Page 104 of The Man I Hate

I gave Braxton a quick once-over.

I smirked. “He sounds like someone else I know.”

“That was the old me,” he said. “The new me isn’t like that.”

“Oh, he’s not?” I asked with a note of sarcasm.

“No, he’s not.” He kissed me. “The new me only fucks wannabe nurses, not real ones.”

Braxton

We had driven from Los Angeles to San Diego to pick up my father. The day after they administered the experimental medication, he was capable of breathing on his own. Two days later, they were ready to release him. Although he hadn’t fully recovered, staying in the hospital was no longer necessary. He didn’t know it yet, but he was going to be living at my home until I felt he was strong enough to be on his own.

My father was like the THC-laced edibles peddled in So-Cal’s many marijuana shops. A little bit of him made most people smile, but a large dose could end catastrophically.

As we approached the hospital, the thought of having him in the home was proving to be more than I could bear.

“Is it the excitement, or is there something wrong?” Anna asked. “You seem, I don’t know, tense.”

I stared straight ahead. Visions of him going on a rampage about how I’d infected him with the disease came to mind. They were promptly replaced with vivid recollections of how he treated my ex-wife.

They got along like a mongoose and a snake.

I glanced in Anna’s direction. “Nothing’s wrong—”

“Why do you seem so anxious?”

I hadn’t lived with him since I was eighteen years old. As excited as I was to see him, the thought of having him in my home—especially with Anna present—made me as nervous.

“He’s just. He can be overwhelming,” I said. “He’s very opinionated.”

“You guys get along well, though. Right?”

I’d seen my father every Sunday for as long as I could remember. I couldn’t imagine life any other way. Having him in my home on a semi-permanent basis was a different story altogether. I wanted to explain matters to Anna but doing so without making him sound like an absolute asshole would be impossible.

“We do and we don’t. He’s…I don’t know how to explain it. He’s got an opinion about everything.”

“Most elderly men do,” she said. “I know my father did.”

“It’s not as simple as that. I guess you’ll just have to see.”

“All you’ve done for three weeks is complain because he’s in the hospital,” she gave me a condescending look. “I think you should be happy.”

“I am happy. I’m just. I guess,” I stammered. “I don’t know. I’m worried.”

She laughed out loud. “Worried? You? Mister ‘I’ve been shot, stabbed, and survived roadside bombs’ is worried?”

I shifted my eyes from the freeway to her. “I’d rather be shot again than have him living with me. Us. This is going to be interesting I’ll promise you that.”

She gave me an apologetic look. “I don’t have to stay at your house. I can go home, you know.”

My desire to have Anna stay was as strong as my desire to have my father elsewhere.

“You’re staying.” I shot her a glare. “End. Of. Discussion.”

“Okay, Boss.”

As instructed by the hospital’s staff, we pulled up to the administration entrance of the hospital. The vehicle rolled to a stop. I glanced at the building. The hospital’s western-facing glass was tinted, but not so much that I couldn’t see through it. A tall mask-wearing orderly was standing beside a wheelchair. My father’s arms were waving in every direction, and his mouth was moving a mile a minute. An armed security guard at their side appeared to be taking mental notes of the event.