20. Lucy
Lucy
When he finishes his sandwich, he crumples up the paper wrapper and wipes his mouth with a napkin. The way he talks about his dad’s expectations of him is so…detached. It feels more like he’s talking about a stranger than the man who raised him.
“Is that what you want?” I ask him.
He blinks at me, like he’s surprised I’d ask him that.
“Do you want to be that committed to hockey?” I ask.
“Of course I do. I love hockey. When I’m on the ice, I feel like I’m home. Like I belong.”
The look in his eyes warms when he talks about how much he loves playing. I smile, happy that he loves it so much.
“I just wish my dad would lighten up. It would be nice if he felt more like my dad and less like a hypercritical hockey analyst.”
“Hypercritical?”
“He’s not one for compliments. He says they don’t help you become a better player. To him, the only thing that makes you better is knowing what your weaknesses are so you can improve them.”
“Wait, so, when he watches you play, does he even tell you good job?”
“Nope.” Leo’s jaw works as he crumples his napkin in his fist. “I don’t remember the last time he said that to me.”
“Not even when he hugs you?”
There’s a flicker of pain in his mahogany eyes. “He’s not a hugger.”
My chest aches. Poor Leo. Having a dad like his sounds awful. What would it be like to grow up with a parent who was so hard on you? Who criticized you and demanded perfection from you always? Who never expresses a loving feeling to you? Who never hugged you?
I think about my dad, how warm and kind he was. How he was proud of me, no matter what. I must have tried a million different activities as a kid. Ballet, soccer, dance, gymnastics. I wasn’t very good at most of them, but he always showed up and cheered me on. He was always proud of me.
As long as I tried my best and was a good person, he was happy with me.
And he always hugged me. Every single day.
My heart squeezes in my chest when I think about how much I miss his bear hugs.
I’d give anything to have him back…but now I realize how lucky I was to have him for the time that I did. I never doubted his love for me, ever. He loved me unconditionally, always. I’ll remember it forever. That’s not something everyone gets.
“Enough about my dad. What was your dad like?” Leo hesitates for a second. “Sorry, I wasn’t trying to pry. If it’s too painful to talk about him, you don’t have to.”
“No, it’s okay. I love talking about him.” I start to smile. “He was the best. Warm and funny and goofy and kind. He told endless dad jokes. It drove my mom and me crazy.”
Leo flashes a small smile. “Tell me one of them.”
“One time, he said, ‘Lucy, honey, I have some bad news. I’m colorblind.’ And I was like, ‘What? That’s crazy.’ And he says, ‘I know. It came totally out of the blue!’”
Leo chuckles. “Tell me more about him.”
That warm feeling inside of me burrows deeper, hearing the genuine interest in Leo’s tone. Just knowing that he wants to know more about him means so much. I’m always alone, so I never get to talk about him anymore. But now I can.
“He was an accountant. Such a numbers guy. He had a spreadsheet for everything. He was the kind of person who never hesitated to help out our neighbors. He’d get up early and shovel their driveways in the winter whenever there was a big snowfall.
He’d offer to check their mail and get their packages when they were out of town. ”
Leo’s smile grows. “He sounds like a really nice guy.”
Emotion bubbles up in my throat. “He was the best dad. The best person. I was lucky to be his daughter.”
My eyes start to water. Leo reaches across the small table and scoops my hand in his. “If this is too much, we can stop.”
“No, it’s okay. I really miss talking about him.”
“Then tell me more.”
“He was ridiculously dedicated to keeping the lawn in front of our house immaculate. Every Saturday morning in the spring and summer, he would get up early to work on it. He’d try to get me to help him, but I’d always whine about wanting to sleep in.”
“Did he make you get up anyway?”
“No, he was a big softie. He let me get away with a lot.”
“Like what?”
“Like when I wanted a puppy for my sixteenth birthday. My mom said no because she knew what a big responsibility a dog would be for me at that age, but my dad convinced her. And then he surprised me with a puppy on my birthday. Wally.”
Leo’s brow lifts. “That’s how you got Wally?”
I nod, swallowing through the swell of emotion. “Yeah. That’s why it hurt so much when my stepdad gave him away. Wally is the last connection I have to my dad, and I almost lost him.”
My voice shakes. Leo gives my hand another soft squeeze.
“Hey,” he says softly. “That wasn’t your fault, Lucy. Don’t blame yourself.”
I look at him, heartened by the conviction in his tone. Like it hurts him to know that I blame myself for what happened to Wally.
“The only person to blame is your stepdad. He’s a piece of shit, by the way.”
He runs his big thumb over my knuckles, and I shiver.
“Your dad would be so proud of the way you took care of Wally.”
“You think so?”
He holds my gaze and nods. “Yes. Without a doubt. Believe it, okay?”
My insides go gooey at the pleading in his tone. Like he wants more than anything for me to be okay.
“Thank you,” I say softly.
Leo looks at my half-eaten sandwich. “Was your dad a fan of mozzarella sticks on sandwiches?”
I laugh softly at the randomness of his question. I soften at how he’s trying to cheer me up.
“I don’t know if he ever had a sandwich like this, but I know he’d like it. He was a big fan of both chicken strips and mozzarella sticks.”
I smile down at my leftovers.
“What’s making you smile like that?” Leo asks.
“His favorite appetizer was mozzarella sticks, and his favorite place to order them from was The Cheesecake Factory.”
Leo grins wide. “Seriously?”
“Yeah. He and my mom would take me there for my birthday every year. It’s my favorite place to go out to eat.”
“When’s your birthday?”
“February fourteenth.”
Leo raises an eyebrow. “Valentine’s Day?”
“Yeah,” I say through an exhale. “Not the greatest day for a birthday. But my parents always made it special for me. They said that February fourteenth was officially my birthday, and they moved Valentine’s Day to the day after.”
“That’s really sweet.”
I glance down at my lap. “I haven’t been to Cheesecake Factory in years. Not since my dad died.”
Leo’s quiet for a second. “Do you think you’d ever want to go again?”
A sad smile pulls at my lips. “Yeah. I’d like to. He would be really mad at me if I never went there again. He’d want me to eat all the mozzarella sticks for him.”
Leo’s expression is warm as he looks at me. “I hope you do.”
I make a silent promise to myself that I will. For my dad.