Page 46 of Simmer Down
I laugh again, remembering the Father’s Day surprise she and I planned for him a few years ago.
“For Father’s Day we got him this basic smartphone. When he opened it, he was so confused. He looked at it like it was some alien gadget he had never seen before. We tried to explain that it was a simple smartphone. I started to show him how easy it was to use, but he shook his head, politely said ‘no, thank you,’ and then held up his flip phone. He said that was as high tech as he ever wanted to be.”
Callum looks at me, his eyes bright, his smile wide, and bursts into a laugh. “So he was pretty set in his ways, then?”
“He was.” I let the memory of that Father’s Day soak in. “Good thing I thought to get him a backup present in case he didn’t like the phone.”
“Which was?”
“A new leather case for his flip phone.”
We fall into uncontrollable cackles that draw a handful of annoyed glances from nearby tables. But I don’t care. Sharing this memory with Callum is worthy of loud laughter. Catching my breath, I sip my beer.
I place my glass back on the table and catch Callum staring at me. “What?”
“Your entire face lights up when you talk about your dad.”
“Really?” Sheepishness tinges my chuckle. “I thought it would seem sort of sad talking about him this way.”
“Why?”
I take a moment before speaking. “I don’t talk about him with anyone other than my mom. I don’t really know how often you’re supposed to speak about someone after you lose them or if you’re supposed to speak about them at all. Or if it’s weird and just too sad.”
From across the table, Callum grabs my hand. “There’s no such thing as normal when it comes to something like this, Nikki. Normal is however you feel.”
His touch is a security blanket for my nerves. I may not be sure of my emotions or what to do, but I’m certain that I feel comfortable in Callum’s presence, even when talking about a tough subject. And that counts for so much.
“Honestly? It felt really good to talk about him with you.”
That admission earns me an affectionate squeeze from his hand. “Then tell me more.”
“He loved that showM*A*S*H. Even though it ended in the eighties, he would watch reruns almost every week. Drove my mom up the wall.”
Callum beams wide. “That’s hilarious.”
“But he made up for it. He brought her flowers every Friday after he came home from work. He was always up for a card game—any card game. He loved jogging in the mornings and camping and fishing. He used to smoke, but he quit when my mom got pregnant with me. He said he didn’t want to continue any bad habits like that when he had a child counting on him.”
I pause and sip again, my chest tight with the memory surfacing just now—one of my favorite memories of my dad.
“At my culinary school graduation, he made this sign and held it as I walked across the stage. It said, ‘Congrats, Chef Nikki-Nack! You did it!’”
I look up to see that Callum’s smile has softened. More wistful than amused. “Nikki-Nack.”
“His nickname for me.”
“That’s adorable.”
The tightness in my throat, the burn in my eyes, it all dissipates at how intently he listens to me.
“It really was,” I say softly.
I open my mouth to speak again, but the only thing that comes out is a soft squeak. I press my mouth shut, shaking my head. It’s the best I can do since I can’t say sorry. Everything is a reminder that he’s not here and he never will be.
Callum squeezes my hand once more. “Hey. It’s all right. You don’t have to say anything. Just take your time.”
I look up to see his face twisted in concern. I nod, grateful that he seems to understand exactly how I feel, exactly what I need in this moment.
It’s another quiet minute with just the pub chatter filling the silence between us before I say anything. “I talk to him sometimes still.”
