—Blake—

One of the best things about owning my own company was, occasionally, being able to work from home. I may have to work, but I got to do it from the comfort of my own study. And in my pajamas, if I so chose. Which, on this particular day, I chose. Danny and I just couldn’t work from home on the same day.

Because…reasons.

At the sound of the doorbell, I stood up and cracked my back. What had it been last time? Jehovah’s Witnesses, I though. It was probably the Mormon’s this time. They seemed to coordinate, somehow.

To my surprise, however, it was Brianna, looking distressed, on the other side of the door. As soon as I opened it, she stepped inside, wiping at her teary face.

Maybe Dad had kicked it with unexpected haste. “Bri? What happened?”

She sniffled. “I’m not a match.”

“A match?”

“For Dad! I got tested to see if I could donate a lobe of my liver.”

I stared at her in shock. “You were going to donate a piece of your liver? To him?”

She glared at me. “He’s our father, Blake. I’d do the same for you or Mom or…” At least she had the good sense to hesitate over the Brother-Who-Would-Not-Be-Named.

I sighed softly. “Bri…”

“Don’t ‘Bri’ me!” Wow, does she sound like Mom. “If he doesn’t get a direct donation, he’s going to die, Blake. He can’t go on the transplant list—“

“Because he’s an alcoholic.”

“So he has to get a donation from one of us. You have to get tested.”

My eyes widened. “Me? I wouldn’t give that man a dirty tissue much less a piece of my liver.”

“So you’ll just let him die?!”

I sighed harshly and scrubbed a hand over my face. “What do you think he’d do if I did give him a piece of my liver? Do you think he’d change? Turn his life around, get his job back, quit drinking? No. He’d burn through it just like he did his own—if he even kept up with the anti-rejection therapy to begin with.”

“Blake,” my sister said pleadingly.

I took her arm and guided her over to the couch. “Brianna, why is this so important to you? It’s not like Dad has ever been great to you. You only got treated slightly better than me.”

“He’s our father. Our blood.”

“Yeah, that didn’t stop him from shitting on me or disowning me, did it? Who, exactly, are you trying to save—the father we have or the father you wish we had, Bri?”

Brianna buried her face in her hands.

That evening, long after Brianna had left, I sat in the living room. In the kitchen, I could hear Danny putting together something for dinner.

I pulled my phone out of my pocket and dialed Mom’s number but didn’t hit send yet. I hadn’t talked to her since that disastrous day I’d stopped by. I doubted she was still mad at me; in my experience, she’d never been one to hold grudges. I needed to talk to her. I hit call.

Her voice picked up after a few rings. “Hello?”

“Hey, Mom.”

“Hi, honey,” she said warmly, without a trace of her previous anger. “What’s up?”

I sighed. “It’s Brianna and Dad. Did she tell you what’s going on with him?”

“She did. It’s a terrible shame.” She sounded sympathetic but not altogether that sad. I could hardly blame her.

“She came by today. I guess she’s not a match for him. She wants me to get tested and donate part of my liver.”

Mom was quiet for a moment. “Are you going to?”

I let out a breath. “No.”

“It’s alright,” she said quietly. “You know that, right? You don’t have to subject yourself to that for anyone, especially not him.”

Tension I’d been carrying around all day finally eased out of my shoulders. I hadn’t even realized how much I’d needed to hear that. Danny had said basically the same thing, of course, but this was different.

“Brianna doesn’t see it that way.”

“She’s always wanted to see more in him than is there. Just like I used to. You don’t owe him anything.”

As good as it was to hear her say that, I couldn’t help but find it ironic. She could feel this way about Huy but not Brad.

“Mom…you don’t owe Brad anything, either. You did the best that you could. The way he is now…that’s his choice.”

The line went quiet. It was quiet for so long, I thought the call had been dropped. Then she said in a quiet voice. “He’s my son.” The line went dead.