Morgan and I are so deep in the throes of wedding planning that we have resorted to visiting the Mecca of the Bride-To-Be: The Florida Wedding Expo.

Thousands of women on the verge of becoming Mrs. Somebody, plus the accompanying required entourage have converged upon the downtown Hyatt Regency, practically frothing at the mouth at the display of decadence and frill that could be applied to the wedding of their dreams. Dresses- bride, bridesmaid and mother of the bride, tuxes, flowers, invitations, and decorations from regal and understated to comically overblown are packed into 3,000 square feet of event space.

Morgan intends to walk every inch of it, clutching a binder that we lovingly refer to as The Wedding Bible. And boy is this book sacred. All of her notes, business cards, quotes, ideas, random thoughts like ‘I think my colors should be blush and bashful' all go into the Bible. When I have to arrange something or refer to something for her, everything is in one place.  

We start at one end of the room that looks like Barbie's wedding on speed and move slowly from table to table, collecting cards and samples, checking out wedding couture fashion shows, looking at invitation designers. I glance around, slightly dizzy from the view and realize I am clearly in the wrong business.

In law, people expect to get a lot for a little bit of money, not realizing everything I do, just about, is a billable action. Mention the word wedding and the price of anything from food to music to stupid table doilies goes up fifty percent. Imagine if a caterer, dress designer, invitation printer billed by tenths of an hour? If I could stand this industry, I'd consider a career change.

Halfway through the room, we are toting cute little bags full of swag and our feet are aching. We take a seat in the refreshment area and I buy us each a Coke.

"Are you getting good ideas?"

We're not purchasing any services at this Expo. We're here to get ideas to convey to the team at Rendezvous. I pop the top on my can of soda and slurp down a mouthful. It's ice cold and I want to moan at how refreshing it is after talking for an hour.

She nods, opening her can as well but daintily sipping.  "A few. I don't want it to be overdone, you know? Enough to be classy and fun but not too much."

"I would never let you have a wedding that was too much."

Morgan beams a smile at me as she sips her drink. "That's why I had to have you as my Maid of Honor."

"Oh really? Cause I'm so skilled at wedding planning? Not the fact that you're my oldest friend?"

"I'm not your oldest friend. JC is. But good luck dragging him to one of these things right?"

I roll my eyes at the mention of JC. We can't go a day without someone bringing him up. "He'd spend the whole time telling everyone we're the happy couple and trying to get free stuff."

We chuckle and sip and watch people-frantic brides barking orders and trailing assistants dragging bags and taking notes.

"So, I never told you that you did a good job smoothing things over with him."

I nod. "Yep. I can grovel with the best of them."

"I didn't mean for you to have to grovel. Obviously something pissed him off. Whatever you said worked like a charm."

"I said we needed to get this shit done or you were going to call him every day and cry."

She giggles. Then stops. "Wait. You didn't really say that, did you?"

I glare. "Like you wouldn't. You dramatic, cunty bitch, you."

Morgan shrugs a shoulder and sips her can of Coke, her eyebrows lifted in an innocent arch. "I would do what I had to do," she finally says. "Including calling him and crying. It worked on you."

"I'm on to you though. And so is JC. We know what you guys are doing."

Morgan suddenly finds the new additions to the Bible to be really interesting. She opens it, flipping through pages she already knows by heart and studying the brochures and cards we've picked up.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Don't play dumb, Blondie. It's not gonna work."

"Mmmmm...." She hums, flipping pages. "We'll see."

"That's what I'm saying, Morgan. We won't see. We both know you and Nick are trying to force us back together. Don't you think we'll try extra hard to not fall in love again?"

She snickers, and then says, "You looked nice getting out of his car when ya'll showed up at brunch."

I huff a sharp breath and down the rest of my Coke. In my vigor, I spill half of it down the front of my shirt. It's white. And was pristine until now. I'm pissed. She giggles.

