My mother was screaming at me in Spanish. Even holding my phone away from my ear, I could hear her as clear as day and it was getting fucking annoying. I was tempted to simply hang up on her. However, I knew she had a smart phone of her own and would likely call back over and over, until my battery died (and then she would proceed to fill my voice mail inbox with further anger, guilt and hate.) I didn't even speak Spanish. (I could hold a polite conversation or order a meal, but the rest was gibberish. And my mother knew that.) All I wanted was answers, but I'd settle for a break in the yelling. "You finished now, Mama?"
She took a breath, calming herself enough to switch to English. "No, I'm not finished. I am very upset and disappointed in you!"
"I'm twenty-three, you don't get to pull that crap on me anymore."
"Oh, you act so brave all the way in Montana."
"South Dakota."
"Whatever! you're still my child, my little boy. I raised you as a single parent, I gave up everything for you."
"You gave up being a dancer."
My mother cleared her throat, forcing back her anger. "What else has your father been telling you?"
"You were the one who started the divorce proceedings, with the goal of cutting him out of our lives."
"Well, at least he's not a liar."
"Really, Mom? And what did he do to deserve that?"
"He cheated on me with a man! Several actually. I don't know the exact number."
"When?"
"What do you mean, when?
"When did it start? When did you catch him?" I asked like a police officer, questioning the truth of her story.
"I don't want to discuss this, not with you!"
"Why not?"
"Because you're my son. I raised you to be a God-fearing young man, who could live a life free of sin."
The fact that she brought up the s-word, caused me to double over with laughter. "You can't be serious."
My mother muttered in Spanish, shouting and cursing before switching back to English to secure my eternal damnation. "That bastard has you brainwashed, doesn't he? I always knew this would happen! Watch your ass; you're just his type, he always goes for the younger ones. that's how he lost his first major job. Did he tell you that?"
She didn't wait for a response before sharing her version of the events. "It was a Michelin star restaurant, a wonderful opportunity with great potential. And he fucked the headwaiter!"
There was an awkward moment of silence.
"Yes, Jeffery, ask your saintly father about that!" My mother then hung up on me.
Leo approached, patting me on the back. "Wow, it went that well, huh?"
"She doesn't have the right to be upset at me." I said as I hurled my phone across the room. thankfully it landed on carpet, so I didn't have to do the walk of shame to pick it up. "She's the one who filled my head with lies! She just assumed I'd believe her; I'd take her side, like a loyal dog, for the rest of my life."
"Or her life," Leo said with a chuckle. "Unless you believe that angry Hispanic mothers can beat your ass from beyond the grave."
My father entered the kitchen navigating with the use of his cane. "Who are we talking about?"
"Nothing much," Leo muttered, "Just Jeff's total bitch of a mother."
"Don't talk like that," my dad said with a sarcastic laugh. He reached for a chair making himself comfortable in his open robe. "No woman is a bitch. Although some of them are evil cunts, like my ex-wife."
All I could do was sigh. "So, where's Tomas? Is he still in bed?"
"You're asking the blind man?" my dad held out his hand, and like magic, Leo placed a cup of coffee in his grasp. "Thank you kindly, Sir."
"I prefer private," Leo said with a giggle. He stroked a finger to Richard's cheek, tracing along his jaw.
Before my father could offer a cheeky 'dad-joke' comeback, I caught sight of the nurse returning from a morning walk. "Tomas!"
"Good morning, Jeff." He raised his chin to say hello since his hands were full of coffee and doughnuts.
"Can we talk?"
"Certainly, what do you wish to discuss?" Tomas handed Leo the tray of hot drinks before putting the doughnuts on the table. "Just allow me a second to check on my patient." He took a seat beside Richard, carefully gripping my father's wrist. "Your pulse seems to be stabilized." Tomas rested his thumb in my father's palm, as if to gently massage his hand. Any more panic attacks?"
"Not sense last night. The pain's been pretty manageable." My father placed his hand to his chest, rubbing his collarbone, down his sternum.
I was more than a little concerned. "You had a panic attack?"
Richard's hand trembled slightly as he took a sip of his drink. "Just some chest pain, nothing a little portable oxygen couldn't fix."
Tomas gave Richard's free hand a comforting squeeze. "Are you sure you don't need any morphine?"
"I'm good, Tommy. I promise."
"You tell me if you need anything. And if I'm not here, tell Leo, ok?" Tomas stood up. "So, Jeff are you ready to go on a lovely walk?"
"Yeah," I said with a forced smile. I wanted to ask about his academic grant but now I also wanted to know what happened after I put my father to bed in the main room.
Tomas started walking, his stride wider and stronger then my own. He was like one of those Olympic power walkers; people who might as well be running.
