“Let me take care of those,” I said, gently guiding Nana to the side with my hands on her shoulders.
“Absolutely not. You are a guest. Sit,” she said as she flipped the water faucet on. “That’s an order.”
I backed away from the sink, my hands in the air in surrender. “All right, all right.”
Mallory was in her room putting Corbin down for the night and Tommy was in the den. We’d enjoyed dinner together and it was reminiscent of my first time at the house, back when I showed up with nothing more than youthful confidence and a budding crush. The house was still pretty much the same. Nana was the same, too. Maybe a few more wrinkles, but even those she wore well.
Time hadn’t been as kind to Tommy. I didn’t ask, but I’d assumed he’d suffered at least another stroke between now and then. The spark in his eye was harder to find. There had been more loss of his physical control over his body, but definitely not over his mind. That evidence was hung all over the house. Every room had at least one of his paintings, some three or four. It was a museum. It was incredible.
While Nana stubbornly washed the dishes from supper, I walked around the house to admire the artwork. The one thing that struck me were the dates written at the bottom, right next to his unmistakable signature. All were created at least six months ago, nothing more recent.
Tommy had put away his paintbrushes.
“I had to load him with Benadryl, but it looks like he’s out for the night.” Mallory stood in the archway to the family room, her hand to the wall. Her hair was pulled into a messy topknot and she had sweatpants on. She looked incredibly hot and my heart stirred at the sight of her.
“Seriously? That’s how you do it?” I turned my attention from the painting on the wall.
“No! I’m totally kidding.”
I felt like an idiot for asking. All it served to show was how much I didn’t know about parenting. How far I had to go. “Oh. Got it,” I said.
“Believe me, I’ve been tempted before.” She came to sit on the couch and curled her legs up under her small body. “Corbin’s a pretty easy baby, knock on wood.” With her hand in a fist, she tapped on the side table next to the sofa. “And despite all of that sleep earlier in the day, I think traveling still wiped him out.” The moment she finished her sentence, her mouthed turned into an O shape, the yawn escaping her lips. “Me too, I guess.”
I was still wide-awake, the three-hour time difference messing with my senses. “Traveling will do that.”
“Where’s Nana?”
“Doing dishes like a beast. Won’t let me help, of course.”
With another yawn, Mallory nodded. “Yep, that sounds like her.” She looked around the room, taking in the pictures I’d studied earlier. “He hasn’t been painting lately.”
“Do you happen to know why?”
“No muse, I suppose.”
“Muse?” I shook my head. “I didn’t realize he had muses.”
Mallory shifted in her seat. “Well, not in the sense that a person can be a muse. But an event. So much of Tommy’s art is centered around something that happened and the emotion that came with it. It’s like an article on the canvas, the way he retells the story.”
That’s exactly what it was, and suddenly it all made sense. The paintings from Monica’s mom’s studio were exactly that—events retold with his talent.
It felt like maybe it was time for Tommy to have another muse.
“Hey, do you know if he’s is in the den?”
Mallory nodded. “Tommy? Yeah, I think so. Want to visit with him?” She started to stand, her body lifting from the couch cushion.
“If it’s all right with you, do you mind if I go alone?”
The room was essentially how we’d left it that day. The day when I’d barreled in and pulled him from his work, from his life. When the wreckage was more than twisted metal and steel. When it was my twisted heart, my broken spirit. My broken Mallory.
The books in the back of the room had a decade of dust on them, filling the embossed grooves of titles and author names. I resisted the urge to blow across their spines, to see the dust sprayed into the air like confetti. The brocade couch remained in the same place, with maybe a few more springs popped and broken. The floor was thick in texture, layered with paint so you wouldn’t even know there was hardwood underneath.
And there in the middle of the room sat Tommy, with a blank canvas two feet away. It mocked him with its pristine white slate. I wondered how many days he sat there, unmoving, the challenge set before him, but yet not accepted.
“Tommy?” I kept my voice low. “Is it okay if I come in?”
I’d learned to read the recognition in Tommy’s mannerisms back then. The faint upward twitch of his brow let me know he’d like my company, so I shut the door slowly and paced over. I stooped down and reached for his hand to give it a shake.
“It’s been a while. Nice to see you again.”
His eyes met mine, the smile behind them sneaking through.
“Do you mind if I pull up a chair?” The wooden feet scrapped across the tacky floor and I dropped down into the seat. “There’s something I’d like to talk to you about.”
With his left hand, Tommy guided the wheel of his chair so that he swiveled toward me, our knees touching. He was giving me his full attention and I felt my heart quicken, my pulse a snare drum in my wrist.
“You know I loved Mallory. Your paintings perfectly illustrated what my heart felt. I saw them at Mrs. Broderick’s studio. They were breathtaking, Tommy.” And heartbreaking, but in the most incredible way. “I need you to know that I still love your daughter.”
I tried not to startle—to not choke up—when Tommy’s hand suddenly dropped to my knee with a clap. It was a moment of connection unlike any I’ve had with him before. It overwhelmed me.
“I know we’ve only recently reunited, but I plan to love her forever.” I fought against the lump that balled in my throat. “I would like nothing more in this world than to make her my wife.” My voice vibrated from me. Emotion rattled it out. “I don’t know when I’ll ask her, or if she’ll even accept, but I also don’t know when I’ll see you again, and I wouldn’t feel right asking for her hand without asking your permission first.”
