Phillip

I could've sent Dustin to Dr. Lutz's office to pick up Dad's first set of meds, but in addition to my concerns that Dustin will find a way to mix something up, talking to Dr. Lutz and making sure we're doing everything we can is more important than another meeting that could've been an email.

"The most common side effects are nausea, vomiting, sleepiness. Some experience hallucinations." The doctor hands me a folder with printouts. "The full list is here. Your dad and I discussed what to expect. You'll have to verify that the aid ensures he takes the medication at the times and dosages I recommend. We will re-evaluate in a month, or sooner if any of the side effects become severe." He gives me the warning look. "Your father knows to call me: nights, weekends, if you or he notice that things are worse, not better, let's talk. These are just the first options. There are other possible treatments we can discuss."

"Will do." I stand.

"One more thing." He hands me another folder. "I'd like to test you for Parkinson's as well." My face must reflect my confusion, because he continues. "Even if you have the gene, it won't manifest for years most likely, but it's beneficial to know earlier if you have it and take precautions. If it's genetic, your kids might inherit it as well."

"Sure. What do I do?"

Dr. Lutz relaxes into his chair. After how much persuading he and I had to do with Dad Dr. Lutz is probably relieved, I am so easy. "I'll send you a referral to the study that is working on some newest ways to identify the genes and mutations potentially responsible. It includes genetic counseling to guide you through your results. There're no guarantees. They might not detect anything, and you still might get the disease as genetics is only part of the reason."

"Does my dad know you're recommending this?"

He shakes his head. "That'd be a HIPAA violation. I can't discuss your medical care with him unless you ask me to, like your dad did with his medical records."

I don't want to lie to Dad, but I don't want to worry him if there is nothing to worry about. I give the doctor one of my most charming smiles even though he can't say no to me. I need him on my side. "Maybe let's wait and see what the tests say. This way if there's nothing to worry about, I just tell him the good news."

"He won't find out it from me." He does the zipping his mouth gesture.

I shift toward the door and stop. While I am here, I might as well. I widen my grin. "I was wondering if I could run other tests."

"Is something bothering you?" Gentle smile, soft eyes, relaxed eyebrows—Dr. Lutz's face dawns his ultra professional mask.

"No. I"—I run my hand though my hair—"I'm sorta planning to have a child, and I'd like to make sure everything is working as it's supposed to."

"Everything? Do you need a consultation with a fertility specialist?"

"Not yet, but maybe get checked for whatever we can."

"A blood panel like we do for your annuals?"

"STIs?" Heat rises to my cheeks like when I was fifteen, buying my first condoms at a gas station, and the cashier was inspecting my cheeks that a collection of pimples but had no stubble in sight.

"We can do that. Tell your assistant to schedule a full physical once the results are in." The clickety-clack of his fingers on the keyboard are almost soothing. "We'll discuss and see if you need to see any specialists."

***

With Dad back at the house, I thought I'd have time to talk to him, but between me flying back to New York to leave instructions on what to move here and explaining to Dustin what changes I need at my side of the duplex, I didn't have time for a proper sit-down conversation with Dad. Mrs. Buckingham's pancakes have always been Dad's favorite. Everyone in the house knew the best way to butter Dad up was to start his morning with her pancakes. Bonus points if they had bananas or blueberries in them. Today's version has both.

Dad joins me at the table and puts some on his plate. His hands tremble less since he started on the new medication last week, even though Dr. Lutz and I had to team up to persuade him the side effects were worth the overall improvements he would see. He places a slice of bacon in his mouth and chooses to chew extra slowly.

I load my plate with eggs, pancakes, and bacon, mouthing 'Thank you' to Mrs. Buckingham who gives me a smile and a head-shake as she swirls the metal pot with milk under the nozzle on the espresso machine most coffee shops would envy. Dad's coffee is one ritual he never skips in the morning. Doppio ristretto. Exactly the way he had it in one of the coffee shops he visited in Rome. When he bought this machine in Italy, he also flew in the barista from that shop here for a week, to teach Mrs. Buckingham how to use it.

"What do you want me to do now?" he says.

"This isn't about you. But I'm staying in Chicago." I eat one more bite.

"Staying, huh." Dad pins me with his gaze.

"Yes." By elongating the 'e' I show him I know exactly the kind of game we are playing here. Him trying to get me out of his house and me trying to make him not leave this house. He doesn't know yet that he'll be getting part of his wish.

Dad presses his lips together. "Return to New York. I'll be back at the office next week. There's no need for you to remain in Chicago because of me."

"I have other reasons to stay." I poke at his curiosity to divert his attempt at pushing me away. The noise of the espresso machine ceases. The scraping of my folk over the plate fills the kitchen.

"Is there something you'd like to tell me?" He cocks his eyebrow.

No time like the present. I clear my throat. "I'm going to have a baby."

The breath that escapes from Dad's mouth sounds as if someone punched him. "You got someone pregnant?" His words are both full of hope and shock.

"Not yet. But I will." Like I used to do as a child, I pierce a slice of bacon on Dad's plate with a fork and plop it onto my tongue. The salty grease runs from the corner of my mouth and down my chin.

Dad leans over the table, wipes the drip off and the cloth napkin comes away with a yellowish stain. He sighs again. Dad never shouts. The much quieter technique of signing and giving me looks has worked on me much better over the years than any punishment. I learned a lot of my persuasion tactics from him. He sets the napkin over his barely touched plate of food. "I feel like I need a bit more to go on or would you like me to guess?"