"Shut up, Morgan," I hiss as I grab a napkin from the steel holder at the next table and dab at the caramel colored mess decorating my chest. "Would you look at this shit? I look like a fucking slob now."

"You could buy one of those t-shirts I see people wearing." She points at girls walking around with shirts that have quirky sayings like ‘Bride to Be' and ‘Because I'm the Bride, That's Why'.  I groan, imagining myself flitting about that room looking like a ridiculously giddy woman on the way down the aisle.

"Ugh," I say, staring down at the dark spot on my chest. "Let's go look at them. I can't take this."

"You're such a control freak." Morgan begins to gather the materials that she has spread around the table and stuff them back into the bags and the Bible. "Let's go get you a shirt!"

I spend the rest of the day in a t-shirt that says BrideZilla, BITCH!  I'm actually kind of amused by it.

Later that evening, Morgan and I meet Nick and JC at Prime. I'd forgotten about the shirt until I saw JC. He takes one look at me, points and laughs.

"Something we need to talk about? We could do a double wedding, you know. Nick's paying."

"Don't even think about it," I say to him, before waving the waitress down. She takes my order, Morgan's order and asks if anyone needs a refill. JC orders another pansy ass lite beer. I lean toward him and mutter under my breath. "Where's Stripper Name Girl tonight?"

"Jade. And uh...."

He straightens to full height and sweeps his eyes across the darkening bar. "I don't know. Not working tonight I guess." He rolls the nearly empty bottle of beer between two hands and then begins to peel the wrapper off of it. The paper gathers in a pile on the table.

My left eyebrow lifts curiously. "You guess?"

"Yeah, I guess. I don't keep tabs on her or anything."

"Oh. Okay."

"Well, where's your boyfriend tonight? Oh, wait...."

"Ah, hahaha. Very funny, Mr. Chasez."

The waitress comes by with a tray and drops JC's beer, Nick's Southern Comfort, Morgan's Cosmo and my favorite drink at Prime-a Redhead in Bed, made with strawberries and vodka.

"I fancy myself a funny man," he says, uncapping his beer and taking a few long gulps as I sip my drink and savor the sweet, fruity flavor.  Morgan and Nick are across the table watching us. From their expression, I can tell they don't know if we're fighting or playing around.   

"What? You didn't think we were going to be syrupy to each other, did you?"

Morgan doesn't say anything, just takes a dainty sip of her drink.  Nick seems amused but doesn't say a word either.

"We're getting along," JC says.  "Aren't we, honey?" He elbows me just as I bring the drink to my lips. I stop just in time to miss getting a very berry drink spilled all over myself.

"We were until you couldn't keep your elbows to yourself. I already ruined one change of clothing today."

"Sorry about that. I'd buy you another shirt if I messed that one up."

"Uh, no thanks. Anything you buy will be see-through and low cut."

He grins at Nick, who can't help but grin back. "What can I say? I'm a man."

"You're a pig."

"Guilty. Now let's stop flirting before these two freak out."

"You first," I say, taking another gulp of my drink and setting it down. "What did you guys do today? I bet it doesn't top wedding-palooza."

"Uh, we had a tee time at 9:30,"says Nick. "Played around, what? Eighteen holes, right?" He glances at JC, who nods. "Had some lunch at the Marina."

"They have a cute new waitress over there. Gonna have to stop by there more often."

"Guys have it so easy when it comes to weddings. Did you do anything resembling work?"

"Stopped by the tux shop," JC says. "Picked out some cool duds."

"Do I get to see what the duds look like?" Morgan, understandably concerned because Nick and JC's idea of nice and our idea of nice could be on separate continents, looks almost frantic.

Nick coos at her, gathering her to him and giving her a light, sweet kiss on her temple. "Don't worry about it, baby," he says. "They're nice. I promise. We worked with the manager. He assured us that we were the most handsome guys he's ever seen."

He pauses and looks at JC with his one eye narrowed. "Hey, he wouldn't lie to get our business, would he?"

