Bourbon Love Notes by Ryan Shari J

Author:Ryan, Shari J.
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2020-01-12T16:00:00+00:00

16

The hospice nurses offered us some space to host Dad’s life celebration. I’ve told myself to pull it together … for him, and to avoid thinking about the reason for this so-called-celebration. We have all rallied together to offer Dad his wish. We dressed for the occasion and got the crowd together, as he requested.

The staff helped with some decorations, and if I didn’t know better, they could fool me into thinking life is normal for the moment. I’ve considered the thought of a miracle too. Dad has been so lethargic and having difficulty breathing for the last couple of days, but now he seems alert and lucid. Maybe the last few days were a fluke—a silly cold, or something simpler than the cancer eating away at his body at an unexpectedly rapid rate.

Mom looks like herself, makeup, hair curled, a nice dress—even a real smile. It makes me think she has the same thoughts as I do. Journey is still quiet but more talkative. Mr. Crawley has her cornered in a conversation about her latest photography gig.

Brett arrives with Bill and Elizabeth, but no Brody. He must be watching the girls. I know Mom invited the whole family, but Brody never came to any of Dad’s parties even when we were younger. He’s a couple years older than Journey and has always had something else going on.

Either everyone is doing a great job at pretending this event is a common occurrence, or everyone is deluded by the presentation Dad is putting on. He’s in regular clothes, resting in a chair. He isn’t his normal loud and outgoing self, but he has a content look about him as he chats with everyone who’s crowding around.

I’ve been holding a bottle of water, crushing the plastic in my hand for the last five minutes, observing the surrounding area. I need to remember this. I need this picture to be in a frame I can hang in my mind forever.

"Melody, come over here," Dad calls out, waving me toward him.

I place my bottle down and squeeze between the semi-circle in front of his chair. "Tell them about the Quinn Pine you tasted last night," he says.

Brett’s watching from a few feet away, scratching at the back of his head with a slick grin.

"It was Brett’s doing," I say, throwing him under the bus.

"Well, of course. I gave the guy my best bottle," Dad says. Brett didn’t mention this part last night. "I figured if there was a way to make you enjoy the fine taste of bourbon, it would be that bottle."

Dad’s friends are studying me with eyes of wonder, making me feel like I’m in the spotlight to offer a response worthy of the sample of bourbon I tasted. Except, I have nothing to compare it to aside from the gulps I took ten years ago. "I—ah—the caramel notes, they were strong and sweet. It was delicious," I say, but I’m not sure if those are the right words.

"Listen to my girl, using the right terminology," Dad gushes.

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