Tommy’s eyes were a storm cloud of emotion and I couldn’t decipher anything in them, couldn’t read or interpret the waves that crossed through them. He wasn’t expecting this conversation, though. That was extremely clear.
I cleared my throat. “So Tommy, would you allow me the honor of marrying your daughter? I promise to protect and love her until the day I die.” A tear rolled down my cheek, followed by another. The fact that my love for a woman could bring me—a grown man—to tears in front of her father was startling. But the way I felt about Mallory—about Corbin—startled me, too.
I knew I wouldn’t get my answer right then, and that was okay.
I would wait for it.
He would let me know.
“Hard to believe this is where it all began.”
The melodic ding of the cash register, the chime of the door, and the sizzle of the fryer was a soundtrack to our first encounter and it played out again tonight. I supposed it wasn’t fair to call it an encounter since it was really just me being a creepy teenager and staring at her while she ate.
“Why didn’t you say anything to me when I was here? How come you waited until I was on my ass on the frozen ground?” Mallory pushed the banana split sundae forward while she popped a spoonful into her smirking mouth. The glass base slid across the glitter strewn black tabletop. It was a table that could only exist in a retro diner like this. I couldn’t recall how many times my dishrag swept over these surfaces.
“You were busy with your meal and I was on the clock, I guess.” I shrugged my shoulders, then finally asked the question that had been on my mind for so long. “Hey, do you mind telling me what Tuesdays at this diner meant to you?”
“Tuesdays?” She rolled the melting ice cream on her tongue, talking around the soft texture.
“Yeah, it sorta seemed like you had a routine.”
“Oh.” Then, looking a little embarrassed, Mallory grabbed the sundae back and drew another heaping spoonful to her lips. She took a moment to let the sting of cold subside, then swallowed, and began talking. “So my mom and I came here to eat once. I was six. She told me I could order anything on the menu—or off the menu, for that matter. So I did. Grilled cheese with mayo. Barbecue chips. Pickle and a lemonade without ice. The whole time I was reciting my order to the waiter, she smiled at me and it was the sweetest smile. She looked so pretty, even though her illness had taken the extra weight from her bones and hair from her head. When she handed the waiter her menu, she said, ‘Make that two.’” Mallory was looking down at the ice cream like she could see the memory playing out in the melting scoops. “I’d asked her why she ordered the same thing and she told me she wanted our meal to be shared completely. We even ate it the same, really playing together. My mom knew how to make me feel special, even though she must’ve been breaking inside. She made me feel so loved in that moment, and not scared. It was a silly memory, but such a good one.”
While she’d been talking, I reached my hand across the table and took hold of Mallory’s free one.
“That was our last good meal together. She got really sick after that. I think she knew it would be her final real dinner with me and that’s why she wanted to make it so memorable. It was on a Tuesday. She died the following Tuesday.”
I was about to say how sorry I was, but Mallory looked up with tear-filled eyes and the softest smile on her lips.
“That’s a good memory.”
She lifted with a laugh. “Not very good food, though. Grilled cheese with mayo is not the best. But it made me think of her each time I came here and ate it. I was so young when she died. The memories that people tell you over the years, sometimes you don’t know if they are actually your memories or just stories that have become real in your mind because you keep hearing them. But this,” she said, glancing around the room from our corner booth. “This was real. This was something I remembered experiencing with her. I wanted to hang on to that forever.”
“That’s beautiful, Mallory.”
She passed the sundae back to me and I took a bite. “It really is. I wish Corbin had memories and not just stories, but hey, want can you do?”
Had we not been in the diner, I would’ve hauled her into my arms to comfort and hold her. But comforting sometimes came in the listening moments. In the times when you offered your ear and your heart. I could tell it was good for Mallory to talk about these things and I was honored she wanted to share that with me.
“Okay, so I have another question.”
Bringing a napkin to her lips, she swept it across her mouth. “Go for it.”
“I know I have a lot of them, so you can tell me to stop prying.”
“You’re not prying, Heath. I’m doing life with you. You deserve to know anything you want.”
That phrase hit me straight in my chest. I warmed all over at her words. I took a moment to compose myself before asking, “Tommy. Why do you call him Tommy instead of Dad?”
“Oh, hmm.” She thought on it a moment before delivering her answer. “When he had the first stroke, we really had no idea what his mental state was. They said there was quite a bit of brain damage. For the most part, he was pretty unresponsive. Confused. It seemed as though he was off in another world more than he was present with us. The doctors suggested we call him by his name so he wouldn’t be confused about his roles, or even feel pressured to have one. They just wanted him to work on regaining his strength, both mental and physical. I’m not sure how sound that advice was, but it made sense at the time.”
“He knows you’re his daughter, Mallory.”
“I know that.” She shrugged. “Part of me thinks—or at least hopes—he always has. But life hasn’t been easy for him, and if I could make it easier by taking the strain of expectation off, then that was a simple sacrifice. I don’t know. The name Tommy just means Dad to me, anyway, so I suppose it’s all the same.”
“Sacrifices are rarely simple.”
She laughed again. “Yeah, I guess that’s true, too. I don’t know.” She looked out the window, her eyes vacant with reminiscence before they refocused my way. “Any other questions? I’m serious, I’m happy to answer them.”
I had one, a huge one, but it would have to wait. “Nope. That’s it for now.”
Waiting was something I was good at when it came to Mallory.