"Nah," says JC, gulping more of his beer. He sets the bottle down and adds, "I mean, probably not. We wanted the purple crushed velvet, right?"

"The Elvis Collection, yeah. With the leopard print lapel. I thought that looked great on you, man."

"Hey, thanks. It's a bold choice, but I believe in making a statement in wedding fashion."

"You guys are hysterical," Morgan says.

"Aren't we?" JC pushes back from the table and stands. "Gotta go drain the snake. Wanna come help?"

I don't give him the benefit of even looking at him.  "You'd better be talking to Nick."

"Worth a shot." He ambles away from the table. I watch him work his way around the room and down the hall to the restrooms.

"So you guys are getting along pretty well," Nick remarks. "Kinda."

"We're doing the best we can."

"I noticed you rode with him to the brunch. That was a good sign."

"A good sign that he manhandled his way into giving me a ride. Look..."

Exasperated, I cross my arms and lean forward onto the table. "I so appreciate that you guys want love and happiness for me. And for JC. Just... please don't get your hopes up. We both know that you guys think this is going to be some kind of romantic catalyst and maybe if we didn't have a deep, dark past, that could be possible-"

"Maybe the deep dark past doesn't need to be so deep. Or dark," Morgan says. "Is it really that big of a deal? I think you two should just... lighten up."

"I think..." I dip my head, carefully considering my words. These are my oldest, best friends who have no idea what they're meddling in. I raise my head and strengthen my resolve. "I think you guys should let me and JC live like we need to live to get through life. I think you guys don't get why this.... thing started. I think you guys think it's silly and it's petty but it's not, not to me. And since the feelings are mine, I get to declare them valid. And I get to feel them until I don't anymore.

"And you guys should know that JC and I agreed that we're taking you up on your offer that we never have to see each other again after your wedding. So whatever you think is going to happen? It isn't. And if this is the only reason you're getting married, you might want to reconsider. It's a lot of money to spend, to gamble on something that's never going to happen."

Morgan's blue eyes are wide and wet with tears. Nick stares, slack jawed but hasn't said a word. JC takes that moment to come back to the table and drops into his seat. After a few moments of silence, he asks, "What? What's up?"

I reach for my purse, which I'd hung on the back of my chair when I came in. I sling it over my shoulder as I stand. "I've got to go. I have some work I've been avoiding. And I want to take off this t-shirt. People keep giving me weird looks and thumbs up."

I wind my way through the crowd and exit the bar into the parking lot. I'm almost at my car before I hear my name. I stop and turn around to face JC, who is jogging across the pavement toward me.

"So, here's the thing," he says, panting just from that short run.  "I know you're like... still hurt or whatever. And you think you're being the bigger person by being benevolent and being nice to me, and not that I don't appreciate it, but could you please remember that you're not doing it for me? You're doing it for them."

He points toward the building and the bright purple and indigo blue fluorescent sign. "We love them. We're happy for them. We're doing this for them. Morgan gets her dream wedding, right? That's the speech you gave me?"

I fold my arms across my chest and glare up at him. "Yeah. So?"

"So, how about you let go of your shitty attitude and try to keep the politics between us away from them. You didn't have to tell them about our agreement. We could have just kept that between us and then quietly let it go."

"JC, you saw them! They're practically giddy that you let me get in your car and drive me to the brunch a few weeks ago. They see everything as a sign that we're getting back together."

"So the fuck what, Angie! Why not let them have their fantasy? Won't they eventually pick up that it isn't going to happen?"

"Let's see... we broke up in high school. They haven't picked it up so far, have they? They're still holding a flame. Also? It's not just their fantasy, is it?"

He stands in front of me, his hands on his hips, fire in his eyes, his face flushed red. "What are you talking about?"

"They aren't the only ones that want us to get back together, is what I'm talking about. You would love that, wouldn't you?"

JC rolls his eyes and begins to laugh. A loud, long, hearty-but sarcastic laugh. "Oh you think so? Honey, if I wanted you back, I would have you back."

