Page 8 of The Oath We Give

Life is loss.

The in-between spaces in time are just us figuring out how to cope with it. Distractions for all the inevitable experiences, hiding from the fact that morbidly, we all die in the end.

“Almost finished, Mr. Hawthorne, and we can recheck your vitals before letting you get out of here.”

“For a second, I thought my father was going to rise from the dead, Taylor.” A light-hearted laugh tethered to his dad joke. “Scott does just fine, like I said the first several times.”

There is a smile on my dad’s face directed at the young woman in red scrubs, despite currently having his body pumped with chemicals.

He could smile for the rest of the day; it wouldn’t matter. Eyes never lie, and his are painting the picture of a man who is bone-fucking-tired. When the nurse finishes checking the machine and quietly leaves us in the room on our own, I bend down and grab the empty pan on the floor.

My chair scratches the floor as I scoot closer, holding the basin at his chest. Just as smoothly as he’d smiled before, he bows his head and empties what little stomach contents he has.

I let my eyes find the eggshell-white wall in the opposite direction. He hates being viewed as weak, stared at when he’s at his lowest. He always has. I do my best to protect his pride now, trying to think about anything other than this disease that is slowly killing him.

In this very moment, my in-between?

Preparing for my life without my father in it. Bracing myself to teach Levi and Caleb how to live without him. Building the muscles in my shoulders to hold the weight of my mother’s grief.

But there is only so much preparation you can make for death. You can plan the funeral, buy the plot, and read the grief books, but in the end, it doesn’t matter. Death still has a way of sweeping the rug out from under you every time.

The cancer is advanced. We’ve known that from the beginning. These treatments are for my mother, something I think only I know. Dad doesn’t want to die without her knowing he tried to stay with her for as long as he possibly could.

It’s selfish when you take it at face value, cruel to some, but when aren’t people selfish with the people they love?

Besides, Scott Hawthorne doesn’t give up on the things he loves, especially not my mother.

“Sorry,” he grumbles, clutching the napkin in his palm and raising it to wipe his mouth. “Told your mom that yogurt in the fridge was bad this morning.”

Yogurt, right.

Not one of the many harsh side effects of chemotherapy.

“We’ll try oatmeal next time,” I reply, not bothering to say the first bit. He’s not blind, nor is he naïve. He just doesn’t want to admit it out loud to his oldest son. Even though I see right through him.

When do parents realize that after a while, we start analyzing them too?

My father will be nothing if not strong-willed until the day he dies, and I’ll do everything in my power to give him that.

“Have you gone over the data points I sent—”

“My thoughts and appraisal of Sync Tech are already in your email, dad.”

I walk to the trash can, tossing away the soiled bin, before turning back around.

“Do you like the board’s idea of buying them out?”

Computers have always been my thing. They make sense to me; they don’t ask questions, and there is usually a code to fix issues when they fuck up. Understanding my family’s company isn’t an issue; it’s the people that work there.

Humans are not my thing. Have never been my thing, will probably never be my thing. I understand emotions, feel them, but I actively hate them every second of the day. And people? They have a shit ton of them. None of them have a manual. You can’t override their system, and half the time, what you see is never what you actually get.

A sigh leaves me as I walk back to my seat, sinking into the chair. I’m craving a cigarette, seeking anything that takes away the smell of vomit and the clinical scent of hospitals.

These last two years have felt rushed, put on fast forward, as if the world noticed when I’d started to heal and said, “Here. This is everything you missed while you were grieving.”

It’s giving me a permanent headache, all the things I’m having to juggle.

“Their security consulting is impressive. Profit margins are decent. It’s easy to see why the board is interested.”