(Early August)
Ben/Daddy
I woke up and through the fuzz of coming back to consciousness one thought broke the haze ahead of the rest.
"You're 49 now."
There was only one reaction to that realization.
"Well, fuck," I muttered to myself.
I sighed and had the quick, dark thought about Beth, who didn't get to make it this far, so suck it up.
That's when I noticed Kitten wasn't in bed with me. This was unusual. On our days off I was always up first. I took care of breakfast and, if she slept in too late, I'd go in and slap her ass to wake her. I tried shaking her awake, but she told me she prefers the other method. Who am I to say no to my little girl?
This meant she was up early and scheming. Ever since she came back from the con in the States last weekend, she's been planning something for today and this weekend. I had spoiled her plenty over the last year - Christmas, her birthday, and Disney - so she was determined to do something mindblowing for me.
It wasn't necessary. I tried to explain that my birthday was never a big deal, but I got the crossed-arm, 'don't mess with me' look, so I dropped that line of defence. She wanted to do something for my birthday, so let her plan and scheme.
I could use the boost. I'd cut a fine line with Kitten the previous weekend. I worked hard to be honest with her, but sometimes some things got...excluded. We talked about Beth a lot over the last year. Sometimes I think too much, but she's insisted on it. She wanted to know who "shaped" me and she believed it helped me.
She wasn't wrong. It did help. And I'm glad her heart was so big that she was able to do that.
But she missed details sometimes. Why wouldn't she? She wanted to know what she was like, how we met, and how I changed after I met her. She never thought to ask things like "When was her birthday?" and "When did you get married?"
The answer to both being "Why, last weekend."
When Beth and I got engaged, we decided to get married on one of our birthdays. That way we'd always remember when the anniversary would take place. And because our birthdays were so close together, it would be a week of festivities during the summer. Her birthday was on a Saturday in the year we wanted to get married. Mine was Thursday. She won.
I'd been dreading that weekend when I got the small miracle of Kitten doing that con. I didn't have to explain to her why I was off. I didn't have her hovering over me being sympathetic and supportive. I appreciated her wanting to help, but it's not what I needed that weekend. She'd done so much for me already.
So I went to Toronto and Meg and I hung out. And it was good. There was some crying. We didn't even drink that much. Well, I didn't, and she stopped after one, realizing getting shitfaced by herself was going to suck. But we walked a lot and talked a lot and it was good. I felt much better and Meg was better too.
A year ago that weekend had been a mess. This year it was cathartic. I was glad I was back home with my Kitten and able to relax and enjoy whatever mad scheme she had planned for today.
I hauled myself out of bed, grabbed my cane, and walked over to the mirror. I was 49 years old, damn it, let's do a quick assessment.
I looked at the naked man in the mirror. It's not often you get better over time, but I honestly think I looked better than a year ago. A year ago I had more weight on, my eyes looked dull, and my hair and beard were a mess. There was little life there. I'd only just begun to crawl out of the hole from the accident.
But now...now I looked pretty ok for a guy just short of 50. There was a dad bod going on. It's not like I had a six-pack or anything. But my weight was under control, there was a decent amount of upper body strength going on and even my physiotherapist admitted that my knee was in its best shape since the accident. I was always going to have a limp, but if I took it easy, and wore a brace, I could go a short amount of time without the cane.
But I liked my face. My hair and beard were well-groomed. There was life back in my eyes. I could see smile lines on my face. The grey was proceeding at a steady pace instead of the warp speed of previous years. My knee was a mess, but it was never going to be pretty to look at. But I could look at the scars on my body and not be traumatized. I was older but happier. Progress.
I put on a pair of shorts. I wasn't quite the same level of exhibitionist that my Kitten was becoming, although I might be by the end of the day. I began walking towards the kitchen, my cane tapping out so she could hear I was coming.
"Do not come in here," a voice called out from the kitchen.
Oh God, she was trying to cook.
I had spent a chunk of the last three months trying to show her how to cook. I probably started too ambitiously, but I scaled back my efforts. Very basic things she could now handle. She could make spaghetti. I was reasonably confident she could be trusted to put French fries in the oven and remember to take them out. We'd tried pancakes and spent longer cleaning the kitchen after that disaster then we did eating them. She could make a surprisingly half-decent omelette, 50% of the time.
My Kitten had many, many redemptive qualities, but it was clear that cooking was going to be a lengthy work in progress.
"Are you sure you don't need a hand, princess? I'm happy to help," I called out.
There was a banging noise and the sound of something landing on the floor. I was also pretty sure I heard "Fuck." Along with "I can fix this."
"Kitten?" I said, taking a step towards the kitchen.
An arm with a frying pan came into view. The rest remained hidden.
"If you come in here, I will tell you all about the amazing birthday you had when you regain consciousness tomorrow," she said in a voice that was no doubt meant to sound threatening.
"Ok, ok," I said, trying not to laugh. "Where do you want me?"
"Front deck is fine. I'll be out...shortly," she said in a less than confident voice.
I made my way out to the front deck, wondering what disaster was happening in there and decided one of my birthday perks was going to be not thinking about it unless I heard the smoke detector go off.