"Honey... same here."

We seem to have reached some sort of impasse, casing each other in the parking lot like an animal with its prey.  Finally, I break my gaze and step backward, toward my car.

"I'd love to stand here and stare at you all night, but I have shit to do. And I'd rather hang out with a battery operated apparatus than be with you right now."

"Angie...wait." I reach my car and shove the key into the lock. It pops open and I lift the door handle, swinging the driver side door open. JC reaches for the door and blocks the opening so I can't get in. "Evangeline. Stop."

"What?"

"All I wanted to say is... I want us to spare their feelings.  You're still hurt and still mad and I get that. But it was almost twenty years ago and if you can't let it go, pretend to let it go and if you can't do that, pretend to pretend. Fuck, whatever, but your best friend is in there crying her eyes out. You didn't have to do that to her, just so you can stay hurt and be right."

I glare at him, sending red hot lasers from my eyes to his. Eventually he gets the point, and with a frustrated puff of air from his lips, he backs off, unblocking entry to my car. I get in and shut the door, stab the ignition with the key and slam the car into drive. I speed out of the parking lot, nearly running over a few pedestrians and rear ending a BMW.

By the time I reach my apartment I am calm. And repentant. Because I know JC is right.

God, I hate it when he's right.

Before I get out of the car, I dig out my phone and open the text messaging app, typing out a short message to Morgan.

‘So I'm a kind of a dramatic cunt myself. Sorry. Hormones?'

A few minutes later a notification pops up on my screen.

‘Forgiven. I'm sorry too. I shouldn't push what I want on you guys. I just wish you could see how perfect you still are for each other. It makes me sad that you don't.'

I sigh. She's such a romantic. A diehard romantic, the worst kind. Remembering JC's words, I opt not to argue with her.

‘Thanks for wanting something good for me. I gotta get into these briefs. And not the fun kind. ;)'

She doesn't respond back, so I tuck my phone away and get out of the car and climb the steps to my apartment. I go through my usual coming home routine-check the mail, check the plants, check the answering machine that sits on my desk where I rarely do office work. It only gets used by my mother. The light is blinking, which means she called today, so I press the button and turn up the volume and head toward my bedroom.

"Hi honey, it's mom." Her voice rings out loud and clear like she's in the next room. "I'm giving you a call here because it's not an emergency and I don't want you to worry, but I'm at the hospital with dad, and-"

 I rush out of my bedroom and practically run toward the machine.  "He had an episode and we think one of his meds isn't quite working out. They want to keep him for observation, so..." I hear her sigh into the receiver. "We're at McCord General if you want to stop by. He's kind of bored, so bring him some books or a magazine or something. He's driving me crazy."

My heart is racing and I'm lightheaded and I don't know what to think. I pace my apartment, trying to decide what to do first. I look for my purse and grab my phone. My hands are shaking so badly I can just barely find my mom's cell phone number in the list of recent numbers I've dialed.

I run to my bedroom, phone tucked between my shoulder and ear, listening to the line ring. I start pulling off the t-shirt while opening a drawer and digging through it to find a clean shirt. The line rings and rings and rings. Why isn't she picking up?! Did something happen?

Her voicemail message plays and I leave a message. "Mom, I just got your message! I hate that you didn't call me on my cell! Where are you? What happened? I'm coming! Call me!"

Just then my doorbell rings. And then I hear a heavy knock, a pounding on the door. I glance at the clock- 9:43PM. Who would be at my house at almost 10:00? Pounding, almost knocking the door down?

I rush back to the living room and fling the door open. JC is standing there, fist raised to bang on the door some more. He's quiet for longer than a few seconds and it's not until I feel the breeze that I realize I didn't put on another shirt.

My arms cross over my flimsy lace bra and give JC a nasty look. "What now?"

"You gotta get to the hospital," he says.

