In Papa's Chair ✔

New Year's Eve 2020 was better the second time around.

I was an idiot not to realize how good it had been the first time. But as I rested against Papa's chest with his broad arms curled around me, it seemed so obvious. Sure, the first year of Covid had its fair share of problems. School was shut down. Everyone had to wear masks. I tried and failed to be a good online student. Both Mom and Dad lost their jobs.

But even with all of that Papa was here. And his chair was not empty.

He rocked me in his old recliner, humming his senseless tune he made up when my older brother was born. A lump welled in my throat as tears came unbidden to my eyes. How I had missed this; how I had missed being a little girl in his arms, feeling the steady rock of his chair and his chest vibrating with every homemade lyric he sang. 

Papa felt me tense up and stopped singing. He looked down at me, his permanent smile sagging a little as his brow creased.

"Hey, Nutsy Girl," his deep voice rumbled, "What's wrong?"

I shook my head, a laugh escaping through the tears, "Nothing, Papa," I said, sniffling, "Nothing at all."

This was the first repeat I didn't mind. Every New Year's Eve since 2035 I've gone back in time once the clock struck twelve. Every time, I went back to another New Year's Eve from my past. It only lasted for a couple hours and nobody, past or present, ever noticed what was happening to me. 

Last year I went back to 2032 when my sister got engaged. The year before that I was in 2024 when my brother announced his wife was expecting. Listening to them go on and on about wedding plans and baby showers got old. But this...

I buried my face into him, shaking at the thought that I'd lose him again. Any moment now the clock would strike midnight and I would go back. Back to paying bills, working overtime, and putting up with nosy relatives asking why I'm still single. I didn't want any of that. This had been so much better.

 Papa's arms closed tighter around me, squeezing hard enough that air left my lungs, but it didn't hurt. Papa always hugged like that; he said it was his way to squeeze his love into us. 

"I love you, Kryssa," he said, his voice breaking, "I love you so much."

Warm tears splashed on my head, and I dissolved into a blubbering mess. That was the thing about Papa crying; if he did it, it was okay for you to do it, too. 

So for tonight I decided to forget about bills, forget about adult life. Forget about Papa's eyes turning yellow and his cheeks sinking in as the cancer took over. 2021 would be the year we lost him. But for now I wouldn't worry about that.

For now, I would stay with my Papa in his favorite chair.