Damien was at the top of his career path, one of the most eligible bachelors in New York if the rumors were true, and I was… a thirty-two-year-old single woman who worked at a pizzeria.
My phone buzzed in my pocket, and I brought it out. My twin sister’s name flashed on the screen.
I so wasn’t in the mood for bad news.
“Kara,” I answered.
“Hey, sis.” Kara whined it out. Drunk. Great, exactly what I hadn’t wanted to hear. “Where are you?” Music thumped in the background, nearly drowning out her voice.
“I’m on the way home from work.” I made my way down the sidewalk. I’d parked a block away in front of a convenience store because there was no space near the pizzeria. And because it was closer to home and gave my old broken-ass Honda less chance of breaking down on the way home.
“Work! Biiitch, you should be out here living your best life.”
“Kara, is there a point to this conversation?” All I wanted was to get home, check on Dad and Mr. Piddlywump, my cat, take a warm, cleansing bath, and wash off the dirt from Damien’s stare.
“Listen, listen, listen… Hold on.” She fumbled and shouted something.
I held the phone away from my ear, grimacing.
Kara and I were opposites. She was the party-girl version of me. One who didn’t have any qualms about not owning up to her responsibilities—maybe that was a judgmental thing to say, but sheesh. It was a Monday night.
“Kara?” I put the phone to my ear again, tracking down the street and ignoring a stare from a passing dude in a clear state of inebriation. There was a bar around the corner, but I doubted that was where my sister had gone. “Hellooo.”
“Hey, who’s this?” my sister yelled into the phone.
“It’s Hazel!”
“Oh, hey sis,” she replied, slurring a little. “I’m here with Timmy. He says hi.”
“Hi Timmy,” I said, because I knew Kara, and she wouldn’t let it go until I greeted the guy who couldn’t even hear me right now.
“Guess what?”
“What?”
“I got an audition tomorrow! Hell yeah!”
“That’s great, Kara. Congratulations.” I injected enthusiasm into my tone.
“Yeah! OK, I’m gonna go party the night away.”
“Have fun!” She hung up before I even got the words out, and I was back to thinking about Damien again. Ridiculous, since I had more important things to worry about. Damien would have to stay in the past.
I wouldn’t run into him again anyway, and if he called for another pizza? I’d get one of the other delivery guys to drop it off. Simple.
Five minutes later, I reached my car, checking all around to ensure the coast was clear—I was overly conscientious about not getting mugged or attacked. There were worse ways to be as a woman nowadays. I got in, locked all the doors, and rested my head on the steering wheel.
“Keep it together,” I whispered. “It will get better. You’ll make this work.”
I started the car and reversed out of the parking lot. The car ride over to our house on Parrish was a total loss—I did nothing but chew on the inside of my cheek and try not to think about how miserably wrong everything had gone in my life.
Dumb way to end a shitty night. After all, I wasn’t going to let a thing like the complete collapse of my hopes and dreams stop me from well… attaining my hopes and dreams.
I had to be stronger than that. For me and for Dad. And for Mr. Piddlywump. Kara too, if she ever stopped partying long enough to catch up with the real world.
I put the car in park, got out, and bumped the door shut with my hip, looking up at the tiny clapboard house, all straight up and down, two stories and narrow, that was my childhood home. My dad was inside, likely in bed by now.
He was always tired.
I huffed out a breath and headed for the concrete front steps. I let myself in and was greeted by the tinkle of the bell on Mr. Piddlywump’s collar. I bent and scratched under his chin, receiving purrs from the ginger in return. He bumped his head against my palm.
“Hey,” I whispered. “Boy, am I glad to see you.”
“That you, Nut?” My father’s voice croaked from the living room. Blue light flashed from the open doorway.
He sat in his recliner, a tartan blanket half on and off his lap. He was pale, his cheeks gaunter than they should’ve been, and his smile was… not the joyful one I’d grown up with. Gone was the man who had lifted me on his shoulders, played the guitar for me, taken me to dance recitals.
This man, Frank McCutcheon, was ill. Wasting away.
“Hey, Daddy.” I walked over and kissed him on the forehead. “Thought you’d be sleeping by now.”
“Staying up for a special.” He pointed to the TV. “Besides, I couldn’t sleep till you got in, Nut.” It was his special name for me. Short for “hazelnut.”
“You don’t have to wait up for me.” I shot him a small smile. “Can I get you anything, Pop? Something to drink? I can make that tea you like.”
“Naw, naw, I’m good.”
I gave him one last kiss on the head then headed for the hall—it was time to wallow in the bath and forget about Damien and the horror of the day. I would worry about Kara, but it was pointless. My sister wouldn’t let me baby her, even though she was younger by a couple minutes.
“The deal went through,” my dad said, as I reached the doorway.
I froze, a shock of relief and sorrow passing over me in waves.
“They’re giving me what I need,” he replied, “to pay the hospital bills.” A silence. “I’m sorry, Nut. I know running the café was your dream. I’ve let you down.”
“No, Dad.” I turned, forcing a too-bright smile. “No way. I’m glad you sold it. If it means you can get the treatment you need… That’s
