With a mouthful of whisky to warm my stomach and give me a dose of courage, I spilled my guts out to my dad, knowing I could trust him wholeheartedly.
“Hudson?” His voice crackles down the phone. “Son? You still there?”
“Yeah. I’m still here.” Biting my lip, I stare down at the coffee stains ingrained into the pine table sitting in the staff room, from years upon years of daily use. “We—we talked…|
My dad hums. “That’s good.”
“I told her how I felt, she told me how she felt and… she wants some space to think about everything. I’m just so scared of fucking things up between us again, I like her so much Dad and—”
“I remember feeling the same way about your mother, Hudson. But—”
“What happens if I fall in love with her and then she’s almost taken away from me, like Mum was with you?”
There.
The only card I haven’t dealt yet, the only strand of truth I haven’t yet spilt to my dad, lays itself out between us, heavy and fit to bursting.
“I don’t know if I could bear it the way you did.”
For a heartbeat, my dad stays silent, but I know he’s still there. I can hear his breathing, steady and resilient, just like he’s always been.
Invincible, unbreakable.
Or at least I thought he was.
Until I caught him sobbing on the bottom step of our staircase, our Christmas tree only half decorated, only half of our stockings hung on the mantlepiece because Mum had been rushed into hospital before she could finish decorating.
It was then I first realised my dad wasn’t unbreakable at all.
In fact, he was rather fragile.
Just like most humans.
“How long have you felt like this, Hudson?”
“A while,” I answer truthfully, swallowing back the thickness in my throat.
“How long is a while?” Dad asks, slowly, as if he’s choosing his words carefully.
“For as long as I can remember.”
The watery sounding sigh my dad releases on the other end of the phone makes my chest constrict painfully. “Hudson. Son. I-I remember one day in March; I know it was March because the first signs of spring were beginning to sprout, and I’d asked the nurse if I could take your mum out to the gardens beside the hospital. Do you remember them?”
“Mhm.” I can’t speak. My throat too constricted with emotion.
“I bundled her up, even at the sound of her protest and we ventured out and for a moment it felt like the world did before her diagnosis, before she got poorly. It was like we were just out on date, just the two of us while you boys were at school. She sat in her wheelchair, and I was perched on the edge of the bench, both of us watching the swans glide over the pond and I remember so clearly her taking my hand and saying to me ‘I couldn’t get through this without the love of you and the boys. I just couldn’t do it. I’m only able to fight because your love keeps me going.’ I’ll never forget her saying those words to me. I’ll never forget it as long as I live… What happened to your mum was terrible, Hudson and if I could have taken her place, I would have in a heartbeat. But she fought because of the love she felt around her, we kept her going, we kept her fighting.
“Your love for your mother kept her world turning. It’s the thing that keeps most of theworldstill turning because it can’t be destroyed. Taken away perhaps, but… life is tough, Hudson.” He swallows thickly. “No matter which way you look at it, being a human isn’t easy. It throws stuff at us when we least expect it, putting obstacles in our path and somehow,somehow, we have to find the strength to push through. Doing it alone is possible, but it’s a lonely road, don’t you think?”
“Yeah.” I cough to clear my throat, wishing I hadn’t left my bottle of water hidden in the depths of my gym bag. My legs feel too much like jelly to even attempt to stand.
“You’re a good man, Hudson, with a good heart and I know you’ll follow it and allow it to lead you to the right place. Wherever that is for you…”
“Thanks, Dad.”
“No need to thank me, Son.” He sighs again, a weary sound I hate. “Hudson?”
“Yeah?”
