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ONCE AGAIN, IT'S ANOTHER dull weekend with Nicholas and me. Johnny isn't with us, which is fine, because I wouldn't want him around all the time. Sure, he's handsome, and he might even be helpful, but his tendency to take over can be annoying. It's going to be strange enough when we go out on that date together.
“A date,” I whisper to myself, while Nicholas eats a questionable frozen dinner. It looks like Salisbury steak and gooey mashed potatoes, and it smells a bit sour. “I haven't been on a date in a long, long, loooong time.”
I don't think Johnny knows what he's getting into. Once you've been a spinster as long as me, the idea of dating is... well, it's a bit preposterous, to be honest. I wouldn't even know how to act on a date. What does he have planned, and what if he expects a kiss? I haven't kissed a guy since Harry's Diner was in its heyday, and the jukeboxes still worked.
I watch my poor charge stick a rather large piece of Salisbury steak into his mouth, and he chews for ages. It must be as tough as old leather, and I doubt it tastes good, but Nicholas looks surprisingly content. For dessert, he eats one of Evangeline's cookies, a frosted sugar cookie with a smiley face. He consumes the entire thing in two very large bites.
“You should savor those cookies!” I complain to him. “You don't have to wolf it down, you know?”
He ignores me and eats another cookie in even less time... then he chases it down with his usual vodka. Milk and cookies would have been a better combination, but I can't say I'm surprised.
His cellphone buzzes, but when he pulls it from his pocket, he realizes it's just an ad. I'm not surprised. As far as I know, Nicholas doesn't get texts from anyone.
“You know...” Pointing at Nicholas' phone, I suggest, “You could try to call Hannah before you get too drunk to make sense.”
Sadly, he doesn't take my advice. He chucks his phone on a nearby table and eats another smiley cookie. I often wonder if Hannah would like to hear from her father. She doesn't reach out to him, but that doesn't mean he isn't on her mind. If they're both stubborn people, which I think they might be, they could avoid each other forever, and this mission of mine might never end. I hope I'm wrong about that.
Three vodka shots later, Nicholas does something that's... surprisingly sentimental. He removes a dusty book of photos from a shelf that's rarely touched. These pictures were assembled by Nicholas' wife, with loving care. The first photos were taken in the eighties, and start with Nicholas and Katya's wedding.
I watch over Nicholas' shoulder as he flips through the book. He spends a few minutes staring at his wife in her wedding dress, so I say, “She was a lovely bride. That... that was some pretty big hair, though. Even for the eighties. How did she get her bangs to stand up like that?”
Ah, the eighties. I lived through that era as well, but I was a much older woman by that time, so I didn't care to keep up with trends. My sister and I were creatures of habit, and we rarely altered our hair from the fifties. I had a bob, and Gayle had curls. My hair is longer now, but there's still something distinctly 1950's about it.
I rarely think about Gayle anymore, but when I do, I get as heartsick as Nicholas feels now. When he turns a page in the book and finds his first picture of Hannah, that's when I hear his first sniffle. The rest of the photos end in the nineties, when Hannah was still a little girl. When everything went digital, Katya stopped taking pictures... and then she got ill. She fought against her cancer for a long time.
Why does life have to be so hard, I wonder? I asked an Archangel that question once, and I'll never forget his answer. It was Archangel Sandalphon, and he said, “Earth is like a school, and each hardship is like a lesson... but it's not always hard, is it? You can't fully appreciate the happy times until you've lived through hard times too. And every hardship strengthens a soul.”
It was a good answer, which is why I still remember it with clarity, but I don't know... why does it seem like some people go through more than their fair share of difficult times? I've been with Nicholas for three years, but I don't think I've ever seen him look happy. Just once, I want to see him with a huge smile on his face, even bigger than those oversized smiles on those cookies from Evangeline.
Instead of smiling, he's crying. The tears finally come when he turns a page and finds a picture of five-year-old Hannah riding on her dad's strong shoulders.
He doesn't cry a little bit... he cries a lot. It's howls and sobs, and my heart breaks for him. I'm sure the vodka has something to do with how freely his tears are flowing, but I know he's genuinely sad. He wants to mend the gap between them, but doesn't know how.
Squeezing Nicholas' shoulder, I whisper, “We'll keep working at it, okay? Johnny will help too. You'll get brave one day, and Hannah will be back in your life. I promise. I don't know exactly how it'll happen, but it'll happen.”
Nicholas turns another page and sobs again. This time, there's a picture of Hannah with a teddy bear, and a second picture of Hannah, still clinging to the bear, while Nicholas pushes her on the backyard swing.
“Daddy got her that bear,” Nicholas whispers to himself. “I got her that bear. I remember.”
“Why don't you try calling her right now?” I suggest. “I don't think you're that drunk yet... comparatively speaking. You can tell Hannah you miss her. I bet she'd like to hear that.”
Nicholas closes the book of photos and reaches for his phone. He stares at his list of contacts—a very sparse list of contacts—and presses Hannah's name.
Oh my god, it's finally happening! He's going to call her! I wish Johnny was here right now. I know he's not officially my partner, but I wouldn't want him to think this was a bad idea. Is it a bad idea?
I lean as close to the phone as I can. After a few seconds, I hear the sound of Hannah's voice.
“Hello?”
Nicholas sniffles and says nothing. His hands are shaking. He looks terrified.
Hannah tries again, “Hello... Dad?”
And then he hangs up.
The progress I was hoping to make... is lost in an instant.