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Istand as Ellie walks out from her room wearing her shiny black graduation gown with a matching square cap held in her hand, a stark white tassel dangling from the center of it. My weight shifts from my left leg to my right as I adjust my stance to relieve the dull ache shooting up from my ankle.
“How do I look?” Ellie asks, her hands spread out like she’s ready to do jazz hands. The pretty floral pattern of her dusty blue dress peeks between the opening of her gown, right where her dark silky hair meets the dip in the collar.
“Oh, Eleanor,” Mary calls from her spot in the living room. “You look so beautiful.” Her voice croaks through tears, and Mark wraps his arms around her shoulders as she wipes the corner of her eyes with a small tissue.
Ellie smiles at Mary, the two embracing before Mary gives a light squeeze to Ellie’s shoulders. I grin wide as Ellie walks towards me. She twirls in her gown once before coming to a stop at my toes.
“Hi, beautiful,” I greet her.
“Hey,” she whispers as she leans in towards my chest, her hand running up the sleeve of my navy suit. “How’s the leg holding up?” She eyes the boot strapped to my left leg.
“I’m fine,” I assure her. “I told you not to worry about it.”
She eyes me, her lips pursed in disapproval. It’s the same face, an even mixture of sternness and concern, that she’s worn for the past six weeks since I came home from the hospital, making sure my recovery occurred without a stitch. While I hate the burden of playing patient while I heal, having her by my side most of the days feels like my own slice of heaven, especially after having spent so much time apart from her.
“You’ll tell me if you need a break?” she asks, never breaking down the role of caretaker.
My lips turn down in a small frown, reminding her that today is about her. “I can’t wait until I get this thing off next week and you can stop treating me like a big baby.”
“I told you to stay home and rest,” she argues. “If you did, then you wouldn’t have to listen to me nag.”
“First of all,” I say, flicking the tip of her nose, to which she adorably scrunches her face. “I wouldn’t miss this for the world. And second of all, you could never nag.” I bend down to kiss the corner of her mouth.
“Not even when I had to practically chain you to the couch so you would finally stay off your feet? Or when I—”
“Not even then,” I assure her, cutting her off.
She smirks with a small eye roll.
“We still have about two hours before the ceremony starts, but we should leave now so we can find parking and get good seats,” Mary announces, gathering a camera and her keys in her purse.
Ellie turns to face her mom, her hand lightly placed on my forearm. “Mom, I’m going to drive my car. I wanted to make a quick stop with Rhylan before we head over there.”
“Okay,” Mary answers. “We’ll see you there then.”
Ellie turns to me. She reaches for my hand as the four of us exit the house. I walk slowly, evening my steps on the slanted driveway towards the passenger side of Ellie’s car before we slide into our seats and buckle in.
“So, where’s this pit stop?” I ask as she turns into the main road.
“It’s a surprise,” she answers. “But I promise it’ll be worth the detour.”
After another twenty minutes of turns and curved roads, we pull up to a large plot of land covered in the greenest grass I’ve ever seen, all surrounded by full trees and rows of colorful flowers filling neatly trimmed bushes. Ellie parks the car and steps out. I don’t ask any questions, don’t prod for more information. Instead, I follow willingly, letting her lead the way as we walk through the grassy hill riddled with bouquets of fresh flowers lying on top of polished slabs of stone and marble.
We finally come to a stop in front of a gravesite with a headstone standing about two feet tall, glossy with granite. My eyes trail the words etched into the hard stone.
Daniel Francis Salerno
December 9, 1968 - February 24, 2012
Beloved father and husband
“Hi, Dad,” Ellie says sweetly into the wind. “I want you to meet Rhylan.” She stoops down, and her hand runs over the top of the headstone to greet her dad. When she stands upright, I pull her close to me, wrapping my arms around her as her gown swishes around us.
We hold on to each other, our faces angled downwards, saying our silent greetings and letting the air fill with the words that her father would have said to us if he were here.
Nice to meet you, Rhylan.
I’m so proud of you, Eleanor.
