Rushed(45)

“April, if you don't mind, how about you and your mother get some tea or something ready, while I get to talk to Tyler. I've been wanting to meet you for a long time, you know.”

“I learned that just today, sir,” Tyler says. “April showed me that old picture, and it came back to me.”

I take Mom over to the kitchenette, which doesn't have much, just a microwave and a weak water heater that can't prepare real tea, but at least lets her and Dad warm up pre-made meals and have the illusion of normal life. I find some tea biscuits in the cupboard and put them on a plate while Mom fills the microwaveable tea kettle and puts it in the microwave for three minutes.

I listen as Dad and Tyler talk, starting off with football, as I guess men would do. “Great game Saturday.”

For the next hour, Tyler talks with them, kind and humorous, never shirking the reality of Dad's condition in front of him but not lingering over it to spare Mom. He's walking the tightrope between their mental states with a comfort that took me months to accomplish, and never does he sound patronizing or like he would rather be somewhere else, like some of the nurses have.

As the sun starts to go down, Dad reaches over and takes Tyler's hand. “Thank you, Tyler. You've reassured a man in his last days.”

“You're not in your . . .” Tyler starts, before stopping. There's no point to the bullshit anymore. “I promise you, I'll take care of April.”

“I know you will, I've been reading it in your eyes for the last hour. Which is why you have my blessing.”

Tyler stops, and I drop the last of the biscuit I'm eating onto my plate. Mom's off in her own world again, and it's so quiet in the room you can hear a pin drop. Finally, Tyler finds his voice. “I . . . I'm sorry?”

“Let's face it, Son, there's little chance I'm going to be walking my daughter down the aisle. I'm not pressuring you . . . just, you have my approval if you two ever reach that step.”

Tyler nods and swallows. “Excuse me, please. I’m going to grab some fresh air.”

Tyler leaves, and I look at Dad, who's watching me with his eyes, the only thing left on him still unaffected by the cancer. “Daddy . . .”

“What? It’s obvious you two were fated, Ziigwan,” Dad says, using my First Nations name for the first time in a long time. I'd asked him to stop after that summer of being called Pocahontas, and most of the time since he's respected my wish.

I swallow tears, instead smiling, and give him a kiss on the forehead. “I love you, Daddy. But you have to promise me something.”

“What's that, sweetheart?”

I lean over and whisper in his air. “You don't stop fighting. You gave your blessing, but keep fighting. Maybe you can still give me away.”

Dad nods, and squeezes my hand. “I fight every day — I’m not stop. Give your mother a kiss before you go.”

On the way back toward the hotel, Tyler’s quiet. I look over, concerned. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah,” Tyler says quietly. “Just, your father's words still are running around in my head. It caught me a little off guard.”

“I can tell. They surprised the hell outta me too. Tyler, he wasn't trying to pressure you or anything.”

Tyler looks over and gives me a reassuring smile. “That wasn't on my mind at all. I never thought I'd get a father's blessing — lots of cursing maybe, but not a blessing.”

“You’re a better man than you give yourself credit for.”

Tyler thinks about it, then nods slightly. “Okay. Listen, do you mind if we skip going back to the hotel for a little bit? I'd like to know more about these years that everyone keeps talking about today — since camp. How about giving me a little tour of the neighborhood?”

I'm not ready to go back to the hotel either, I need a chance to regain my composure. “Great idea. It's not far from here, only a couple of kilometers. We can go there, then get some dinner, and head back to the hotel.”

We drive downtown, then out to the north where I find my old house. It's been sold and a new family lives there now in order to pay for my parents' health bills, but that's okay. I was pretty much an outdoors girl until high school, and after pointing out the house, we drive down the block to the park that I hung out at the most. We park on the curbside and get out, looking around. “Well, this is perhaps the most important site in my childhood,” I say, waving. “I don't know how many hours I spent messing around on the jungle gym, and later on the blacktop playing basketball.”

“I didn't know that about you,” Tyler says, watching a couple of kids shooting hoops. “But the camp didn't have a basketball goal, if I remember right.”

“You haven't taken that many hits to the head,” I tease. “But yeah, I was a hoop hound for quite a few years. Actually, I remember you told me you use to play some ball too, right?”

“Basketball was never my sport. How about you? Still got it?” Tyler asks with a gleam in his eye.

“I don't know,” I reply honestly. “I haven't picked up a ball in years.”

Tyler nods, then looks to the kids playing ball. “Yo, guys!”

The kids stop playing and turn to us, curious.