Chapter 13 — "Home"
996 Words
Her father came home on a Tuesday.
Maya had been awake since five.
She had checked his room four times. The blankets. The lamp. The medication schedule she had typed out and printed and stuck to the wall beside his bed. The window that looked out onto the street — he had always liked watching the street.
Adrian found her in the kitchen at six AM staring at a cup of tea she hadn't drunk.
"Today," he said.
"Today," she said.
He sat down across from her.
He didn't say anything else.
He didn't need to.
They sat together in the quiet kitchen until it was time to go.
The hospital felt different in the morning light.
Familiar now, but not the way it used to be. Not frightening in the same way.
Her father was dressed and sitting on the edge of the bed when Maya walked in. Ready. He had always hated waiting.
He looked up when she came through the door.
And then he looked at the man behind her.
Maya had not told him Adrian was coming.
Adrian had simply gotten in the car.
"Baba," Maya said carefully. "This is Adrian."
Her father looked at Adrian for a long moment.
Adrian looked back.
Neither of them spoke.
Maya considered saying something to fill the silence and then decided against it.
Her father stood up slowly.
He was thinner than he had been. Steadier than two weeks ago but still careful with his movements.
He held out his hand.
Adrian stepped forward and shook it.
"You're the one who paid the bills," her father said.
"It was part of an arrangement," Adrian said.
"I know what arrangement." Her father's eyes were steady. "I'm not as ill as my daughter thinks." He paused. "Are you treating her well?"
Maya made a small sound.
"Baba—"
"It's a simple question," her father said mildly.
Adrian met the older man's gaze.
"I'm trying to," he said.
Her father looked at him for another moment.
Then he nodded once.
"Good. Help me with this bag. My daughter packed too much."
The drive back was different from every other car ride Maya had taken with Adrian.
Her father sat in the back and asked Adrian questions.
Not difficult ones. Just — questions. What do you do. Where did you study. What do you read.
Adrian answered all of them.
Shortly. Carefully. But he answered.
At one point her father said — completely without warning — "Maya used to want to be a librarian. Did she tell you that?"
"She didn't," Adrian said.
"She was nine. She wanted to live in a library and read all day." Her father smiled at the window. "Then she decided she wanted to be a doctor. Then an architect. Then she studied literature."
"I figured out what I was good at eventually," Maya said from the passenger seat.
"You were nine when you were practical," her father said. "After that you just got interesting."
Adrian glanced at her.
She looked out the window.
She didn't say anything. She just looked out the window.
She settled her father in.
Medication at noon. The right cup. The lamp adjusted to the right angle. The book he had been trying to finish for three months placed on the table beside him.
He caught her hand when she turned to leave.
"Maya."
She looked at him.
"He carried the bag without being asked," her father said quietly.
Maya blinked.
"What?"
"At the hospital. I only had one bag. He picked it up without being asked and he carried it all the way to the car." Her father's eyes were warm. "Men who carry bags without being asked — that means something."
"Baba," Maya said carefully. "It's complicated."
"Most things worth having are." He squeezed her hand. "I just wanted you to know I noticed."
Maya looked at her father's hand around hers.
"Rest," she said.
"I will." He let go. "Send him in before you leave. I want to finish the conversation."
Maya stared.
"What conversation?"
"The one we started in the car." Her father picked up his book. "Go."
Adrian was in the small living room.
He was standing in front of the brick bookshelf.
Again.
"He wants to talk to you," Maya said.
Adrian turned.
"What does he want to say?"
"I have no idea," Maya said honestly. "He's unpredictable. I apologize in advance."
Adrian's face didn't change much. But she was starting to notice the small things.
"I'll manage," he said.
He went down the hall.
Maya stood in the living room and listened to the low murmur of voices.
She couldn't make out words.
She wasn't sure she wanted to.
She went to the kitchen and washed the cups.
When Adrian came back fifteen minutes later he was quiet.
"What did he say?" Maya asked.
Adrian looked at her.
"He told me about the flowers," he said.
Maya went still.
"Which flowers?"
"The ones his wife used to buy when they couldn't afford them." Adrian picked up his jacket from the chair. "He said you told him I bought you flowers last weekend."
Maya opened her mouth.
Closed it.
"I didn't — I just mentioned—"
"Maya." Adrian looked at her. Something quiet in his voice. "It's fine."
He headed for the door.
"Adrian."
He stopped.
"Thank you," she said. "For coming today. You didn't have to."
He stood with his back to her for a moment.
"Your father," he said, "is the most direct person I have ever met."
"I know," Maya said. "I'm sorry."
"Don't be." He opened the door. "It's refreshing."
He left.
Maya stood in her small kitchen.
She thought about men who carry bags without being asked.
She thought about refreshing.
She thought about her father who noticed everything and said exactly what he thought.
She looked at the empty doorway.
Four months. She said it to herself.
It didn't help the way it used to.
- Writer
