Page 7 of Keeping Mr. Sweet

I almost turn around again just to look at him, but this is all in my head. This memory is a hodgepodge of the last time I saw him and what I wish our last visit together could be. If I turn around now this moment might end and I’m not ready to be faced with his being gone. My eyes burn, and I take a deep breath while I try to hold shit together. There’s not enough kitchen twine to keep me from falling apart.

I pick up the bottle and study the white, red, and black label of the 42-year-old single malt liquor before I pour a generous measure into two glasses.

“Don’t be stodgy,” he tells me. “Today is a day for drinking. Pour yourself a double. And bring the bottle.”

I do just that. Take the whole lot to his desk. I set a glass down in front of his chair before sitting in the chair I would normally take.

“Cheers.” He lifts the glass and smiles at me. I’m going to miss this.

Hiding away in his office, when Sasha’s on one of her missions to make us all miserable with kale or tofu or whatever the next trend she’s obsessed with are some of my favorite memories of him.

“Cheers,” I echo the sentiment and sip the scotch. It’s smooth as silk going down.

“Good, isn’t it? There were only a few of these made before the distillery was demolished. Now each bottle is worth a pretty penny.”

“It’s good.” I nod as I take another sip.

“Yes, well, my death seems like the perfect occasion to drink it.”

I almost spit the scotch back into my glass. I’m aware this isn’t real, this isn’t his ghost. I’m not delusional. I just don’t know how to not have him in my life on a day-to-day basis. It’s too soon.

“I’m so proud of you, Sam. Proud of the man you’ve become.” He wrinkles his brow like he’s concerned, the same way he did the last time I saw him when we shared almost this exact conversation. Then he puts his glass down and sighs. “But you’re not happy. You haven’t been in I don’t know how long. A couple years now.”

Since Ash told me she couldn’t handle the idea of being tied down. To one man. To one place. There was so much to see and do and experience. How could she be expected to stay in one spot when she was barely nineteen?

She was right of course. What we had... it was ridiculous. She didn’t need to be stuck with a man so much older than her. I shrug and stretch my legs out in front of me. I’m only missing her because I expected her to come home for this. “I’m happy. I’m doing what I love.”

“You’re not doing something you love.” He hits the table with his fist. “You’re skating. Skating at work, and at life. What are you going to do about it?”

“Christ.” I rub my temples with forefinger and thumb, blocking him out for a moment. “You don’t know everything, old man. I’m doing the best I can.”

He’s gone when I look up. I mean he was never really there, but he’s truly gone now. My eyes water, can’t stop them from tearing up as I sit there and stare at his empty chair. I drop my head and press my forehead into the heel of my hand. What do I do without you?

The noise from outside gets louder for a second and then fades away as she closes the door before walking across the room. I know the way she moves, can’t seem to forget it. Her hands squeeze my shoulders, move across my chest until I’m wrapped in her arms. I grab her wrist, don’t dare let go.

“My turn,” she says as I twist to hug her back. “My turn to hold your pieces together.”

“Ash.” There’s nothing I can say to tell her how much I need her right now.

“Your dad was a great man.” She’s teary herself. “He was the best dad any of us could have wanted. I wish he was still here.”

I squeeze her just that little bit tighter, for her sake or mine, who knows. “I don’t know how to say goodbye to him.”

“Then don’t. Not today.” She cradles my head against her belly. There’s a hot wet patch where my face is pressed to her navy linen dress.

I want to ask her how she expected me to say goodbye to her the day she walked out two years ago. How I was supposed to just put it behind me like it never happened. But she’s right, today is not the day. I let her go long enough to climb out of the chair and pick up the bottle of Ladyburn.

Outside Sasha’s voice gets closer. “Stephen has cigars in his office. I’ll just be a moment.”

“There’s no way she’s giving away dad’s cigars to this crowd.” I stomp around to the other side of the desk and rip open the third drawer. I know the woman is my mother, but sometimes I don’t understand how we can be related. Or how my father put up with her for thirty odd years. And now he’s gone. He’d want me to make sure she’s taken care of, but that doesn’t mean she’s giving away his stuff like it doesn’t mean anything. The box of Montecristos sits front and center and I tuck it under my arm so that I can grab Ash’s hand. “Come on.”

We’re out the French doors that lead into the rose garden off Dad’s study before Sasha enters the room. We’re swigging from the bottle, share for share before we find the exit that leads past the swimming pool to the guest house. She’s in my arms, she’s all mine again before the door shuts.

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