Page 75 of Till The Cows Come Home
“Why don’t we get one of each and mix them? I don’t see any cream or sugar.”
“Sure, honey. Good thinking.”
The prices clearly had not been updated in awhile because the machine whirled to life as I deposited a singular dollar, and moments later a cup followed, clunking onto the platform to be filled. Two lonely buttons lit up, and I selected the one for coffee first, repeating the process for the hot chocolate when it had finished, and as I waited for it to brew I sipped off the top of the cup in my hands to make space for mixing.
Sloshing two cups of scalding hot liquid back and forth was probably ill advised, but we were surrounded by healthcare professionals if anything went south and I couldn’t stand the sludge as it was.
“Here ya go,” I said, offering my mother one of the cups, and I couldn’t help but laugh at the grimace that flooded her face as she took her first sip. “Maybe I can ask Miles to stop for coffee when he grabs lunch?”
“I think that’d be best, honey.”
We found an empty booth, sliding opposite each other, and I shot Miles a quick text with our demands before tucking my phone away. We had about forty more minutes to kill before the staff would be finished with dad, and although we were supposed to take a break, I knew my mother was just as eager as I was to get back to his room.
“You know, Mom, I don’t think you ever told me how you and dad met.”
My hope was that talking about him would grant us each a sliver of comfort, and my mother’s face lit up as she recalled the details. Their love was the silent type, one you didn’t always hear, but could always feel, and I couldn’t help but wonder if that came with time or if it'd always been that way.
“Well, before buying the farm, your father was a door to door salesman.”
“DAD?”
“Oh yeah, and he was awful. People think he’s reserved now, you should have seen him at nineteen. I don’t think he made a single sale. But opposites attract, and when a handsome man knocked on the door, I talked enough for the both of us.”
“So did you buy what he was selling?”
“Oh goodness, no. He was selling fancy vacuums and grandma and grandpa had hardwood floors. But I did invite him to the diner after his shift for a slice of pie.”
“And then?”
“And then we met at that same diner for pie again and again and again, and maybe after our twelfth or so slice he began to open up. Hasn’t shut up since.”
“What do you mean? He barely speaks.”
“Oh your father says plenty, just not always with his words…Sage, honey, I know I’ve failed you in more ways than one, but if I teach you anything, let it be this. Love is subjective. If you asked a thousand people to define it, you’d get a thousand different answers, and they’d all be right for them, but wrong for you. It takes hard work to learn to love someone the waytheyneed to be loved, but if you take the time to do it? Those relationships will last a lifetime.”
“You didn’t fail me.”
“You don’t lose almost all contact with your only child for three years by making the right choices, honey. And I’m sorry for that. I didn’t take my own advice, and you got to experience exactly what happens as a result. I was trying so hard to protect you from yourself, from ending up like your father and I, and it cost me precious time. And I promise you, it’ll never happen again.”
“I wasn’t perfect either, that's for sure. I held on to a grudge for so long because I wasn’t mature enough to look at the big picture, and now Dad is lying in a hospital bed and I don’t know if I’ll ever get that lost time back.”
“Whatever happens, we'll deal with it together, okay? We can’t change the past but we sure as hell can change the future.”
“I won't shut you out again.”
“I’ll hold you to it, now let’s go see if your father is done getting washed up by that pretty blonde.”
You never really know how heavy a burden is until it’s relieved. Unloading a few bricks here and there was nothing compared to the way I felt as my mother and I walked back to the room. My lungs filled fuller and every step was lighter, but most of all I felt prepared. Like I could deal with whatever it was that we walked into not only today, but every day after.
My mother and I had entertained each other throughout the day as best we could, but as the clock grew nearer to the twenty-four mark neither of us could focus. So when Miles barrelled through the door out of breath, I think we both felt relieved.
“I am so sorry I’m late. Did I miss it?”
“No, we're still waiting,” I answered, “now come distract us before we go crazy.”
And so he did.
The love I had for this man continued to increase as he told story after story, unphased by our lack of participation. When one ended, another began, and he just continued on until the tech knocked on the door.
