Jackson #2
“You’ll see.” She tugs me across the grass. “I’ll bring you to your chair, then I have a few things left to set up.”
They weren’t kidding about a special chair.
While everyone else has flimsy camping chairs, I’m parking my ass in a well-padded, oversized lounger underneath one of the tents.
It’s bright outside, but tolerable, and within seconds of sitting down, Rhett’s wriggling his way into the space between my legs so he can snack on chips loaded on a paper plate, as if nothing has changed and I haven’t spent weeks mostly confined to a bed.
It takes a minute before I’ve found a way to be comfortable despite his intrusive presence, but eventually I settle in.
“Daddy, I have your tiara,” Odessa announces.
With a deep breath, I turn to meet her eyes.
I can handle Rhett relaxing in my chair because, for the most part, he’s quiet and calm and just wants a comfy place to rest while he snacks.
But Odessa is a lot of person in one small package, and on the days when my skull feels like it’s been set on fire, she always seems to stroll in with a jerry can full of gasoline.
“It’s your birthday—shouldn’t you be the only one in a tiara?” I ask.
“Duh, I have one, too. It matches yours.” She rolls her eyes, as if I asked the dumbest question ever. Then pulls a crown from behind her back with an excited wiggle.
It looks like it’s from a discount store, with most of the blue gemstones slightly off-kilter. And I think I can see a few thin wisps of hot glue remnants like spider silk between them.
“Wow, it’s a great crown.” My attempt to be believably excited falls flat, but Odessa doesn’t seem to notice as she delicately places it on top of my head.
“It’s perfect. But don’t move, because the little pokey pieces that are meant to grip your hair might stab you in your brain, since there’s no hair there.”
“Well, they won’t go right into my brain.” They did put my bone flap back in place, after all.
Just when Odessa’s mouth opens to argue, she becomes distracted. “Grandpa!”
My dad. The one person around here I didn’t struggle to recognize after I woke up, because aside from more gray hair and a few extra lines around his eyes, he looks the same as he does in the patchy childhood memories that somehow survived my accident.
He strolls over, wrapping his arms around Odessa and lifting her into a bear hug. The old man’s wearing a crown, too. Once he sets the tiny princess back down, he strolls toward me and pulls up a chair next to mine.
“I like your bracelet,” Dad says with a wink. “Very cute.”
Immediately defensive, I reply, “Odessa made it for me.”
“Reminds me of the time I came to visit and you’d let her paint your nails lime green. That daughter of yours has always had you wrapped around her finger…all of you boys, really. That’s why her uncles are all wearing dresses.” He laughs.
I look down at my wrist. At the gift my daughter made because she’s scared I’ll forget about her without some sort of physical reminder attached to my body. How could I not put it on and refuse to take it off after hearing something like that?
“Anyway, I’m glad to see you outside.” His palm smooths over the curve of my shoulder. “It’s good for you to get some sun, fresh air, and family time. You’ll never get any better if you hide out in that dark room all the damn time.”
“Yeah…I guess.”
“I’m right on this one.” He leans back in his chair and crosses his legs. Rhett offers him a chip, and Dad takes it with a smile. “Even when it hurts, you have to buck up and deal with it. That’s part of being a dad.”
I give him a look.
“Doesn’t matter that you don’t remember making the decision to become a dad in the first place,” he adds, snagging another chip from Rhett. “I can confirm it was a decision you made and were very excited about.”
I’m a father.
I don’t feel like I am, but denial doesn’t make it less true.
Eventually, Odessa finds a spot on my lounge chair that requires my feet to be off the chair for her comfort.
So I sit awkwardly, with my feet hanging off either side, and lie back against the thick seat cushion to relieve some of the heavy pressure on my skull.
I want to ask her to find somewhere else to go, but with my dad’s words playing on repeat, I buck up and deal with the minor discomfort.
“You guys all good?” Kate hovers over her chair, waiting for confirmation that nobody needs anything before sitting the rest of the way down.
For a second, if I pretend my head isn’t throbbing and my entire body doesn’t feel weak, it’s like I’m in one of those dreams I keep having. Where we’re all sitting together in the sunshine, and everyone is happy, and I’m not an overwhelming burden on my family.
Denny strolls by in his dress and blows a handful of glitter in our direction, much to the delight of the kids, before he disappears behind a long line of fencing.
My eyes shift to where Austin’s propped up against a fence rail wearing a flowy pink dress that skims the ground. He looks ridiculous. And he looks like he knows it—hates it, too.
“Mom, look.” Odessa points. “There’s a horse in that chute. Is Uncle Denny going to ride a bronc in a princess dress?”
Kate visors her eyes with a flattened hand. “I think he might.”
Odessa’s hands clap together. “I hope he gets bucked off.”
“Princess dresses are like kilts, right? So that means this PG show might turn R in a hurry,” one of the ranch hands I’ve briefly met since coming home says with a laugh.
His name slips past me, teasing the tip of my tongue before drifting away. He’s been hanging around in the kitchen a few times when I’ve shuffled in there for tea or toast when it’s too much to ask Kate or Beryl for some, and it pisses me off that I can’t remember something as simple as a name.
“Colt, please tell me you’re not saying what I think you’re saying,” Kate replies. Colt. Fuck. Now I’m even more annoyed I couldn’t remember his name, given it’s a simple horse term. “You do have underwear underneath that dress, right? I have to take it back to the costume store.”