CHAPTER NINE: The Fifth Tuesday, We Talk About Family
"I don't have a family," I told House the next Tuesday when he asked about it.
"No family?" House questioned suspiciously. "You must have some one."
I shook my head. "No. All dead."
House studied my expression before concluding assertively, "I don't believe you."
I looked up at him, solemnity apparent on my face. "Why would I lie about something like that?"
"Not everyone in your family could be dead. I mean, come on. I'm 68 and I still have family alive," House said.
I looked at him, my pale blue eyes cold. "Lucky you."
"So you're dad died of cancer, you're mum died of alcoholism…" House started.
"STOP!" I shouted.
"Stop…"
House shut up for once. I breathed in deeply. "My
sister is alive. But I haven't spoken to her in twenty years, so
she's basically dead to me anyway."
"You're an idiot," House stated. I looked up in surprise.
"Care to explain
that bold statement?"
House put on his best womanly voice. "Aw,
Chase, I'm bold? I bet you say that to all the old men," Then he
changed tones to his usual gruff voice. "It wasn't a bold
statement. It's too obvious to be bold."
"I give up. How am I
an idiot?" I asked frustrated.
"How are you an idiot, let me
count the ways
You are an idiot to
the depth and breadth and height
Your soul can reach, when feeling
out of sight
For the ends of being and ideal stupidity.
You are
an idiot to the level of every day's
Most ignorant need, by sun
and candlelight.
You are an idiot freely, as men strive for
beer.
You are an idiot purely, as they turn from work.
You are
an idiot with the passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my
childhood's faith.
You are an idiot with a foolhardiness I seemed
to lose
With my lost leg. You are an idiot with the
breath,
Diagnoses and treatments, of all my life; and, if God
choose,
You shall be an idiot better after death," House said,
amazingly coming up with a
new version to Elizabeth Barrett Browning's poem.
I stared at him in awe. "Wow, that was good, House!"
House shook his head in disbelief. "And the poem does not lie, does it?"
I rolled my eyes. "Why do you think I'm an idiot? A real answer, please."
"Because you have a sister and because of one stupid fight you're never going to talk to her again! That's why you're an idiot," House finally answered.
"You don't know what you're talking about. You weren't there. You didn't hear the things she said about Dad when he died," I told him.
House shrugged. "So what if she bad-mouthed a dead man? You hated him too."
"I did NOT hate him, House," I said, my voice raising.
"Yeah, but you didn't like him either," House replied.
I pulled my hand through my hair. "I still wouldn't disrespect him the way she did."
"Maybe that's true, but you ever stop to think that she was just speaking out of grief?" House inquired.
"No, this wasn't some perverse form of grief," I said. "She was really glad he was gone."
"Somehow I doubt that, Chase,"
I quickly responded, "Well, that's because you don't know my family. You're lucky you don't."
"I still think you should talk to her. You don't have anyone else, Chase."
"I have you."
House lowered his head. "Not for long. And I don't want you to have to be alone like I was for so many years. I don't want to see the cycle repeat itself. Because you know what, Chase? Right now it might be fine to be stubborn and vow to stay mad at your sister. Right now it might seem great to wash out your memories of your mom and dad. But somewhere down the line, you're going to be sorry. You're going to be alone and more depressed than you are now, and I don't want to see that happen."
"Why do you even care, House? When did you start caring about me?" I asked, bewildered.
"When you won the lottery and I thought that if I got close to you, I could get a little money," House replied sarcastically. Then he sighed and said, "When I realized that when everything else is taken away from you…job, health, everything…you've got one thing and that's your family."
"But I'm not your…"
"Yeah, you are," House said. "Yeah, you are."