Loving the Nurse by Piper Sullivan

Gus

“Put those wine bottles in the canvas bag, please.” The bag boy pretended not to hear me, but the way he grunted told me he’d heard me just fine, that and the overly dramatic way he removed all three bottles from the bags and put them in one bag. “Thank you.”

“Whatever,” he practically growled at me.

“Nice manners,” I shot back and pushed my cart away, deciding that his snotty attitude did not warrant the tip he would have gotten for helping me load the bags into the trunk. I was an able-bodied woman, sure my able body had a little too much cushion in certain spots, but I was working on it, and I was perfectly capable of loading my own groceries. And unloading them.

For the past few months I was doing double shopping duty on my days off, picking up enough food for me and for my father to last at least a few days, if not a full week. One of my biggest victories of the past year was convincing him to move to Jackson’s Ridge so we could work on our strained relationship. Even though he had given up the bottle more than a decade ago, we were both too stubborn to let go of the past before now.

You’re probably asking yourself what in the hell he had to be upset about, well that was my question at first too. It turns out that being a self-sufficient daughter of an alcoholic made one insufferable. That’s right, he was upset with me for taking care of him and myself when I was just a kid. It had taken a few months to get used to being in each other’s lives again, but now we could at least be in the same room without fighting.

Bickering, yes. Fighting, no.

“Who told you it was all right to just walk inside my house?” Dad’s voice rang out with the crystal clarity I’d never heard in my childhood, but the grumpy tone I remembered well. “What if I was entertaining a woman in here?”

I stood between his oversized recliner and his oversized television, blocking his early afternoon entertainment, arms full of groceries for him.

“Then I would have gotten quite an eyeful, but you know Dad, it wouldn’t be the first time I caught you having sex.” It happened on a regular basis after Mom split, a revolving door of drunken bar bunnies who didn’t care who they took home or went home with, as long as they didn’t end the night alone. Dad was happy to oblige, because it gave him a drinking and sex partner for the night. And me, well I was just happy he made it home safely every night. “I’ve caught more than my fair share of older couples getting it on in the hospital. Must be something about dodging death that gets them all hot and bothered.”

Dad’s lips twitched even as he tried to narrow his gaze for another glare. Eventually, the smile came, slow and wide. “Who you callin’ old?” He pushed his lanky frame up from the recliner and took the bags from my hand.

“If the grey fits, old man.” He barked out a laugh and set the bags down on the kitchen table with a fake grunt. “Do you even know any ladies to entertain?” As far as I knew, he hadn’t dated since moving to Jackson’s Ridge nearly a year ago.

Oliver Thompson was as stubborn as the day was long, and I knew he wouldn’t answer the question. “That’s not proper talk for fathers and daughters,” he admonished with a frown.

“It is when they are both adults, so tell me about all these women you entertain while I’m busy working.”

“I can do my own shopping these days, Augusta.” Avoidance had always been one of his favorite strategies to get out of difficult conversations, and this time I let it slide.

“I’m well aware of that, Dad. But I also know you’ll end up with a fridge full of frozen meals, chips and every flavor of soda the grocery store has to offer.”

Dad rolled his eyes and folded his arms while he fixed me with a glare only a father could produce. “That was one damn time, and only because they were on sale, five bottles for five bucks. That’s ten liters of pop for a fiver, little girl and where I come from that’s considered a deal.”

Not when you factor in the dental costs that will come later, or buying bigger pants. Or diabetes medication.”

He waved off my concerns. “You worry too much, Gus.”

“Maybe you worry too little. It’s a known fact that single men don’t take care of themselves and married men live longer.”

His green eyes, just a smidge lighter than my own, went wide and he let out a loud, guffawing laugh. “Now you’re trying to marry me off? What the hell, girl?”

“I’m not trying to marry you off, Dad. I just want to keep you healthy.” I put a few items in the fridge and groaned. “I’ll stop doing groceries for you when you start buying things like fruits and vegetables.”

He scoffed. “Damn things taste like cardboard.”

“They do not! You ate three helpings of broccoli mac & cheese last week.”

He smiled. “Yeah that was good, even with the broccoli in it.”

“Then this discussion is over.”

He grumbled his disapproval and reached inside the fridge for the apple juice I just put in there. “You staying for lunch today?” He asked the same question each time I stopped by with groceries, and every time, without fail, I felt a little warmth in my chest that he actually wanted me around now.

“Yep. I thought we could try something new today.”

Dad dropped down onto one of the wooden kitchen stools and sighed. “What is it this time? Raw butterfly stomachs with a ketchup aioli?”

“Ew, gross.”

“Well, I dunno with all the strange foods you force me to eat these days. You on some kind of cleanse?”

“Strange? Is that why you eat until your belly aches?”

He shrugged. “I didn’t say it wasn’t good, I said it was strange.” His lips twitched again and I shook my head.

“It’s called char Siu.” I had saved Antonio’s step-by-step video from last week and bought all the ingredients today. It looked simple enough, I was confident I could manage. “It’s Asian and it’s pork, but what you’ll love most is that you get to fire up the grill.” I couldn’t help but smile when Dad jumped up and smacked his hands together with excitement.

“Then consider me on board and in charge of manning the grill.” He shuffled towards the back door and his small back yard that was mostly filled with a picnic table, bench seats and a whole area dedicated to the fine art of grilling. This was the version of my dad I’d dreamed of, and wished for all my life.

It was better late than never, that’s what I told myself every time. There was a time I didn’t think Dad would ever put the bottle down, so I hadn’t hoped for it, didn’t wish for things to be different. But it had happened, and without any pushing from me, so I took every good moment we had together and I cherished it.

With Dad busy in the yard tinkering with the grill, I set my phone up on the little stand I bought for dad so he could listen to music or sports while he worked in the kitchen.

“Let’s see if you’re as good a teacher as you are a brooding bad boy,” I told the thumbnail and then pressed play.