I didn’t know what time it was, but the sun had risen hours ago, and my dad was still in bed.
Mom said he sometimes got real tired on the weekends after spending a long week at work. He was a builder—he even built the very house we lived in—so I guess that made sense. Only, I didn’t think anyone should like to spend their days sleeping all the time. I couldn’t understand how you’d want to miss out on life in such a way.
Then again, I was only thirteen, and as my brother, Drew, would say, how the heck would I know?
“Pippa! Get your stupid makeup set off the table already.” Drew shoved the large pink case aside and almost sent it crashing to the floor. “Mom’s only told you a hundred times not to leave it out.”
Sniffing, I squared my shoulders as I marched to the table to fold the case closed. “What’s it to you anyway? It’s not bothering anyone.”
“Pippa,” Mom scolded gently, walking into the dining room and placing a bowl of fruit on the table. “You know what your dad’s like so just put it away. Please.” She stood with her hands on her hips, and the look in her eyes had my shoulders drooping.
“Kay.” It was always the same old. My dad couldn’t deal with too much mess. Something about it put him in a sour mood, which, in turn, made my mom look like she was sucking on a rotten tomato until he eventually snapped out of it.
After putting the makeup away in my closet, I spent the morning with my word search book. I’d gotten three for Christmas, and this one was more challenging than any I’d had before.
Mom knocked on my door after lunch, saying she had to run Drew to hockey practice. If she wasn’t going to be gone long, she often let me stay home. I liked that she could trust me. What I didn’t like was that my dad was sleeping when he could’ve been spending time with me.
I missed him. I missed him even though he was only down the hall.
Sighing, I closed the book and tossed my pencil on the bed, making my way downstairs to get a drink.
The cool water slid down my throat as I watched a flock of birds take flight from the old oak tree outside the kitchen window. After putting my glass in the sink, I poured a second one but hesitated when I climbed back upstairs to my parents’ room.
Chewing my lip for a moment, I glanced down at the water in the glass, which felt cold in my shaky palm. I could hear the fan whirring on the other side of the door even though it was the middle of winter.
I shook my head and rapped lightly on the door with my free hand. No response—not that I expected one. Slowly, I pushed the door open and peeked inside.
“Dad?” Again, no response.
Mom had made the bed neatly around him as though he was a part of the décor and would easily blend into the room. My parents’ floral duvet was pulled over his head, but he wasn’t snoring like he usually would if he was sound asleep.
“Dad?” I asked again, a little louder this time.
“Not now, Pip.” His voice was groggy, rough, but clear and loud enough to make me wince.
“I got you some water.”
“I said not now. Shit.” Shuffling ensued, and I watched as he rolled over to face the window with a view of the mountaintops in the distance.
On bad days, his shortness with us most definitely stung. Guilt pricked at my conscience. I didn’t think I could be like my mom. Almost fourteen or not, my patience was wearing thin.
Stepping over to the bed, I placed the water down on his nightstand.
My feet paused on the woven rug near the door on my way out. “You know, Mom’s taken Drew to practice. Again.”
Hockey was Drew and Dad’s thing. And I get that my dad had issues. As much as I didn’t understand them, I still knew that he did. But Drew never spoke up about it. Even though I knew it had to hurt him every time Dad got in a mood or didn’t want to wake up, leaving Drew to paint on a smile for Mom instead.
Dad made a huffing sound, and I spun around when I heard the bed creak under his weight.
“I’m just tired, baby girl. It’s been a long week. He understands.”
Gritting my teeth, I inhaled deeply through my nose and slowly let it out through the crack between my lips. It didn’t help. “Does he, though? You do know that sleep promotes sleep, right?” Yes, I’d looked it up. “Maybe if you got up and did something, you’d be able to stay awake.”
He mumbled what sounded like, “Jesus Christ,” then sighed. “Pip, come here.”
My brows furrowed as I watched him maneuver to a sitting position, the duvet falling around his t-shirt covered waist.
“That’s okay. Just wanted to check in on you.” I turned to go, swallowing thickly.
“Pippa, please. Sit down.”
Closing my eyes, I counted to three, then moved over to the bed, trying to sound aloof with my next words. “What’s up?”
“Look at me.”
I did, noticing the red lining his eyes and the three-day-old scruff that peppered his jaw. My dad was a big guy—healthy looking, strong, and at least six foot tall. Maybe more. He’d always seemed so giant to me, king-like, and growing up, I’d wanted nothing more than his approval, his smiling eyes on me.
But looking at him now, I didn’t know how to place this image with the one I was so used to seeing in my memories. Or perhaps, the one I wanted to see. The one I’d built up as a defense mechanism in my own mind.
Because really, I hated looking at him when he was like this.
“What?” I rasped, wanting to kick myself for sounding so vulnerable.
Patting the bed, he dipped his head toward my mom’s pillow.
Forcing a smile, I climbed onto their bed and propped my mom’s pillows up to lay back against them.
“You remind me not only of your mother but also of my dad,” he stated.
Thinking about Grandpa Henry, I scrunched my face. Grandpa had unruly gray hairs filling his nostrils that matched his overgrown eyebrows. “Grandpa sometimes doesn’t remember who we are.”
My dad chuckled. “Dementia. He can’t help that. But once upon a time …” He bopped me on the nose, and I tried not to let my eyes flare open too wide. “He was a stubborn, opinionated, and very strong-willed man.”
“Yeah?” I asked, getting sucked into the life that lit my dad’s eyes ablaze.
“Yeah.” Then those eyes turned sad as he stared at me for a minute. “Promise me something.”
Too scared to blink, for fear I’d lose his gaze on mine, I simply nodded.
“Promise me, no matter what, you’ll never lose that.” A smile lit his eyes again but didn’t lift his lips. “You’re going to keep growing, changing, and learning. But promise me, what’s in here”—he reached over, his large finger tapping at the rainbow in the center of my blue t-shirt—“will remain the same.”
His finger dropped to the sheets, and I finally blinked.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
“Why are you saying that?” I croaked, my chest filling with a steady amount of hope but also an odd feeling of trepidation.
His lip was tugged behind his teeth as he stared at me, his expression now unreadable. “Because life will happen. Happen with it, but … don’t let it change who you are.”
After that, he laid back down, stared at me a while, and then fell asleep again.
Later that night, I woke to the sound of tires crunching over the gravel drive outside. The one Dad had never gotten around to concreting.
Crawling over the bed, I tugged my curtains aside, my sleepy eyes squinting into the dark and struggling to focus. But there was no mistaking what I saw.
The taillights shone like red omens as my dad’s truck disappeared, speeding off down the street.