House Calls by the Doctor [8]

Forty

I spent the rest of Saturday with my parents.  My father continued to go downhill at a rather alarming rate.  We'd been warned by an army of doctors and caregivers and all the medical science showed that the last stage of Alzheimer's was often quick and brutal but even I wasn't unaffected when he didn't remember my name.  It was a bad day and he would have more good ones but he was slipping down a very steep slope.

I cleaned my apartment and did my grocery shopping and woke up Sunday with absolutely nothing to do.  I went for a run, spent two hours adjusting the pictures in my bedroom and played World of Tanks until lunch.  And then I grabbed Christopher's letter and got in the car.  Waiting was ridiculous; this situation needed dealt with.  He was running away so I would go to him.

I knew he might not be at home but at the very least I would deliver my letter.  Afterwards I could handle the last things at the house and crash at Kevin's for dinner.  It was a shame I'd missed brunch.  I got lucky; Christopher was home.  I could hear his TV through the door.  I knocked sharply four times.

The TV dimmed and I heard footsteps at the door, then a man's voice say "I think it's Greg?"

There was shuffling and silence and a pause so long I thought they might try to hide from me.  I considered knocking again.  I considered trying to salvage my pride and prevent an uncomfortable encounter by slipping the note under the door and leaving.  I considered taking it with me.  And then the door opened.  My boy. "Hi?"

I tried to smile but it was mixed with a weird grimace because I couldn't quite sort myself out and there was just so much going on.  "Hello."  I held out the note awkwardly and he took it.  I was torn between not making things worse and busting in there to see who he was with.

"Oh, what's this?"

"A letter.  Did you get the contract?"

"Yeah.  I uh, need some time."

Fine.  But I needed some answers.  "How are you?"

"I'm... I don't really know."

"Your ribs?"

"Not too bad.  I got an x-ray and they're fine.  One almost invisible hairline fracture and one a bit worse.  They said I'd be good as new in three or four weeks. They're feeling better already unless I cough or take a really deep breath."

"Good.  I apologize."

"It wasn't... it's fine.  It just happened.  It was an accident."

I nodded, he was right.  "I'd like to see you this weekend."

"I can't."

I'd gotten the message.  "But you can see him?"

"You don't understand."

"No I don't.  Explain it.  Use little words and I might be able to figure it out."

"Don't be mean, I don't think that about you."

It was closer to the truth than he realized, maybe.  "Maybe you should."

"No, look.  Greg?  I haven't left my house in a week except to go to the doctor and Ollie had to drag me to that.  I can't... I just uh, can't.  I ordered two pizzas the other day because I couldn't face ordering again and having to answer the door. I'm just not functioning.  I just can't."

He needed help.  Help that whoever was here obviously wasn't providing.  I couldn't stand here any longer while some random man was on my boy's couch doing nothing.  "Do you have groceries?"  I walked in, I wanted to get a look.  It had been a concern of his but he was obviously home enough to cook now.

"Um, no.  Nick brought muffins though."

I threw open the fridge door.  It was nearly empty.  "Nice of him."  All I could see as I had passed by were shoulders, a lean neck and a head full of curls.  But from here I could see his profile.  Damn he was cute.  Nothing like me and I wondered if Christopher had a type.  I did.  Most did, didn't they?  Did that mean Nick wasn't his?  Or that I wasn't?  "I'll go to the store."

"You don't have to--"

"I'll be back.  Can you read the letter while I'm gone?"

"I don't know if--"

"Please."  I met his eyes until he looked away.

"Okay."

Shopping for someone else is hard.  Very hard.  My mother always gave me a list and I had grown up in their house so I knew which brands she liked.  Christopher was more of an enigma.  I tried to repeat my mother's mantra in my head:  'Trying is always better than doing nothing'.  I would try.  I got him frozen shrimp that would keep until he made a stir-fry and a rotisserie chicken with mashed potatoes and cornbread that he wouldn't have to cook at all.  I added some eggs, a few fruits and vegetables and a box of oatmeal to the cart.  I got a small loaf of bread and some sliced turkey and a bag of chips.  And then, because I knew he liked it, I grabbed him a carton of ice cream.  It would be something.  At least he would have options other than pizza and muffins.

He opened the door a bit quicker this time and blanched at the three bags I was holding .  "That's a lot of food." 

"Most of it will keep.  It's easier to empty a fridge than to fill one, is it not?"  I put away the perishables quickly.  It wasn't hard; there was more than adequate space.

"Yeah it is, thanks.  For the help.  And the letter."  He crooked his finger and I followed him out the front door and into the hallway.  Apparently he didn't want Nick to hear.  "I just need some time to make sure."

At least combative, disrespectful Christopher seemed to have taken a back seat during our time apart the past week. It was something.  "How much?"

"Tuesday's too soon and I can't do next weekend.  What about the Tuesday after?"

Nine days was at least a week longer than I wanted to wait. "Nine days from now?" 

"Yes.  Can you give me that?"  He asked so earnestly and seemed to need it so much that I couldn't be angry.

"If I must.  I'll text you the reservation information."

"Okay.  And... thank you.  For the groceries and the letter."

"You're welcome, Chris."

"Greg?"  I was halfway down the steps but stopped and turned.  "You didn't fail me.  I did."  And then he disappeared, the door closing softly behind him.