I swallow the partially chewed piece of bacon to cover up the spot of anxiety simmering below my throat. This is Dad. We have no secrets. I can tell him anything. I take a fortifying breath. "This is not a conventional route, but I think this is a good option for me."

With another sigh, Dad rolls his eyes like a professional teenager. "Don't make me drag the rest of the story out of you."

"D'you remember Nata, the tutor I had in college?"

"The reason you graduated with decent grades?" Now both of his eyebrows are up at his receding hairline. "Dark hair? Dark eyes? Innocent-looking?"

I couldn't have described her better. "We met at the reunion. Figured out we both want kids. So we're going to try to have one together."

"You're marrying the woman you haven't seen in fifteen years weeks after you meet again?" His eyebrows fall and the shock from earlier re-appears full force. "How in love with her are you?"

"No, Dad." I lift my hand and wag it between us. "This is not about love. The opposite actually."

Mrs. Buckingham sets Dad's coffee in front of him. "Call me if you need anything else."

She clears Dad's plate and leaves the kitchen, as if we keep secrets from her. If the press ever found a way to make her talk, they'd have enough trade secrets and stories of my personal failures to sustain them for years.

Dad sets his elbows on the table in front of him and purses his lips.

"We made a deal," I say. "We both get a child and there's no need to worry about the romantic aspect of it all."

"Made a deal?" His light tone doesn't fool me. Dad's worried about me. Again.

My neck tenses. 'I'm no longer a child. I'm thirty-seven years old,' I want to say. Instead, I opt for the facts that will show I know what I'm doing this time. "Kit put together the documents. It's official."

His face relaxes. "So, she's going to be a surrogate for you."

"No." Final slice of the pancake I put in my mouth is now cold. "We will co-parent." I set my utensils over my plate. "No relationship drama." I set my napkin next to my plate. "Calm, and reasonable, and logical."

Dad sighs. He's overdoing this whole sighing thing. I grasp the edge of my chair and wait for his punchline. He stretches his lips in a way that he thinks softens blows but in reality only hurts more. "Doesn't sound like you."

I wash my hands over my face. Irritation scratches at my throat. "Maybe because I'm tired of the volatility." My palms fall on the table. "With Nata we each get what we want and I don't have to worry about screwing up another romantic relationship." My voice is sharp, and I already hate myself for overreacting.

"Son, you don't need to do this." Dad reaches over the table and sets his palm on top of my hand. My favorite gesture of support. One I adopted as well. His warmth seeps through my skin and I'm calmer already. He's not wrong to worry. My track record of relationship decisions isn't something I'm proud of. But he can trust me this time. I've learned from my mistakes.

"I was two when you were my age," I say.

"This is not a race—"

"Maybe it wasn't, but with your diagnosis, I don't know how long I have with you." The scratching in my throat changes into a pounding. Thoughts that have been keeping me awake at might break free and form words. "If I can make the last ten years of your life better by giving you a grandkid, I'll do it."

A frown deepens across his forehead. "I'm not asking you for grandki—"

"You don't have to ask," I snap. "I know you want them." I flip my palm over, curl my fingers over his, and shake our hands. How does he not get the urgency? "I want a child too. Why are you trying to make it sound like I'm making a mistake?"

"I have nothing against making mistakes, I've made plenty," he says.

Doubtful. I huff.

Dad's dull gaze catches mine. "I just want you to live your life without trying to get to some arbitrary point because you think I want it."

"No, Dad, I want it too." I walk over to his chair, our hands still clasped, and get on one knee in front of him, so we are eye level again. "The deal is done. It's happening. And I'd love your blessing."

His other hand lands on my head. "I'm not going to stop you, if that's what you are afraid of. It's your life and these are your mistakes." He ruffles my hair like he used to do when I won a match or added another trophy to my shelf. "I'll be here to support you no matter what."

That sounds a lot more like the unwaveringly sweet words of my dad. "I'll be in Chicago for at least six months. Probably longer, because her career is tied to Chicago." I set his hand on his lap and rise. "I get to come visit and annoy you as much as I want to."

"Come visit? You're moving out?"

How I wish Mrs. Buckingham were here to interfere like she did when I told Dad I would live at the frat house on campus and not at home when I started at UChicago. "Don't tell me you'll miss having me squatting at your house again. No parent wants their adult child living with them long-term."

"If you are in Chicago, you might as well live here. Long or short term. I love you. Never think of it as squatting. I'll tell Mrs. Buckingham to pack your things."

That was easy. "I'll still be here several times a week. And Tristan stays."

Dad's game face is back on. "Dr. Lutz said my second set of meds will arrive this week and I should see significant improvement. Can we agree I won't need Tristan then?"

"Dad," I plea. "Do it for me, so I don't have to worry about you."

"Fine. But"—he leans on the arms of the chair and heaves himself up. "Promise me something."

"What?" If he starts negotiations on how long Tristan can stay here, I'll have to remain firm.

"Promise to bring Nata to see me." His fingers rest on my shoulder. "If she'll be my grandchild's mother, I'd like to get to know her as well."

I nod. "I'll ask. As long as she agrees, we'll find a date to do the introductions."

Author's Note

3.23.23

Early post again. But next week the kids' spring break starts and I won't get to posting at least until Sunday. Next chapter Nata and Phillip 'talk shop' and Nata gets an eyeful of something she was not expecting to see (all good things).

Thank you for your support!

Love,

Gala

P.S. If you check out my IG (galarussauthor) you will see a quote of Nata's and Phillip's first kiss. Enjoy the preview.