Page 59 of Teasing

As soon as Rosie and I walk into Sugar Hill Assisted Living, Dad’s favorite nurse smiles at me, and I know it’s going to be a good day. Thank goodness. We need that. He’s had more bad days than good lately.

I squeeze Rosie’s hand in mine, hoping we have a few good hours. “Want to stop by and see my Daddy before we set up for class?”

“Ohh, yes.” She bounces on her toes like I just gifted her the keys to a day at Disneyland, and I wish I could bottle her enthusiasm for the days I struggle to force my own.

“Okay.” We drop our bags by our easels in the common room, and Rosie grabs the painting she did last week.

“Do you think he’ll like my picture?” she asks me as we turn down the hall to Dad’s room, and I hold her hand tighter in mine.

“I think he’ll love it.” I stop and bend down nervously beside her. “But remember what I said. He might not remember meeting you before, okay? Don’t be upset if he doesn’t. He doesn’t always remember me either.” I brace Rosie this way, each time we’re here. The difference is we’re usually with our favorite group of chatty Cathys while we draw and paint. Even though Dad’s days have gotten worse, he doesn’t tend to talk much when everyone else is around. This will be the first real time Rosie will spend time with him on one of his good days.

“Cause he forgets things now, right?” she asks so innocently.

I checked with Mav before I talked to Rosie about the dementia, and we agreed on the way we’d discuss it with her before I ever said a word.

My stomach feels like it’s inching up to my throat as we stop outside his door. “Right.”

“You gonna knock, Emmie?” Her little nose scrunches up, and she looks at me, probably wondering why I’m hesitating. What I wouldn’t give to still have just a tiny piece of that kind of innocence. To not know the fear that’s eating me alive, wondering what will be waiting on the other side of that door.

“I am, little rose.” I run my hand over her shoulder and fix one of her braids, then work up the nerve to knock and crack open the door. “Daddy?” I quietly call through the crack.

“Emmie?” My father’s voice calls back, and I immediately hold back a sob and push the door all the way open to find my father sitting in his favorite leather lounge chair in front of the window. The warm sun shines through as he closes one of the many books on roses he’s always loved. “My little rose. Come here.” He smiles, and my lip trembles, holding back my smile and tears equally.

“Hi, Daddy.” I cross the room and gently envelop him in my arms, loving the feel of his kiss on my cheek and his frail arms around me. “I missed you.”

“I’ve been right here, sweetheart. Sit. Tell me how you’ve been.” His eyes move to Rosie. “And who’s this little treasure you’ve brought with you?”

Rosie moves quickly next to me and grabs my hand again. “I’m Briar Rose Beneventi.”

“Briar Rose Beneventi...” Dad repeats, and Rosie looks up at me before looking back at Dad. “That’s such a beautiful name. Did you know Emmie’s middle name is Rose?” He leans forward with a secretive smile. “She’s always been my little rose.”

Rosie drops my hand and climbs on the pleather couch next to Dad’s chair. She sits up on her knees and looks at the book in his lap, then takes his wrinkled hand in hers. “That’s what she calls me.”

“She does, does she?” He leans into her as if they’ve known each other for a lifetime, and my heart cracks.

Damn it. Good days aren’t supposed to make me this sad.

“So, Briar Rose Beneventi. Do you like flowers?” he asks, and she nods excitedly.

“I love flowers,” she tells him with all the seriousness she can muster. “Flowers and butterflies and ballerinas and my dog and my dad and my uncles and Emmie and football.”

“Breathe, Rosie,” I warn her as she runs out of steam.

I take the spot next to her on the couch and watch the two of them chat about all the things Rosie loves.

“Beneventi, huh?” Dad asks with a gleam in his eye.

“Yeah, Dad,” I laugh. “Beneventi. Rosie’s grandfather is Sebastian Beneventi.”

“No shit.” He whistles, and Rosie’s eyes grow big.

“That’s a bad word,” she chastises, and Dad quickly bites his lips.

“You’re right. I won’t tell if you don’t,” he teases and laughs, and God, I could cry. We’ll never get this. He’ll never get to be an amazing grandfather. He barely got to be an amazing dad, and I hate that so much.

Dad leans back in his chair and sets his beautiful green eyes, so full of life, on me. “So, little rose, where are Camden and Vivi? Did they come with you or are they home with Mom?”

Life is a cruel bitch, yanking me back to the present while Dad lives in the past.

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