"I know. They admitted my dad. I just got the message my mom left. How-"

"My mom," he says, brushing past me and into the apartment. "She saw the ambulance earlier. She was wondering if everything was okay. She called me to see if I was with you and when I asked her why, and she told me, I knew you didn't know. You wouldn't be hanging out at a bar while your dad's in the hospital."

"Okay, so... you couldn't call me? You had to come beat my door down?"

"I..."His face clouds over, like he hadn't thought of that. "I don't know, I just thought maybe I would take you. I didn't want you to drive if you were upset."

I'm standing in my living room in jean shorts and a bra, staring at JC Chasez like he's an alien. Sometimes... sometimes I just don't get him.

"So, go put a shirt on. And I'll take you up there."

"JC, I can drive-"

"What's important is that you get there. Right?"

I inhale a deep breath and blow it out. "Fine. While I'm doing that, grab some magazines and some books and throw them in a bag. I keep some paper bags in the pantry in the kitchen. My mom said he's bored."

I go back to my bedroom without waiting for a response. When I get to my room, I pull off my shorts and pull on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. I hear JC rummaging around my living room while I pull my long hair into a ponytail and brush my teeth. I go back out to the living room and find JC standing at the front door, holding a paper bag with one hand, his other hand on the knob.

"Purse," he says, when I try to rush past him. I double back and grab it. "Phone," he says. I roll my eyes and grunt, frustrated with myself. Get it together, Evangeline!

 We finally make it out of the apartment, down the stairs to JC's car which is idling in the same spot where he dropped me off a few weeks ago.

"You just left your car running out here?"

"I was watchin' it."

He dumps the bag into the back seat, hops in the driver's seat and puts the car in park. In seconds, we are pulling out of the parking lot and headed- very quickly and smoothly-toward the hospital.

This isn't a new occurrence. My dad being in the hospital, that is. It's just been happening more often lately and every time it does, I get scared that he's never going to come out.

When I was a sophomore in college, my dad was diagnosed with Parkinson's. The tremors that were infrequent began happening all the time, as soon as he woke up, until he was asleep again. Sleep is the only time his brain rests... any other time, it's firing and misfiring and his muscles are working overtime.

His brain functions fine. His body just doesn't do what he wants it to do. What comes natural to me, my mom, anyone else, is a chore for him.

Dad is a self-made man, having run his own Ford dealership for as long as I can remember. JC's Jeep that Roy bought him when he turned 16 came from my dad's dealership. It was a trade in, in really great condition.

It's been hard for him to relinquish control of the day to day operations at the dealership as well as his own home. He hasn't driven himself anywhere in over ten years.  He can't pour his own coffee or make his own sandwich, let alone feed himself anything other than finger food. Mom quit her job to be home with him, watch him, and manage the house. Some days it seems like a waste for her to be home with him all day; his tics and tremors are hardly noticeable, well controlled by the medication. Some days his muscles have a mind of their own and he flails and rocks and kicks and shakes and drools until he's nearly out of his mind.

They go back to the doctor for evaluation. He gets on a new cocktail of meds. They have to wait for the meds to kick in, repeat every six to nine months. I'm scared that eventually they're going to run out of medication and this disease will be impossible to control. That the ambulance had to come get him tells me this was a bad episode. Something had to have happened.

I'm grateful JC came by to pick me up. Now I can worry and frantically, manically check my voicemail and call my mom over and over and over without running anyone over.

"Why the hell isn't she picking up?!" I'm so frustrated, I want to cry. If something's wrong with my dad, I want to know. Now.

"I think they block cell phone signals at the hospital. Relax, we're almost there."

JC drops me at the entrance to McCord General Hospital and I sprint from the car at breakneck pace, heading toward the elevators. I punch the ‘up' button over and over until the doors open and two people spill out of the elevator. I jump in and press ‘8' and the button to close the doors. The doors are almost closed before they pop open again and JC steps inside, toting the paper bag he brought from my apartment.

The doors close all the way this time and we stand awkwardly in the elevator, staring up at the numbers as they slowly go up... 4...5...6...7. At the eighth floor a bell rings and the doors slide open.

