“When I began writing this, I really struggled. How do I find the right words to describe my dad? The most beautiful and eloquent words can’t possibly begin to express how amazing, wonderful, and loving he was—and he was all of those things, but he was so much more. To some he was a doctor, to others a friend, a coach, a teammate, a mechanic, a son, a grandpa, and a dad.” I watch as she takes a deep breath, biting her bottom lip as her chin quivers. She quickly looks back at the ceiling for a prolonged moment. The pain visible on her tortured face makes several people tear up again, sniffling as they wipe their faces without discretion. “To me, my dad was all of those things, and so much more. He was my dance partner, holding me on his feet as we paraded around, ‘because that’s how princesses are treated,’ he’d say. He was my mentor and teacher, educating me on life, and love, and books. He was my milkshake after a particularly rough day, my strength when I couldn’t keep it together, my legs when I couldn’t carry myself to the end. But he was so much more.
“My dad taught me to conquer my fears, no matter how large or small they are. And to reach for my dreams, regardless of how unattainable they seem. My dad was a superhero, a warrior.” The word leaves her and I can tell how much strength it required to get it out watching her jaw slowly stretch as she works to compose herself.
“I loved him for so many reasons, but what I loved the absolute most …” She sniffs and two tears fall simultaneously down her cheeks “… was being his daughter.
“My dad taught us all lessons about life and love, kindness, sharing, and humility. He was wise beyond all measures. He taught us to speak French, something we pulled out and dusted off each year when we saw our family. And the pride radiating from my grandfather, to my father, to us girls … I loved that feeling. I loved when he was proud of me. Thankfully, my dad always seemed to be our biggest fan, so it never took much.” Her lips press together in a firm line, the corners wavering between falling and lifting as she shifts her weight from one foot to the other. It reminds me of the first time I met Ace in my living room, something that feels like it was a hundred years ago, and yet looking at her now feels like it’s happening again.
“It took me three years of playing soccer before I got brave enough to score a goal. My dad never cared, though. Each game he’d lift me up on his shoulders and dance around with me, win or loss, assuring me that the score isn’t the most important part of the game, it’s your determination, your heart, and your will, and that just by going out and working, I won each and every time.” I wait for the joke. She’s told me this story before, ending it with, “I always tried to have him explain this win-win philosophy to my coaches, because they certainly followed the scoreboard.” But it doesn’t come.
“My dad preferred to eat his toast and popcorn both burnt.
“Not once did I ever hear my dad say a bad word, in any language that he fluently spoke.
“My dad and I secretly joined a soap box league when I was nine.” I hear Savannah whisper to Jenny, asking if she had known this, and listen to her quietly hiss a no.
“He called our mother ma moitié, his other half.
“I have a jar of pennies from my dad for each time something bothered me, and he’d silently slide one to me.
“He could consume two milkshakes in less than thirty minutes, and has his face on the wall of Maggie Lou’s to prove it.” She takes an audible breath and lifts a hand and I see a small remote in her palm.
“My dad was one of the most selfless people I’ve ever met, but he made one request for this day …” I watch her grimace. “His last words of wisdom to us all.”
She drops her arm to her side, and I know it’s because she can’t physically keep it up anymore as the quiet sounds of Let it Be, stream through the speakers. All around people laugh through their tears at the song we all seem to associate with David.
It’s not surprising that Ace disappears again after the burial. I can’t blame her. Watching the last of the soil pile on the casket has an adverse effect upon us all. I want to scream, and cry, and punch someone, all at the same time. Nothing about this is fair. My mom drives me home, and I feel like I’m twelve rather than twenty-three.
My fear is like a living thing, trapped inside of me, feeding off of what I had once felt so secure about—my relationship with her.
I’d managed to bring Jameson to that party at Karli Lincoln’s by assuring him Kendall would be there. Working to convince myself that the only reason I mentioned it was to help out a friend and be a good wingman. I think he knew I was lying, but it had been hard to tell; he was pretty infatuated with your older sister.
The party was not my scene. At least three-quarters of that crowd annoyed the hell out of me, but there I was. Do you remember Megan Vetter? If you don’t, I’m sure you would if you heard her hyena laugh. It made me realize I was underestimating the percentage of people I could stand. I feared you liked those people and the mind numbing conversations they shared.
Jameson followed me into the kitchen where a large bar was set up. I immediately looked over the different shaped and colored bottles to see what they had to offer. You know me, if I had to endure people like that before you, I needed the alcohol to help my nerves. It never managed to help me in the same way you do. You are my calm. Just seeing your smile relaxes every nerve in my body and allows my lungs to expand. A chick had obviously set the bar up. Only girls worry about making sure everyone is going to be able to find something that appeals to them.
I poured two shots and handed one to Jameson before throwing mine back, enjoying the quick burn of the whiskey that made Jameson glare at me. He still hated that shit, like you do.
“Max Miller?”
I turned, hearing the high-chiming voice of Heather Rodgers and saw her trademark long blond hair. She was wearing a short white dress that stuck to her like a sticker. I know you say you watched me a lot in high school, and I hate that you thought I actually messed around with all of those chicks. I don’t think many of them even had a sincere interest in me, not like you. Those girls just wanted to piss someone off, or have meaningless sex, something I don’t know that I’ll ever be able to do again. Heather had pursued me a good portion of my junior year. I had avoided her at all cost because she played soccer with you when you made JV your freshman year, the year I started noticing too much about you. She was always a pretty girl for the most part. I’m sure you’d say she was gorgeous. You’re like your dad, and see the good in everyone. Her big blue eyes that were a little wide set, and white smile greeted me, and all I could think about was you. It wasn’t fair, not many can compete at your level.
“Oh. My. God! It is you! I can’t believe it!” She laughed and tightly gripped my bicep, either trying to feel my muscles or in an attempt to turn me on. I didn’t know, and quite frankly, didn’t care. You know how you say my mind never stops? Well a flash of thoughts were brought to the forefront of my mind and I could recall her being one of the ring leaders in causing drama for Jenny when she got pregnant.
The ugly memories made me take a step back, but she didn’t seem to notice as she continued talking. “When did you get back? Are you staying? Oh my gosh, we should totally hang out!”
My eyes grew and my mind stopped, and began processing thoughts in a whole new direction. You were always too nice, always worrying about hurting someone’s feelings. I can be a dick and don’t have much remorse when I am, but as much as I wanted to tell her to get lost, you were right, my mom taught me better than that. I was about to lie to her when Jameson rescued me.