Page 8 of The Intimacy of Finding You

The moment I stomped out the remainder of my cigarette and swung the doors open, the smell hit me. Disinfectant. Sickness. Despair. Death. It was always the same—always getting stuck in my nostrils, irritating the very lining of them. I hated it here. I hated it so much, I’d rather cut my fucking arm off with a toothpick and no numbing agents.

I walked down the hallway, passing by different rooms and the odd nurse every now and then. I tried to pretend like everything was fine. No big deal. Just a hospital. It was just a hospital. I kept telling myself that as I reached the room I was looking for, walking through the open door.

I put on a fake, beaming smile just for him. “Hey, Pops.”

He looked up, his dreary eyes catching mine. God, he looked so tired. “Callum! My favorite grandson.”

“I’m your only grandson, Papa.” I laughed as I pulled a chair close to his bed, sitting right in front of him. He couldn’t see or hear very well anymore, so I had to be right up in his personal space to have a conversation with him. “How are you feeling this morning?”

“Oh, I feel fit as a fiddle, Cally. I’ll be up and running in no time.”

Frowning, I took his hand from the bed, holding it in mine. His skin was so thin and fragile—like paper, waiting to be torn. He had an almost yellow tint to him that he hadn’t had a few days ago, right before I took him here. His body was constantly fighting and losing, and I was secretly losing my fucking shit at the idea of losing him.

I didn’t say that, though. “Yeah? What did the nurses say today?”

“Well, my blood pressure is looking good. They’re still pumping me full of medicine to keep my heart where it’s supposed to be. They’ll be doing more tests to see if I’m out of the danger zone with the infection, but I feel fine. I told them I wanted to go home, and one of the ladies just looked at me like I was spouting nonsense.”

“As they should, Pops! You’re in no condition to be going home. Infections are no good for you. Especially with your heart the way it is.”

“I’m just old, son.” He patted the back of my hand gently. He was shaky and weak-feeling. “I’ll be alright. Just need to finish those meds they’re giving me, and I’ll be back home where I belong.”

Seeing him get older was pure agony. I couldn’t help the pain. I couldn’t stop time. I couldn’t keep him from losing parts of himself that he prided himself on for so long. He’d raised me, and I couldn’t imagine burying him before I went six feet under, too. I just couldn’t.

I fucking wouldn’t.

So, instead of thinking about it too hard, I gripped his hand just a little bit tighter—only a little bit, as to protect his skin—and laughed with him. I pretended with him. We pretended like time wasn’t our enemy and that the day would never come where I’d have to make a decision for him after his death. Because death didn’t exist. It was a myth. A cruel, punishing myth, just like the universe.

I wanted to tell him I saw Tobi. I wanted to spill every emotion taking up space in my mind and body. We used to do that, he and I. I’d just tell him every single thought that came up in my head, unloading all the weight that held me down in life. He’d take it all, nod along, and then hug me so hard I could barely even think. It’d helped me all the way through my early adult years, but then reality struck.

Tobi left.

And my world had totally fucking collapsed. I’d been weighed down ever since. I refused to weigh Papa down with me, too.

chapter five

Twelve Years Ago

This wasn’t what I expected when Callum asked me on a date. His apartment was small and a bit run-down—the New York special. He said his heater didn’t work very well, so we were both still bundled up in our jackets. I was on the verge of shivering from the cold, wishing the warmer months would come quicker. February wasn’t as bad as December, but it still felt like icicles were clinging to my skin.

Callum stood in front of the flimsy plastic table with a big smile on his face. “I made it myself. I know I’m not as good at cooking as Price or anything, but…” He rubbed the back of his neck and looked to the side.

I couldn’t help but smile a little. Shaking my head, I pulled the chair out from the table and sat down, looking over the spread. He’d covered it with a green sheet, and there was a vase with beautiful white flowers in the center. “I think it looks real nice.”

“Oh, good. I hope it tastes good. I tried a fancy pasta, which I may have gotten the recipe from Price for.”

It looked like it tasted good. Callum always said he wasn’t a very good cook, but I thought he was. I stuck my fork into the penne, watching the cheese break apart and become stringy as I pulled them away. The moment I put them on my tongue, the flavor exploded across my taste buds.

I hummed as I chewed, letting my eyes fall shut. “So good.”

He let out a long, relieved exhale. “Thank god. I thought it was going to taste like shit, honestly.”

“No. I like it. Better than anythin’ I ever tasted back in Tiger Falls.”

“Do you miss it? Home, I mean.”

I looked up at him over the top rim of my glasses, pausing mid-bite. “I, uh. I can’t say I do. It was where I grew up, but it wasn’t a home.”

“I get that.” He finished chewing and grabbed his glass of water. “I wouldn’t call the house where I grew up a home, either. Well, the one from when I was a little kid. Before my grandpa took me in.”