The Parkinson's Ward is relatively new, just a few years old. It looks more like a hotel lobby than a hospital ward. The floors gleam with a high shine, making it easier for patients to shuffle their feet down the hall. A long steel stability bar runs along both sides of the long hallway, something to hold onto if needed. The walls are a muted peach with bright art prints hung every few feet.

We pass the waiting room, full of orange, red and brown leather couches that sit empty in front of the nurses' station. I'm relieved to see a nurse that I know from my previous visits and walk toward her. Her head is down and she has an ear bud in one ear. Her head rhythmically bounces and she's mouthing words as her fingers fly across a keyboard.

I tap the counter to get her attention. Her head flies up and the look of irritation is quickly replaced by a smile. "Hey, baby!" she exclaims, pulling the bud from her ear and rushing around the counter to our side. She hugs me, wrapping me up in her ample arms and bosom, then pulls back but leaves one arm around me. She rubs and pats my back as we talk.

"I haven't seen you in awhile... which I guess is good."

I nod, grateful for that at least. "Yeah. He's been okay for a while but still... I don't like that he's here." I see movement out of the corner of my eye and remember that JC is standing there. I introduce him to my favorite of dad's nurses.

"JC, this is Nadine. She's just about the best nurse around here. Nadine, this is my... uhm... this is JC. His family is my parent's neighbor. They were wondering how things were going with him. I heard the ambulance picked him up."

Nadine nods, her head bobbing deeply. "I'll let your mama fill ya in. I think he's okay right now, but you know him. He's grumpy and giving us a hard time, like usual. He's in 834, just around that corner, over there." She points to the left and I head in that direction, JC in tow.

"I've never been up here," he says. "The art on the walls is cool. Does this do stuff to the brain or something?"

I glance over my shoulder at him and give him "the eye". "I think it's just art. Just nice things on the wall." I see a placard that reads 834 and a tag that says BLAKE, DAVID underneath it.

I knock quietly, then turn the knob and inch the door open. The lights are low in the room and the TV is on. The rooms are outfitted to be more like home-comfortable and cozy. Dad is in a hospital bed, but Mom is reclining in a black leather La-Z-Boy. An area rug covers most of the linoleum floor and a large, flat screen TV is mounted on the wall, angled so both of them can see it. Two nightstands flank the bed and the lamps look like designer pieces, not bland hospital issue. The wardrobe is closed, as is a door that I assume is the bathroom.

My dad is sleeping; I can tell because his limbs are at rest. Mom jerks awake when I touch her arm. I press my finger to my lips and whisper, "Shhhh. He's asleep. Let's talk outside."

We step outside the room and I gently close the door. She's shocked to see JC waiting in the hallway and gives him a hug. "It's so nice of you to come with Angie."

"Just wanted to make sure she got here. And we brought some stuff for Mr. Blake. Angie said he was bored."

She rolls her eyes while yawning. "Oh, he's so cranky," she says. "He's tired of TV already."

"Mom, why didn't you call me on my cell?"

"Well, I didn't want you to worry. It's not an emergency or anything. We're just here for observation."

"But I-"

"Would have dropped everything and come over here to sit and do nothing. There was no need. Your father wouldn't hear of it."

It's no wonder I'm a lawyer; I apparently love to argue. JC gives me a look and I back down. "Okay, fine. So what happened? Why did he come here in an ambulance?"

"He had a seizure... it just kept going and going and I... couldn't get him to the car. They had a hard time getting him onto the gurney."

She wraps her arms around herself and shakes her head slowly, back and forth. Her eyes are downcast, her long lashes almost sweeping her cheek. The stress of Dad's illness ages her.  Her once bright eyes seem dull and crow's feet have settled in the corners of her face. Laugh lines always outline her mouth, now. Her skin used to be smooth. Flawless.

"Anyway, I called his doctor. Dr. Laurence said to call 911, so I did. They came to get him and here we are."

