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I rubbed my dad’s back. I didn’t wake up expecting to have this conversation today, but holy shit was I glad we did. I saw my father in an entirely new light, as if some kind of invisible layer had been peeled back. I hated the answer to my question, but I was glad my dad was able to share himself like that.
“What else did Eric like to do?”
His eyes crinkled as the smile grew. “Dance. He loved every kind of dance under the sun. Hip-hop, tap, ballroom, ballet. He did it all, and he’d bust out into spontaneous dances, too. Sometimes just so that he could get you smiling.”
“Did you ever learn any moves from him?”
He chuckled and shook his head. “You’ve seen my rhythm, Char. I dance as well as that broken branch waving in the breeze over there.”
“Stiff and erratic?”
“Exactly.”
More laughter, more tightening of the bonds between my dad and me. Bonds that I hadn’t envisioned ever tightening over a conversation like that, not as a kid. We never had that kind of relationship growing up, but I was beyond grateful to have it now.
We talked some more about Eric. I wanted a full picture painted, down to his horoscope and any food allergies he might have had. My dad’s face lit up when he talked about all their memories together, learning how to ride bikes and then getting lost on them for hours in the neighborhood or the time they movie-hopped to six different movies in a day and ended up getting banned for life from the theater chain. Eric had waltzed his way out of the lobby, which was appropriate since the last movie they had watched ended with a ballroom scene.
At some point, my mom came back outside and joined us. She had met Eric a year before he died and had some stories of her own, all of them shared with as wide a smile as my dad had worn. Some more tears were shed, but they were the happy kind, the ones that honored a special person’s memory.
By the time we had finished reminiscing, I had a clear image of Eric and the type of guy he was, along with an audibly growling stomach. We moved the conversation out to the front yard. Austin had texted me that he was making dinner for us, and I decided that I’d keep this honesty ball rolling and ask him about the full story between us.
“Thank you, Dad,” I said as he stood by my car, my mom already having gone back inside. “For talking to me, for loving me. Not a lot of people can say the same thing to their fathers.”
“And thank you, son, for listening and understanding. I don’t think we could have raised a better kid. At all. Love you, Char.”
He hugged me then, kissed me on the cheek, and then went back inside with my mom, the door closing behind him but everything else feeling so much more open. I felt closer to my dad than ever before, and I expected my conversation with Austin tonight to go just as well. I got into my car with a smile and a warmth in my chest, not taking all this love for granted.
I pulled out of my parents’ driveway and took off down the dark street, deciding to play some upbeat music and lower the windows, enjoying the fresh air and just living.
I was so busy enjoying life and singing out of tune, in fact, that I didn’t even register the scratched-up car that seemed to be making every turn I made on my way to Austin’s.
25
Austin Romero
The Stonewall Investigations offices were finally complete. All the furniture had arrived and been assembled (by a sweating Darien and me, with some assistance from a non-sweating Houston), and the art had been hung on the walls and flowers placed throughout. There was a fresh coat of paint and three empty offices waiting for detectives to come join the team. A rainbow flag hung from the main window that overlooked the main street, just next to Darien’s desk, which I currently leaned against as we talked about Darien’s new boyfriend.
“He’s visiting this weekend,” Darien said, taking back his phone and smiling at the picture he had shown me of them on their first date in front of Carnegie Hall.
“Think he’ll like it here?”
“I freaking hope so. He’s used to the big-city life like I was, but Blue Creek has its own kind of magic. It might take more than a weekend for him to see it, who knows. Or maybe it doesn’t.” Darien shrugged and leaned back in his chair. He looked over at Houston, perched on a tree stand that Darien had bought for his new best friend. Houston leaned in as Darien gave him a few belly scratches, making satisfied clicking sounds with his beak.
