“I think he's a family friend, back when she just got out of college. I've never met him though. You're doing great with her though, by the way.”
“Not too hard to just go with the flow,” Tyler explains. “So what are her strongest memories?”
“Music and cooking,” I answer with a smirk. “And don't try with your cooking.”
The door to the cottage opens, and Dad is wheeled in by his attendant, looking even more wasted away than when I was here two weeks ago. His normally naturally lightly bronzed skin is pale and waxy, and his eyes are sunken in. Still, he gives me a smile as the attendant helps him into bed. “Well sweetie, it's good to see you.”
“Daddy . . .” I whisper, coming over with Tyler, trying to control the urge to cry. I promised myself I wouldn't, not here. “I did what you asked. I'd like you to meet Tyler Paulson. Tyler, this is my father, Adam Graywolf.”
“Adam Gray,” Dad corrects me, holding out a hand. “I'm only Adam Graywolf on Nations lands.”
“It's a pleasure to meet you, sir,” Tyler says, carefully shaking hands. “I've had a chance to talk with your wife.”
“Adam, how're you feeling?”
“I'll be fine, Marie,” Dad says, giving Mom's hand a tiny squeeze. “Your checkup went well?”
She nods, and I can see a hint of true understanding in her eyes, and I know that somewhere inside her mind is the woman who raised me trying to get out, trying to escape the prison that her mind and body have become, but that glimmer is soon lost in the happy haze that she's in today. It's sad, but it's better than when she's lost and scared, I guess.
“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.”