"Oh, and one more thing," he says. "I understand there will be grief, but don’t let your life or opportunities pass you by while you’re adjusting to a new normal. Promise me this?"
The three of us cannot repeat the words:we promise. We nod and stare at him with a lack of understanding, but also the love we have for what he wants.
"Okay, the family meeting is over, but the next order of business is ... I planned a party for later this afternoon because I’d rather celebrate my life while I’m alive, okay?"
Typical Dad. He will never give up the chance to miss a gathering. "Marion, I need some things from home; dressy clothes, and a comb—my hair is a mess. Girls, we need to find a caterer—I’m requesting prime rib for all. Oh, and we need the Quinn Pine. The party is at five sharp. Don’t be late."
"Harold," Mom says, taken aback. She shakes her head as if trying to clear her thoughts. "I—okay—who do you want at this party, sweetheart?" Mom runs her fingers over Dad’s head.
"You know who I want here," he says.
"Are the nurses okay with this?" Mom continues. Her look of concern is soothed when a nurse walks in.
"Harold is feeling better today. It’s a good day for a party," she says. "We’ll arrange a private space for your guests," the nurse says.
"You are very kind," Mom tells her, taking the woman by the elbow to have a quiet conversation with her in the hallway. Journey follows the two of them out to hear what’s going on, but Dad takes my wrist.
"Hold on, my youngest. Look at me," he says.
It’s hard to look him in the eyes, knowing these moments can’t last forever, but I will do so until I can’t. "Did you know I met your mother when she was only sixteen?"
I shake my head with subtlety. "I didn’t know you were so young.”
"Well, sometimes our young hearts have knowledgeable souls. I know you want the white picket fence, a perfect neighborhood, children, and someone who loves you as much as you love him. You’re going to have the same.” He taps his finger against his temple. "Iknow this."
"How could you know something like this?” I ask, trying to be gentle with my pessimism.
"We’ll call it a father’s intuition," he says. "Don’t go looking too hard for what might already be in front of you." Dad places his hand on my cheek, his eyes wide and knowing.
"I won’t look too hard.”
"That’s my girl."
"Brett brought me a bottle of 2009 Quinn Pine last night," I tell him.
Dad places his hand on his chest. "Be still my heart," he says.
"Don’t say those words, please," I respond, chuckling for his sake.
"And?"
"I tasted the caramel notes, a hint of vanilla, the hint of cinnamon, and I kind of enjoyed the smoky aftertaste."
"2009 was a damn good batch. We didn’t get many bottles from it, but it was the best. Wait—notes," he says as if my words just calculated.
"You used to think I was drinking paper, do you remember?"
I smile because it was a long-lasting jab of humor in our family for years. "I remember."
"It’s all in the notes, sweetie." I place a kiss on his head and hug him with all my might, embracing the warmth of his fatherly hold. "Remember this. I’ll always be around when you need me."
16
The hospice nursesoffered us some space to host Dad’s life celebration. I’ve told myself to pull it together … for him, and to avoid thinking about the reason for this so-called-celebration. We have all rallied together to offer Dad his wish. We dressed for the occasion and got the crowd together, as he requested.
The staff helped with some decorations, and if I didn’t know better, they could fool me into thinking life is normal for the moment. I’ve considered the thought of a miracle too. Dad has been so lethargic and having difficulty breathing for the last couple of days, but now he seems alert and lucid. Maybe the last few days were a fluke—a silly cold, or something simpler than the cancer eating away at his body at an unexpectedly rapid rate.
Mom looks like herself, makeup, hair curled, a nice dress—even a real smile. It makes me think she has the same thoughts as I do. Journey is still quiet but more talkative. Mr. Crawley has her cornered in a conversation about her latest photography gig.
