Witness

2| Heart to Heart

I came downstairs to find my dad sitting in his usual chair in front of the TV.

"What do you want for dinner tonight?" He asked as I took a seat on the nearby couch.

"You didn't plan anything?" I teased. I knew he wouldn't have planned dinner for us without my opinion.

My dad was a simple guy. If it were up to him, he would live off of frozen pizza, microwave meals, and cheddar ruffle chips. Earlier when I mentioned having home cooked meals, that's only when I was home to cook for him.

"Well, I went grocery shopping earlier, but I'm not sure if you have anything to make; why don't you take a look in the kitchen? We could do steaks, or tacos, or I don't know, maybe spaghetti if I have it?"

I chuckled at his random options, "Let's do steaks; I haven't had one in forever and that way you can grill while I make whatever sides I can find."

He agreed with my suggestion and I sat down beside him on the couch, watching the football game that he had on in comfortable silence. I wasn't a huge diehard football fan or anything, but I understood the game and would watch with my dad whenever I was home. I knew he enjoyed my company, even if I didn't share in his hysterical ranting after a loss of a team that I knew nothing about.

After finishing up watching the game, we both took to the kitchen. I poured myself a glass of Chardonnay from the cheap box of Franzia my dad kept in the fridge for my visits. It wasn't my favorite by any means, in fact, I preferred red, but it keeps well and I never would decline free wine. Besides, I would never have the heart to tell my dad that it wasn't my favorite, because at this point, he'd been buying it for me for years thinking that it was.

As I rounded the corner of our kitchen island, my socks slid across the tile, causing me to flail my arms to keep from falling. Some of my wine was tossed into the air and landed with a splat on the floor as I gripped the counter with my other hand to steady myself.

My dad was nearby, and although he reached a hand out to me, he really didn't help. He just chuckled as he regarded me. "First day on the new feet, Emmy?"

"Ha ha. Just slippery socks I guess," I explained, trying to calm my heart beat after almost eating shit. "There's a spill here now, though. Watch out dad, let me clean it up."

He just shook his head. "Oh, I've missed having you here. You just wouldn't be you if you didn't slip, trip, break, or spill something at least once."

I smiled up at him while I used my foot to move my wad of paper towel over my spilled wine. "Just you wait. I haven't even started cooking yet."

********

Cooking actually went well for me; as I said before, I did know my way around the kitchen. As my dad prepped the grill, I made us caesar salad, homemade mashed potatoes, and sautéed mushrooms and onions.

I never ate like this back at college. Mel and I were on a college student's budget, so we pretty much lived on microwave stir-fry, frozen pizzas, and the occasional take-out. So, needless to say, I was very excited to have a nice meal with my dad, but I knew today always had a sad looming cloud.

I wasn't sure if I should bring up the accident at dinner or leave it alone. My dad was a man of few words anyway, so I wasn't sure if he'd want to talk about his feelings at all. Either way, I came home to be with him today to hopefully help us both cope with our past as well as celebrate the incredible life force that was my mother.

I made my dad another Bacardi Coke and set the table while my thoughts wandered. I took another sip of my now refilled glass of wine and set it on the table next to our water glasses. My timing was perfect, because just as I put the last dish on the table, my dad came in with our steaks.