Danny is at my side with one arm around my waist and Mary Ann’s egg gift in the other. “You’ve got family here, whether you know it or not.” He looks forward as he tells me what seems unimaginable and too kind, but what I guess is the truth. “Paul and other people have maintained your house over the years. And not only the stuff that your mom asked and paid for. When we all heard that you were coming back? You were obviously going to have a lot to deal with, and nobody wanted you coming home to a mess. To nothing. We wanted you to come back to what could feel like home.”
“To orange juice that was freezing and icy and perfect?”
“To that and more.”
I’m in disbelief. “I’ve always liked my orange juice that way. You all remembered that about me somehow. It’s crazy.”
He walks me toward the front door and ignores it when I stumble.
“Danny?”
“Yeah, Callie?”
“Do you remember the snowmen and the fascinators? Because I do,” I say with a happy sigh. “Do you still do that stuff?”
Now, he’s the one who stumbles, and then he stops for a moment to think. “Wow. I almost forgot. No. I haven’t done that in years,” he admits with a laugh.
“Maybe you should start that up again, Snow Fascinator Boy.”
“You won’t be here to see it.”
“You should do it anyway.”
While I fumble with my keys and Danny’s hand is still protectively against me, I’m hit with another random memory. “You were there when my dad caught an eel.”
It takes a second before he responds. “Wow! You’re right. I was over here, fishing with your dad, and he freaking caught an eel, and that eel wrapped itself around his wrist. You were going all bananas and screaming, and I was starstruck.” Danny laughs softly and takes a moment. “And he was calm as could be,” he says quietly. “I’ll never forget that.”
The lock finally clicks.. The door pushes open when I crash against it. “I think he smacked it a few times until it let go. My dad was a cool shit, wasn’t he?”
Danny nods. “Yes, he was. He was a completely cool shit.”
I step inside and then turn to look into his eyes. “I had a really fun time tonight, Schroeder. Thank you for making me feel less miserable than I have felt in a very long time.”
It’s clear that he’s trying not to smile as he hands me the eggs. “My pleasure. But from now on, I’m going to shoot for higher than ‘less miserable.’”
I let my eyes linger while he walks to his truck. “Best of luck with that! I’m not an easy egg to crack!”
Now, his laugh bellows through the night. “Very punny! We’ll see! But don’t break those actual eggs.”
My tumbler of ice water and I find ourselves in the living room, lying on the couch and gazing at the shelves that surround the fireplace.
“Monopoly! Life!” I scream out. “You are some good games!” I point at a specific spot on a shelf. “Pictionary. Damn, Pictionary. You never got the credit you deserve. Who gives a fuck if everyone can’t draw? And how am I supposed to play these games by myself?” I lurch forward from my seat. “Unfair!” I cry out drunkenly.
What’s totally unfair is that I now find myself face-to-face with photo albums, and it’s equally unfair that they are dusty and that they make me sneeze. My parents printed out photos, even when no one else did, and I can’t decide if I hate that or love that. But I look through photo after photo after photo.
God, my father was such an incredible father. He whipped up baby food, spotted me on high swings, caught me when I flew off the dock.
For a moment, I do laugh though because for reasons no one can understand, I used to call out, “One, two, three…coffee!” and then hurl myself into the water. And my dad always caught me.
I turn to another page of photos. My head is spinning. My dad took me to the aquarium in Boston and fueled me with dim sum from Chinatown. And Red Sox games. Concerts.
Shit, we saw Prince at an all-ages show when I was a kid.
And there are pictures of us as a family. Whole. Happy. Before my mother found out that I was nothing. Incompetent across the board. Before Erica and I loathed each other.
It’s easy to see why my mother left these behind. Every picture would have hurt even more than the next. She ran from every memory because they’re all too perfect.
I understand now. Maybe.
All I can think in this moment is that I have to tear everything apart, destroy what my happy past has devolved into. It’s seconds before I remember that Danny’s tool belt is in my kitchen, and when a hammer is in my hands, I am nothing but satisfied because I am gonna bang some shit up.
And so I do.
It’s hit after hit after hit. And I scream and sob and swear and pound against the fireplace until the hideous, outdated bullshit brick around the fireplace is shattered. And then I’m in the weird bathroom off the main entryway, pounding away at ugly tiles and smashing the floor until I’m surrounded by broken shards and my arms are beyond sore.
I scream one thing over and over while I cry and hammer away.
“I want my dad back. I want my dad back.”
