“Does he interact with any of the other residents?” I ask, feeling a little nervous.
“Not really.” Heather gives me a solemn look. “I think he avoids being with the rest of the residents because he gets confused very easily. We find he’s happiest when he’s in his own environment.”
And that breaks me. He’s so alone. The outgoing man I used to know doesn’t exist anymore; it’s almost as if his body is living but his affectionate and easygoing soul is not.
She knocks on the door and enters, talking loudly and clear. “Mr. Santos. We have a special visitor for you today.”
With a heavy heart I step into my father’s room, and I’m immediately transported to my childhood home. Pictures of my sister and me hang on his wall as well as pictures of my mother. He has a small flower patch and his trusty gardening tools by the window. On his bed, draped lengthwise, is the same exact afghan he would curl up under and watch movies when I was growing up, the maroon color now faded. And off to the side, his Crosley record player looks just as fine as it did back in the day.
Same man, but oh so different.
My dad doesn’t turn around so I pat Heather on the arm and say, “I can take it from here. Thank you for the tour.”
She gives me a sad smile and shuts the door behind me.
I take off my jacket and purse and rest them on his bed. With donuts in hand, I say, “Dad, it’s Amelia.” As I walk toward him, he turns in his chair and looks me up and down. His eyes are weathered, his skin pale, and the laugh lines I’ve always loved, look more like frown lines now.
Taking me in, he shifts in his chair and faces the window again, making my heart drop to the floor. He doesn’t recognize me.
My throat closes in on me and I try not to cry when his raspy voice breaks through the silence. “Got a strawberry-frosted donut with rainbow sprinkles in there for me, Bedelia?”
Bedelia, my nickname. He does remember.
I can’t help it, tears fill my eyes as I laugh-cry and walk over to him. “Of course, Daddy.”
He holds out his hand, and as he takes mine, he squeezes me tightly. Still looking out the window, he says, “What took you so long?”
“I had some things to work out, but I’m here now.”
“For how long?”
“I moved back home, Daddy.”
Now he turns toward me, tears in his eyes. “My Bedelia is back?”
I nod, my lips sealed together, trying to hold back the tears pressing to fall. Hearing my dad call me Bedelia makes me believe that he’s not completely lost . . . yet.
“Yes. I’m renting a place not too far away. I can visit you much more often.”
“Do you have a job?”
I chuckle and nod. He’s always been concerned about our stability. “I have a job at Hillcrest High School as a counselor. I start tomorrow.”
He smiles and looks back out the window. “That’s cause for celebration, shall we have a donut?”
“I think we shall.”
I pull the donuts out of the bag and hand him one, but before he takes a bite, I lean over and kiss him gently on his bald head. How have I gone a year since seeing this man? He’s always been such an amazing dad, and yet somehow, when he needed me, I haven’t been here. This was the right decision to make, to move back. He is the right reason. “I love you, Dad.”
“I love you, too, Amelia Bedelia.”
***
I open the trunk to my SUV and sigh. I might have gone overboard.
Mrs. Ferguson’s furniture is very nice, solid actually, but it needs a bit of updating, so I spent the last few hours shopping around town, making sure to stop in Target, Pier One, Kohl’s, and Bed, Bath, and Beyond. I bought throw pillows, blankets, bedding, kitchen accessories, dish towels, bathroom accessories, rugs, curtains, and lamps. Before I went to see my dad this morning, I assessed everything I wanted to get and made a list. I then packed up Mrs. Ferguson’s things and took them to the basement, so I can start fresh when I’m home.
And now I’m looking at all the bags in my SUV, thinking I may have spent a little too much. Looks like Nirchi’s Pizza is going to have to take a backseat for the next few weeks.
“Only one way to get all these bags into the house.” I start to unpack, being careful to not spill any breakable items.
I put my first haul on the couch and head back outside just in time to see a giant black pickup pull into the shared driveway connecting with mine.
Aaron.
I try to avoid looking at him, but curiosity wins out. His truck matches his size—large and powerful. His Yankees hat matches his eyes—blue and mysterious. And the rectangular pizza box he’s carrying in his arms matches . . .
Wait, that doesn’t match anything. Scratch that, it matches the growling noises in my stomach. I know that box from anywhere. It’s Nirchi’s pizza. Damn him.
Damn him!
“Hey Amelia,” he calls out, holding the box to his side. Is he going to eat all of that?
Most likely, he’s a giant. That entire box is probably just an appetizer.
“Amelia?” he asks, scrunching down to catch my eyes.
I shake off my pizza trance and awkwardly wave while saying, “Have a nice day.”
Eck, I didn’t mean to brush him off so brusquely, but he makes me nervous . . . and angry, and nervous.
“Oh, uh, okay. You too,” he says as I round my SUV and sit in the back of it, trying to catch my breath. Have a nice day? Not even a hello? Come on, it’s bad enough I have to see him, do I have to be incredibly awkward as well?
“I blame the pizza,” I say to myself, staring at my shoes and trying to control myself. Seeing your ex-love is never easy.
“What are you blaming the pizza for?” Aaron startles me off the edge of my car, causing me to fall ass first onto the pavement of the driveway with a thump. “Shit,” Aaron murmurs as he attempts to help me back up. His attempt falls short as he manhandles me with his strong hands and arms by awkwardly grabbing the collar of my jacket and lifting me up. It’s not the most graceful “rescue” and it only makes things that much more uncomfortable. “Uh, sorry about that.” He cringes, trying to pat my jacket down at the shoulders. “I didn’t mean to help you up like that.” He laughs nervously. “That was kind of awkward.”
I straighten my jacket and brush off my butt while stepping away. I need space from him . . . at all times. “Just a little.” I eye him and ask, “Is there something I can help you with?”
Sheepishly, he nods at the trunk of my car. “I was actually going to ask you if you needed help; seems like you did a little shopping.”
“Just needed a few things.” Do not look him in the eyes. Don’t even think about looking at him. End this conversation immediately because it can only end up hurting you. “I’m good. You can go eat your pizza, I don’t want it to get cold.”
“Are you sure? There’s a lot in here. I don’t mind, Amelia.”
“Well, I mind,” I snap, causing him to take a step back, a pained look spreading on his face. I let out a long, frustrated breath. “Stop being nice to me, okay? I can’t take it.”