandage?"
I heard her leave, scrambling through a nearby drawer.
"Your patient needs to go to a hospital," my father said as if I was too stupid to think of that myself. "He may have suffered head trauma."
"I got it covered." And why the fuck are you in the house? Val never seemed to have violent seizures, only issues with his eyes and brain. After living with him for as long as I had, I knew what to expect.
Kat brought me the first aid kit, putting on gloves as she took out sterile bandages and wipes.
While I attempted to examine the cut on Val's forehead, my father knelt behind me, checking my work as if he was a college professor. Fuck this. I tried to ignore him, staying focused on cleaning the blood, to examine the extent of the wound. I didn't have a chance to see where Kat was, I just hoped she was making plans to get him away from me. But when he pulled out a penlight, I lost my cool. "What in the mother-of-fuck, do you think you're doing, Dad?"
"Your patient's pupils look off. You should probably call an ambulance to avoid legal liability."
It pissed me off to no end that he was still on the whole head trauma diagnosis. "My patient has a history of seizures."
"Does he have a history of hitting his head and nearly bleeding to death?"
"He's not bleeding to death!" I groaned. Admittedly, my reply came out a little more immature than I could have liked. Val had struck his head on the sharpest part of the table, causing a long cut that nearly reached his eye.
"Still, he would be much better off in a hospital." My father had the good sense to at least back up a few feet, to allow me to work on MY patient.
"No," Val gasped, as he struggled to regain consciousness."N-No hospitals."
"I know." I turned his head to better examine the cut on his face. I needed to get him cleaned up before making any final judgment. And unfortunately, I had to do that in front of my father.
Kat held his hand, gently stroking his palm. "Hey, Dad. It's ok, just relax and breathe." She spoke in a calm and soothing tone. "Are you in any pain?"
"I-I just wanted some water." Val's voice trembled, but as soon as he locked eyes with my father, he somehow developed a renewed sense of strength. "Who the fuck is that guy?"
"Val this is my dad, Don Miller," I said, staying focused on gluing the cut. "Dad meet Vlad Kepler."
There was an akward pause since it's not exactly easy to wave or shake hands with someone in the recovery position. But then my Dad said all that he needed to say. "As a medical professional, I would really recommend that you go to a hospital. My son, while exceptionally skilled in empathy, does not have the ability to check for concussions, blood clots or previously undiagnosed issues."
Val strained as he slowly sat up. "I had a fucking seizure because I haven't had a drink in nearly a week." Val reached for my arm. He gave my wrist a firm squeeze while looking at my father. "This has only been possible because your son inspires me."
I had been unintentionally sober, following the announcement of my impending fatherhood. I hadn't even considered how my decision would impact Val. "Wow, Thanks, Man." I wrapped my hand over Val's fingers, in a show of solidarity.
Kat placed Val's other hand over her pregnant stomach. The cuddled close to him, allowing her father to fully calm. "Jack, why don't you and your dad, head to the garden or the roof patio, and talk shit out."
I was too pissed off. I didn't want to taint the beauty and sanctity of Napa by having a screaming match with my father. "There's a Starbucks a mile south of here."
My Dad looked at me with confusion. "You want to drive to Starbucks?" He tossed me the keys to an Alamo rental car. "Sure, we can drive to Starbucks."
What the fuck kind of power play was this? "You want me to drive your car?"
"Because you know the way," he replied with a shrug. "And if you want to leave, you can walk your ass back to your little clubhouse."
Clubhouse? "Fine. Let's go." I drove his tacky bright blue honda civic to the aforementioned Starbucks, enjoying the AC.
The ride was conversationally silent, with my father scrolling through the radio stations. He did it in a way that was especially annoying, staying on a song just long enough to hear what it was then flipping back to another and repeating on a loop. The trip felt much longer than the time indicated on the clock. "We're here!" I made the shapest turn possibly, squealing the wheels into what was possibly a handicapped parking space.
My father calmly exited the car. "Order whatever you want, it's on me."
"Fine, thanks, Dad." I entered ahead of him, ordering a venti matcha green tea frappuccino, if only because it was one of the most expensive drinks on the menu. Sitting at a table, I locked eyes with my father and his plain black coffee.
"Do you feel you possess the training necessary to guide a patient through his end of life care?" He asked in a polite professional tone, not unlike a job interview.
"Why? Because I never finished my residency? I'm still licensed."
"You are licensed in the same way as a high school student volunteering at a local retirement home."
I rolled my eyes. That could not be correct. "Whatever."
