Growler stands in the open doorway. I refuse to call him Growler, mostly to annoy my brother. In my opinion, Stephen suits him much better.
He knocks on the open door. “Is this a bad time, guys?”
“You’re kidding, right?” Vance smirks. “That’s the dumbest question ever, Growler. Seriously? Yeah, this whole thing is a bad time. In fact, it’s the worst fucking time I’ve ever had in my whole fucking life.”
My mouth hangs open, probably wider than my father’s. Doesn’t Vance know that people have no clue what to do with suffering? With death? I’m not saying I’m, like, an expert on dying, but impending doom definitely increases insecurity. “He was just trying to be thoughtful, Vance. Relax.” I stand and offer my seat to Stephen. I can tell he’s wildly uncomfortable about taking it. My chair is directly next to my father’s head.
“No, no, dude. Sit down. I can’t stay very long,” Stephen says.
I nod and resume my position. “Well, thank you for coming.”
“Are you kidding me? Visiting is the least I could do.” Stephen smiles and shifts his stance. “My mom said that you guys are welcome to stay at our house, you know, if you need to.”
Vance and I stare at him. My wheels are turning. So Stephen’s mom is inviting us to live with them? I don’t want to do that. Will we have to live with them when Dad dies? What if we can’t stay in our house? I’m faced with a vast sea of overwhelming questions. My palms get moist.
Growler clears his throat. “So, how’s he doing?”
Vance huffs. “He’s dying. That’s how he’s doing.”
I stand and say to Stephen, “Wanna come with me to get a soda?”
Stephen bobs his head.
I whisper to my brother, “He’s here because he cares about you and Dad. Why can’t you see that?”
“Shut the hell up! Don’t tell me how I should feel. Isn’t that what you’re always shouting to me and Dad? Take a big friggin’ dose of your own medicine.” Vance leans back in his chair, drops his head, and says, “Sorry, Growler.”
“Stop, dude. No apology necessary.” Stephen stands up. “It’s all right. I know you’re stressed out. I get it. Seriously, don’t sweat it.”
I motion Stephen out into the hall.
“Maybe I shouldn’t have come,” Stephen says to me. His eyes search mine for reassurance.
“He’s been attacking everyone. He’s even rude to the nurses. It’s not you.” I take in a huge breath, wipe my palms on my jeans, and look away. That’s all I’ve got in me to let him know that coming was a really kind thing to do.
“It’s okay. I’d probably be the same way.”
My brow pinches. He’d never be the same way. Stephen’s support was one of the main reasons I made it through my mother’s wake and burial. He’d repeatedly checked on me, Vance, and my father. Besides the funeral home people, he was the only one who did. “You’re not the same, Stephen.”
He grins at hearing his real name, locks eyes with me, and nods. Maybe I’ve said too much. Stephen-Growler is Vance’s friend, not mine.