My godfather rolled down the window of his shiny truck. It had to be one of the newest models, given how nice it was. My godfather, Phil, has been my dad's best friend since they met in first grade. Even though they lived very different home lives, they considered each other brothers by heart, not by blood. My dad told me about the time when they were 18 and had just graduated from high school. Phil told my dad about a blood pack he had read about, so they could be blood brothers. My dad laughed when he told me about it. After a few beers, Phil had my dad agreeing to it. Dad had to practice saying these Latin words, but he didn't know what they meant. My dad stumbled for weeks trying to get the pronunciation correct. Once Phil was satisfied with my dad's pronunciation, they set a day they were to sneak out to the woods by the hotel on a full moon to perform it. My dad laughed about how silly it felt to cut the palms of their hands and then hold them as they said the Latin words. He still had no idea what they were or if he ever truly said them right.
I also always considered Phil a second father to me. So much of my childhood was filled with doing dumb and silly things with both of them, from lighting old golf balls on fire to see if they spun, to lighting off fireworks in crazy but safe ways. Phil's two sons even joined in the fun. They were like the older siblings I always wanted but never had. I remembered this one Fourth of July, my dad brought fireworks called roman candles over to Phil's house. We used them to play a crazy version of baseball. One person would hold and aim the Roman candle at the person at bat. The person at bat would try to hit the firework that came shooting out. If they did, they got a point. I smiled a little at that memory as I climbed into the passenger seat. My godfather Phil gave me a big hug that filled me with warmth that only a dad could provide. It felt so good to be hugged by a father figure again that I almost broke down crying.
"Hey, little hippie, how are you?" Phil asked. I could tell by the way he was holding me so tight that he felt the same way. He always told me I was the daughter he always wanted but never got to have. I know he was also struggling with his own grief over my dad's passing, and all we had left of him was each other. His voice cracked a little when he spoke. If he cried, I was going to break down with him.
"I am getting by," I choked out. I was struggling to keep my emotions in check. One wrong move and a tidal wave of tears was going to break loose. I know I could just let my feelings out, and he would be there for me. I didn't want to be a burden to him. He had already done so much for me. I know he would do anything in his power to make me happy. If I were being honest, he was the reason why we still had a home to live in. He took care of the expenses when my mom wouldn't snap out of her ghost-like state, as if she were stuck in it. He was also the reason I got the good-paying job I have. His family owns and runs the hotel, The Hallow. I work in the restaurant attached to it, called The Den. It is a great place to work. The only way anyone could get a job was if they knew someone. No matter how short-staffed they were, at the hotel or restaurant, they only hire family or people close to the family. That didn't stop the local rumor mill from spreading crazy theories about why getting a job there was all about who you knew.
"I miss him too," Phil said, not looking at me. His eyes were back on the road. I am sure he knew I was going to work. If the uniform didn't give it away, I'm sure it was because I barely did anything since my dad passed. It was still hard, but I was trying to get back to some normal. We sat in the silence with only the hum of the truck keeping us company. Thankfully, it wasn't the same as the kind at my house. I could deal with this. It was safe and comforting. After a few minutes, Phil spoke up.
"How is your mom doing?" Phil asked gently. He was one of the only people I could be honest with, without it getting into the town gossip mill. For that was one of the many reasons why I love him.
"Not good, she still just stares at the shed and quietly cries to herself. I haven't heard her say anything in months. No matter what I say or do. So, I just stopped trying for now." It felt good to be able to say it out loud, even though the whole thing makes me feel worthless.
"I see, we might have to do something soon if she does not snap out of it. It is not good to go on like that. Your father would..." Phil began, but I cut him off by raising my hand. Like that was going to stop the tears, but the tears were already forming. I knew I could trust him. It was just so damn hard to get the words out, to talk about the things that needed to be talked about.
"I know... I know..." I was not ready to get into that. Or even start trying to figure out how to get her out of it and what that could mean. It was just too hard. Why was it so hard? Phil just looked at me with fatherly love in his eyes; it nearly broke me. I looked away, trying to hide my own watery eyes. It was not long after that that we pulled into the parking lot of my work. Phil hugged me and kissed me on top of the head. Just like my dad used to do, and that was it, the straw that broke the damn. I just began to sob and shake uncontrollably in my godfather's arms.
"I know... it is okay. I will always be here for you." Phil whispered in my hair. "You just take your time and tell me when you are ready."
Once I stopped sobbing, he let go and handed me a napkin to wipe my face. I nodded my thanks and proceeded to clean my face, trying not to ruin the little bit of makeup I put on. It wasn't going to really help now that my face was red and puffy.
"Thank you... And thank you for the ride to work." I said before getting out of the truck.
"Anytime, but hey, what are you doing for your birthday in less than two weeks? You're turning twenty-one," Phil asked.
"Honestly, I don't know. I haven't even thought of it. Maybe hang out with my friend Jess." I answered honestly.
"If you're not doing anything, Mary and I would love to have you over for dinner. We can do something small, if you're not up to a big birthday party, and bring your friend Jess and anyone else you want. The more the merrier." Phil looked at me with such warmth that it made my heart ache. I loved him for that, but it hurt too. It made me miss my dad more. I wasn't sure if that was a good or bad thing.
"I will think about it and get back to you later, okay?" I told him as I climbed out.
"Let me know soon, okay? If you need anything, let me know! Love you, little hippie." He called out as I jumped out of his truck.
"I know, I will. Love you too, big hippie," I told him, waving as he drove off.