“The little daily resentments are like barnacles on a ship and you’ve got to find a way to connect every day in order to keep them from attaching. For instance, did you know that your mother wakes up every morning and, before she’s fully awake, lets out the biggest fart you’ve ever heard?”
“Dad!”
“Sorry, son—that’s marriage. Anyway, yesterday morning she was starting to wake up and I gently, ever-so-carefully, pulled her duvet over her head.”
“Oh my god, Dad. You hotboxed your wife? And that counts as connection?”
“Absolutely. It was one of the better pranks I’ve pulled on her over the years.”
“You do know that you essentially hotboxed yourself as well, right?”
“I did not,” he says indignantly. “I have my own duvet.”
“Your own duvet?”
“She steals the blankets, son. That’ll end a marriage faster than anything.”
“Poor Mom.”
He snorts. “Poor Mom, indeed. She wanted to get intimate with me the other day, so she put a Viagra on my pillow.”
“Oh my god.”
“You fail to rise to the occasion one time and she’s there with the Viagra.”
“Dad!”
“No, not to worry, son. She won’t be doing that again, not after I—”
“Dad, I beg of you not to finish that sentence.”
He laughs at my distress then goes serious. “Now think about the fact that your mother frequently has to remind me to take my anti-depressants. That she’s always having to help me find my keys because, even at a low dose, they affect my memory. That there are still some days I struggle to get out of bed.”
“But she loves you, Dad. She knows it’s worth being with you to overcome those days.”
“Do you think I’m able to accept that on a blue day?”
I don’t answer, and he presses forward. “Do you think there aren’t days when she’s having a bad day, but I fail to show up for her because of my own issues?”
Shit. I haven’t ever considered it. “What do you do on those days, Dad?”
“That’s where all of those connections pay dividends. We talk to each other, and sometimes we argue, but mostly we just put our heads downtogetherand make it through those days. By the way, that’s what fighting for him really looks like. And that’s something he might not know about. That it’s okay to have those days too. That those days won’t break you if you’ve made your connection a priority.”
Goddammit. I want that. I want all of what he’s talking about. And I want it with DeShaun Blaylock.
“Parker says that I scare the hell out of him because he’s had to rebuild himself so much that another heartbreak would be too much for him.”
“I can’t imagine that you’d break his heart, son.”
“That’s what I said!” I nearly shout.
“So, then, show him.”
“I’m driving to his house right now.” I’m going to fucking make him listen to me.
My father hums to himself, then says, “But don’t just talk over him and make demands. Listen to him. Let him see that you are his safe place, that he can work through his insecurities with you. Even if that means listening to him ask you to leave, okay?”
I nod to myself, letting his words soak in. “Okay, Dad. Thanks for talking to me.”
