The Boyfriend Project || CTH

FORTY THREE

probably your confused faces when y'all realize i actually updated this story

Safe to say my weeklong vacation to England quickly turned into a short rendezvous. I cried as Calum packed my things back into my suitcase—not that I'd had time to unpack much. I cried in the airport bathrooms after leaving Calum on the other side of the security check. I cried some on the plane, though I did hold a lot of the tears back for most of the time.

My father didn't look as sick as last time when I finally made it to the hospital. But now I've been taking the train to come visit every day for the past five days and I can see the subtle changes in his appearance over time.

His face is starting to look paler, even though he went back to Florida for a week with his girlfriend only a couple of weeks ago. It's also appearing more slim and tired and I can tell that it gets harder for him to laugh with every time that I come by.

Mom comes by a lot too. They might not have been very good as a couple, but they're still some kind of strange breed of best friends.

Calum is getting home today. We've talked over the phone only once since I left England. He's coming straight to the hospital from the airport, only swinging by his and Luke's apartment to drop off his luggage.

I am balancing as I walk back and forth along the red line which runs along the floor in the waiting room when he arrives. "Scotty."

My head shoots up at his voice. "Calum."

He walks over and pulls me into a quick but oh so comfortable hug, then proceeds to look me over with one hand still holding me by the back of my neck, fingers lost in my hair. "How are you doing? How is your dad doing?"

I inhale sharply before speaking. "He's hanging in there, I suppose. The doctor doesn't quite know how long he has left, so I just want to be here for as much of the time as possible. Just in case..."

"Hey, don't think like that. I'm sure you just being here is making him feel better."

"Even I can't make cancer cells retract, Calum."

"Do you need anything? Coffee? I could get you some coffee—"

"Calum," I interrupt his rambling. "Can you just come meet him? We were planning on having dinner soon so you could meet, but that won't really work out now, and he's in a pretty good mood right now as well."

"Yeah, sure, of course I'll meet him." I send him a tight lipped smile and he swings an arm over my shoulders as we walk down the hall to reach his room. "I'm kind of nervous."

"Don't be," I reassure him. "He's not half as bad as my mom, and you manage to come out of that alive. You'll be fine."

I open the door to the private hospital room to find dad sitting upright in mid conversation with his girlfriend who is seated in a chair beside his bed. His eyes light up when he sees me and I pull Calum in as well.

"I'm going to grab some tea," Celia announces, understanding that I'm about to have a talk with my father. She gets off the chair and quickly squeezes my shoulder comfortingly before exiting the room.

"Calum I assume?"

"Uh, yes, sir," he splutters, nervously padding over to shake my father's hand which is attached to some sort of medical equipment— I should have listened to Emma and just watched Grey's Anatomy with her and maybe I would have had more knowledge about hospitals and been more prepared for this.

"Sir?" Dad looks to me with a finger pointed to Calum who looks like he's about to throw up. "Where'd you find this guy?"

"Dad," I smile.

"Call me Rufus."

"Rufus, right, yeah. I'll do that." I walk over to stand next to Calum and I take hold of his hand to hopefully calm his nerves.

"You're the chef?"

"Yes, sir—Rufus."

"I'm counting on you feeding her well then. Keep her away from those Pop-Tarts of hers."

"She'd never see a Pop-Tart again if it was up to me, believe me."

"I trust you with her, so don't do anything stupid, all right?"

"Yes, sir."

"She doesn't like beetroots, and she has terrible allergies come spring—oh, and sometimes she'll do this weird thing with her teeth, you notice when she does it, and her dentist when she was a child said that it's bad because it really wears on her teeth, so if you could just make sure she doesn't do that too much—"

"Dad, what are you doing?" I laugh.

"If I'm not going to be here soon I need to make sure he knows everything about you. You know what, I'll make you a list—"

"Dad, stop it," I say. "You're not dying, you're just not."

"Skittle, death is part of life."

"Not when you're fifty three. That's only about half your life, that's why they call it having a mid life crisis."

He ignores me and addresses Calum. "Have you ever smoked, son?"

"Uh," I can see the battle taking place behind Calum's eyes. "Yes."

"Don't," my father tells him. "If you ever find yourself picking up a cigarette, then you will break up with my daughter. I can't have another important person in her life flunk out on her because of a habit not worth the light of day."

"Yes, sir."

"Seriously, where'd you pick him up? Charm school?"

"Dad," I cut in. "Why don't you tell Calum about the time you dropped out of culinary school in France back in the eighties? I think he'd enjoy the anecdote."

"All right, so it all started with the eggshell incident of eighty five..."

...

well that only took forever.

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