"So... where are we? Did they change his meds?"

She nods and we talk medication for a few minutes, words that probably sound alien to JC but are second nature to us. What he's taking now, what he was taking, what it was supposed to do for him.

"He's sleeping now, which is a hell of a lot more than he's been doing lately. I practically can't even be in the same bed anymore. If he's the slightest bit awake, he's shaking. The other night..." She starts to laugh, despite herself. "The bed was... you know, tapping against the wall. He said... he said, ‘too bad Angie isn't here to think we're having sex and be embarrassed.'"

She giggles loudly, then covers her mouth. JC is trying not to laugh and not succeeding.

"You could have kept that to yourself, mom. Really."

"Oh, it was so funny..."

"Really. I... I can't hear anymore."

I hear a noise inside the room and we look at each other. "Sounds like he's awake," she says. "Go on in and say hello."

I push the door open again and my dad is sitting up in bed. His head and hands have already begun shaking-light tremors, but tremors nonetheless.

"Hey, look who's here," says dad. His voice slurs the smallest bit. His tongue often seems too thick for his mouth. "Good to see ya."

"Hi dad." I lean over and kiss his forehead and brush a lock of his hair back. "Nadine says you're being bad in here."

"I'm not being bad. I just wanted a burger. All they have is chicken. They can't go get me a nice burger?"

"Daddy, they're concerned about your health."

"Ehhh. I don't have heart disease." Movement behind me catches his eye and he dips his head around me to see JC standing just inside the door. "Oh, hey. Did you come with Angie?"

"He drove me. We brought you some things to read." JC steps forward with the bag and I begin to unload its contents onto the rolling tray parked next to the bed. "There are some news magazines... People... Shape?"

I give JC a questioning stare, at which he shrugs as if he is helpless. I turn back to my dad. "Well if you like looking at chicks working out, there's that."

He takes the magazine and opens it to an ad for sports bras. "Oh, I might like that."

"And there are some books here. Plenty to keep you occupied." I drop the bag next to the bed and have a seat in the empty spot next to him. "So how long are you here?"

"Couple days. I'll be out maybe Tuesday." Dad suddenly looks very tired. He blinks slowly, his eyes drifting toward the TV. Then suddenly he pops them wide open and he grins. "Hey, you think I should let them electrocute me?"

Mom clicks her tongue and hides her face behind a palm.

"What's he talking about? Like shock therapy?"

"It's that deep brain stimulation. It's not shock therapy, but it's kind of similar. It's supposed to help the severe cases of tremors."

"Oh." I turn back to Dad. "Do you want to do that? Will that help you?"

"They brought it up. But we won't go to that unless these new meds don't work."

"And how long are they evaluating them?"

"We'll give it a few months. Like always." He pats my hand, the one closest to me and says, with a twinkle in his eye, "Good to see JC. You two uh..."

I shake my head and try to smile. Keep the politics between us. "No, dad. JC is just being nice."

I turn to him then. "But you can probably go. I'll stay here with my parents."

"No, no, no," starts Dad.

"Oh honey, no," says Mom.

"I don't want to strand you here," says JC.

"You know what you can do, JC, is take my girls home." Both of us protest.  Dad raises both hands to demand quiet. "Look, I'm going to take some more meds and go back to sleep. You don't need to be here to listen to me snore. Come back tomorrow. Be ready to play some poker, some gin rummy. And bring me a burger."

Mom and I are quiet. JC is in the corner looking helpless. We're all just staring at each other.

"Get out!" He yells. I hop off of the bed and drop a kiss on his cheek. "You don't have to yell, old man."

"People don't listen when I don't yell. Get outta here. And don't forget my burger."

"I got it. Your burger."

"And some playing cards. You know the ones I mean."

"Yes dad." I know the ones he means. He keeps them in a special drawer in a cabinet in the dining room. When his salesmen and other friends used to come over for poker night, he'd throw a green felt cloth over the table and get out the cards and set out some drinks and appetizers. It's been a long time since Dad hosted poker night.

