Theories.

Pretend Dad {thirty}

two days later

Lani's hair is soft and strong, waving and weaving through my fingers as I braid. She's beautiful in her dark blue dress and black heels.

"When was the last time you saw him?" I ask.

"A month ago. They barely let me see him."

"And how was he?"

"Tired. He's ready to go," my sister says plainly. At her tone, I briefly pause braiding. I could recognize that tone anywhere. It's mine. The tone I've used for years upon years to shadow what I'm really feeling. Mom taught me how to do it, and now she's taught my innocent little sister.

One rubber band later, and Lani is ready to go, like a modern-day princess. "How do I look?"

"Like royalty. And me?" I ask, brushing off my button-up shirt. Lani makes funny eyebrows at me. How am I going to leave her tomorrow?

The hospital smell is enough to get my goosebumps tingling and the hair on the back of my neck to stand. I don't know if I can do this. My only memories of my father in a healthy state are fading away. It's been eight years of in and out of the hospital. Now, it's almost guaranteed that the next time he's out, he'll be in a casket.

The lady at the counter is rude to Lani until I step in, shutting her down instantly, and being loud enough that more staff is paying attention. Damn it, someone's going to give us what we want.

We're allowed two hours with him, even though that's probably too long of a time anyways. At the door, I freeze. I don't want more bad memories of my dad. I don't want this to be the last he sees of me either: bitter and timid and angry all at once. I want to love him the way I used to, without fear, without caution.

He sits on the bed, upright, two knitting needles in his hands. I haven't seen him in so long. Despite what'd I'd expect, he doesn't look much different. Maybe a little thinner, a little grayer, but I'm not shocked. Even the tubes and needles and bags don't scare me.

At the sight of us, he drops the needles. "Loren?"

I immediately rush over to him along with Lailani. "No, Dad. It's me, Quinn. Loren can't come but Lani and I are here."

Dad looks me in the eye, blankly. Words slow and accent heavy, "Who's Quinn?"

I swear, in this moment, my heart, my lungs, every bodily function I have just halts. Not yet, not yet. I thought I was ready but I'm not I'm not ready at all—

"Quinten, learn to take a joke." And my father pulls me into a hug.

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a/n: what do you call a joke with no punchline?