Page 126 of Alexander: Alexander's Story

“Right.”

I start the coffee, and he pulls out yogurt.

Both of us sit, staring out the breakfast windows into the backyard when Connie walks in.

“Look at this, bright and early, no less!” Today is not the day for Chipper Charlie. “Hey, kiddo, I need you to drive yourself to therapy for the next couple of days.”

“Sure. What do you have going on?” Maybe he finally made a move on hot yoga teacher Linda, whisking her off for a romantic weekend. It tracked that the only person getting laid in this house is the 70-year-old.

“Just a little bit of surgery. Nothing major.” I practically spit out my coffee. Matt actually does choke.

“What the fuck, Dad?” Matt asks.

“What kind of surgery?” I ask.

“Just uh,” he pauses to stretch out his back, “just having part of my colon removed.”

“I thought we said–” Matt starts to protest.

“I’m not doing chemo again, so this is what I’m doing. End of discussion.” It’s hardly the end of discussion. Matt feels the same.

“No, Dad. We talked about this, and everyone on the team agrees that another round of chemo would be the most beneficial.” How many rounds had there been?

“Colon cancer?” I finally ask. Matt ignores me, Connie nods. How had I missed it? Connie hadn’t catered a wellness regimen to kick my ass; this was his pre-existing wellness regimen.

I haven’t seen him eat a cold cut, or have more than half a beer since I started staying here. His meals are consistently 70% greens. He’s active, walking, swimming, and lifting. He’s staving off father time as best he can.

“Does Brit know?” I ask. Matt nods reluctantly. That’s what they’d been talking about that day. It made sense. “Doeseveryoneknow?”

“Hardly,” Connie says. “It’s not something I need the world to know about, okay? I’m still here, I’m still kicking. Just, you know, I also have cancer. A very slow cancer.” I felt like I was just getting Connie back…

“What does Brit think about surgery? Silas? What’s his say?” I ask, trying to crowdsource Connie’s cancer treatment.

“My health isn’t a democracy, boys,” he reminds us. “This is what I’m doing. You can both drive me, and one of you can even hold my hair if you feel the need to do that, too.” He’s joking. He’s fucking joking about having a part of his colon removed.

“What a shitty morning this turned out to be,” Matt says as he scoots his stool back.

“That’s a little on the nose, son.” He’s still joking. Unbelievable.

When Matt shoves the yogurt back in the fridge, Connie stops him with a hand on his cheek. They share a moment, both with watery eyes. Then he pats him, and Matt leaves us.

“What’s got your panties in a bunch?” Constantine asks, taking his spot in the breakfast nook.

“Emma. And I just found out you have cancer?”Where to start?

“Have you heard from her?” He asks, hopefully bypassing any conversation revolving around him.

My nod is slow as I run a hand down my face. “She just needed a document for herdivorce attorney.” The words taste sour against my tongue.

“Ouch.” Connie looks at his watch. “Before 7:00 A.M.?” He whistles.

“It’s not 7:00 in New York,” I say, staring into my coffee, wishing it was a black hole that would swallow me.

“Double ouch,” Connie says, shaking his head.

“Yup.”

Gina walks into the kitchen, huffing. She sets a tray of drinks and a bag of bagels down, and says, “I swear to god, if you two are in bad moods today, I can’t. I won’t, O thíos. Matthias just–”