Don’t Make Me Turn This Life Around by Pagán, Camille (top novels of all time txt) 📗

“The place is empty—it shouldn’t be a problem to get a couple of separate booths.”

“We’re happy to watch the littles,” said Toby, and Charlotte pretended to punch him.

Then she looked over at me. “Don’t worry—I’ll be careful about my insulin,” she said.

“Thanks, sweetheart,” I said. “Let me know if you need anything.”

“So how was it?” I whispered to Paul as we trailed behind Shiloh and Charlie, who were chatting about soccer.

“To quote my son, better than a stick in the eye,” he said. “But not by much.”

“Have you told him what you told me when we got home from Puerto Rico?”

Paul’s shoulders slumped. “Yes,” he said in a low voice. “I’ve apologized repeatedly, and he’s accepted each time, but neither of us seems to know where to go from there.”

I didn’t have an answer for that, and anyway, we were nearly at the booth where the hostess was seating us.

“What’s new, you two?” asked Charlie. If he was uncomfortable, he didn’t show it—though then again, the man was a professional actor.

Shiloh cleared his throat. “Um, the big update at the Ross-Velasquezes is that I have a lymph node in my groin that I have to get removed. It’s possible I might have cancer again, so I’ll be going in for a full-body scan in a couple weeks.”

Charlie and Paul looked stricken.

“Sorry to be the bearer of bad news,” added Shiloh.

“Hey, man, it’s not bad news yet,” said Charlie.

“Agreed,” said Paul. “Do the girls know?”

“No, but we’ll talk to them next week, before the tests.” Beneath the table, I reached for Shiloh’s hand. He squeezed it and smiled at me. He looked back at Paul. “I’m lucky to have Libby by my side.”

I saw Charlie’s eyes flit to Paul, who was looking at him. It happened so fast that I almost wondered if I’d imagined it. But no—a glance had been exchanged.

“And I’m lucky to have you,” I told him.

He smiled. “That’s the best part of marriage—in a world full of unknowns, you have a known. That’s basically the holy grail.”

I looked at Paul, not caring if I was being obvious. “Yes,” I agreed. “Yes, it is.”

The following morning, we were standing at the entrance of the cemetery with Paul, Charlie, and the boys. We’d awoken to the sound of rain beating down on the hotel room, but it had since slowed to a drizzle; we huddled beneath black umbrellas that Paul had the good sense to pick up at a drugstore on the way. “You ready?” he asked when I hugged him hello.

“No,” I said, but then I corrected myself. “Yes, I am. I feel like he’s been waiting long enough.”

“I know. We should have done this a while ago, but . . .”

“We’re here now,” I said, and darn it, the dam had burst and here came the flood. Before I could even sniff, Paul was handing me a tissue. I wiped my face. “Let’s go do this,” I said.

The cemetery was located in a small Detroit suburb; our mother had been laid to rest there because it was where her parents and grandparents had been buried. I hadn’t been to visit since Paul and I had made the trip thirteen years ago. As he took my hand and we made our way through the winding path down the center of the rolling hills, I was comforted that little had changed.

But one change was unmistakable: the gray granite headstone that was now beside my mother’s.

PHILIP EDWARD ROSS, 1944–2018

BELOVED FATHER AND HUSBAND

Paul and I had decided on an informal event, knowing it was what our father would have wanted. After Paul spoke quietly with the gravedigger who was waiting for us at the plot, he took a spot beside the gravestone, holding the urn in his hands, and began to speak.

“They say the mark of true character is what a person does when no one else is looking. But growing up as a gay boy in a time and place where that was considered shameful, it was what my father did when everyone else was looking that showed me who he was,” he said. Like me, he already had tears streaming down his face, but he didn’t bother wiping them away. “Dad loved and accepted me and made sure everyone knew that. He never asked me to change a thing about who I was, and because of that, I was able to learn to love and accept myself, too.” He sniffled and paused for a minute before continuing. “I know it was so hard for him after my mother died, and though he didn’t pretend that he wasn’t tired or that he always knew what he was doing, he never once made Libby and me feel like we were a burden to him. Instead, he acted like we were what made his days bearable. He was such a good man.” Paul looked up at me and managed to smile. “Libby, remember what he’d say whenever he screwed up and we called him on it? ‘Gosh darn it, you two, don’t make me turn this life around!’”

I nodded, laughing through my tears.

“Philip Ross was the best man I’ve ever known,” said Paul, his voice barely above a whisper. “And I will miss him every day of the rest of my life, even as I know those days are sweeter because I had the luck of having him as my father.”

He was weeping, but before I could go to him, Charlie took him in his arms. Then Toby and Max put their arms around their fathers, and the four of them held each other and cried.

Please, I thought as I watched them. Please let them figure this out.

“Libby?” said Shiloh, touching my arm softly. “Do you want to say anything?”

I turned to him, which was when my neurons started making all kinds of terrible connections. What if the next funeral I attended was my husband’s? I looked at Isa and Charlotte, who were standing somberly beside Shiloh. All this time