Mom gathers her things, yawning the entire time. I know there's no way she can sleep in that chair. She must be dead tired and so thankful to be going home. JC opens the door and we file out of the room.

"Goodnight, Mr. Blake," he says to my dad.

"Goodnight, son," My dad slurs, already back on his way to sleep.

We walk back to the elevator, just past the nurses' station. Nadine waves as we step into the elevator and the doors close. The ride down to the first floor is quiet. Mom is on one end, JC is on the other. She has the oddest smile on her face.

I nudge her with my elbow and shake my head. Because I know what she's thinking, and we are not back together. She does her best to contain a giggle.

I ride with JC to my parent's house and we drop off my mom. I get in the front seat as we watch her unlock the door and enter the house. She turns off the porch light, our sign that we can drive away. JC pulls away from the curb and takes the familiar turns that lead back to the highway, toward my apartment.

It's quiet inside the car-such a different experience than riding in my car. Not that it's a beater but it's nowhere near this quiet in my car. The Orlando landscape is dark, the skies are murky black. JC guides the car through traffic with skill and ease.  He hasn't said a word in a while.

"It was nice of you to come and get me. I appreciate it."

"Sure."

"And to drive my mom home. She'll sleep well tonight."

"Yep."

I'm uncomfortable with his silence, his short choppy sentences, his one word answers. I would almost rather he hurl hurtful words at me than not say anything at all.

"Everything okay?" I ask.

"Fine," he answers, and doesn't elaborate.

I give up and sit back. We're a few minutes from my apartment, so I decide to enjoy the peace and quiet.

"I hadn't seen your dad in a few years," he says. A quiet admission. "I heard the Parkinson's was getting worse. I didn't realize how much worse."

"Yep."

"Just makes you think. You know?"

"About?"

"Mortality." He glances over at me quickly before his eyes return to the road. "How short life is. You realize how much time we spend on really stupid shit. You know?"

I study the side of his face, illuminated only by moonlight. Something... something on the edge of his voice intrigues me.

"Is that supposed to mean something? Some kind of thinly veiled jab about why we fight all the time? Now it's really stupid shit because you decide it is?"

JC chuckles, shaking his head. He gives me a wry grin. "Everything's about you, right Angie?"

"Oh, no sir. Everything's about you."

"Let's... let's not."

I let my silence speak for me and stare out of the window at the pitch black night outside. In a few minutes, the car is slowing and JC pulls into the parking lot and the same spot he was in before.

I reach for the door latch. "Thank you again. I appreciate your help tonight."

"Sure."

He nods, sitting there. Maybe it was his hair or his eyes or the way he was selfless and thoughtful for once, but in the combo of the light from the moon and the street lamps along the sidewalk, I see a glimpse of the boy I used to love.

I shake the thought from my head and get out of the car. I'm halfway up the steps when I hear JC call my name. I turn, one hand on the rail, one foot on the step above.

"Yeah?"

"Do you mind if I stop in on your dad? Play some cards, shoot the shit."

I want to ask him why he would do that, but something tells me not to. Just let it go.

"He's not actually all that good at Poker," I say. "Either that or he lets me win."

He laughs. "I'm pretty good at poker, so we'll find out."

"Don't bleed him dry or anything."

"I'll try to cut him a break. And I'll bring him a burger."

I start laughing and turn to climb the stairs. Then I stop and turn again. "Thank you, JC. I mean it, for what it's worth.  I'm trying not to question your motives or be suspicious about it and I hope I don't regret that. But just in case your intentions are good... thanks."

"Sure."

He dips his head back into the window, which silently rises, encasing him inside the car. I know he'll sit there until I go inside, so I climb the rest of the steps and enter my apartment. And just like last time, I watch from the living room as the tail lights from his Benz pull out of the parking lot and turn left. He's on his way home.

I collapse onto the couch and lie there, staring at the ceiling. I'm not sleepy. I'm not emotional.