Pierre’s charity gala went well. All in all, he had raised well over $100,000 for the Action Against Hunger charity foundation. It seemed like everybody had had a good time, though Gavin may have been an exception. Most of the women he danced with were older, and wanted to ‘eat him up, he was just so cute’.
The day after the gala, I decided that I needed to meet my father, I called up Pete and asked him for the address of the cemetery he was buried at. I called up Gavin and asked him to come with me; I really didn’t want to go there alone.
Five minutes later, Gavin arrived at my doorstep, a bouquet of lilies in his hand. His hair was combed nicely, and he was wearing a polo—something completely uncharacteristic of him. When I asked him about it, he merely shrugged and said, “I figured I should dress nicely if I were going to meet your dad for the first time. I want to make a good impression, you know?” I smiled a little bit and followed him to his car, not really knowing what to expect.
Was there an etiquette to meeting ones deceased parent? Did I have to bring flowers?
The drive to the cemetery was short, and I couldn’t help my stomach twisting as I exited the car’s interior. The sky overhead was blue with only a few clouds marring its perfection. It seemed as if Gavin and I were the only ones in the area.
We walked through row after row of gravestones, looking for the one marked Michael Winchester. It took a few minutes, but we finally found him near the middle of the burial grounds. As soon as we reached it, Gavin placed his bouquet of lilies down next to the headstone and stepped back, hands shoved deeply into his pockets. We stood there in silence for a few minutes, and it was hard not to feel awkward.
Finally, I guess Gavin couldn’t take the awkward silence anymore because he stepped forward again, “Uh, hello, er, sir…” He coughed and cleared his throat, then rubbed the back of his neck with one hand. “My name is Gavin Aaron Vice, and I’m your daughters best friend.” Gavin looked back at me doubtfully, but I motioned for him to go on; I would talk to my dad after him.
“I, uh, I’ve been looking out for Aislyn for you,” he smiled a little bit and sighed through his nose. “She’s… you’d be proud of her, sir.” With those words, Gavin’s hands returned to his pockets and he stepped back.
I ran one hand through my hair, from the roots to the tips, then stepped forward myself. Butterflies assaulted the walls of my stomach for some unknown reason, and my mouth was dry when I opened it to speak.
“H-hi, Dad.” My bottom lip slipped between my teeth as I looked back at Gavin for reassurance. He nodded at me, and mimicked my ‘go on’ gesture. “We’ve never met before, but, uh, according to Pete you knew about me.” I choked a little bit on a laugh, “He actually said that I was your pride and joy. Oh, crap! I’m being rude, I forgot to introduce myself.”
From behind me, Gavin snorted, “He knows who you are, Ais.”
“Uh, yeah, right, um… Mom got me a modeling job; I’ve been working with this British guy, Linc Kingsman; you’ve probably never heard of him. He’s kind of annoying sometimes. He comes off as really aloof when you first meet him, but…” I trailed off and my thoughts wandered to the night before, “but once you get to know him he’s really not that bad.”
“Why thank you, Ms. Palmin, I appreciate that.” I whirled around, eyes wide to face a very solemn-looking Linc. His hair was slicked back, as it had been the previous night, and in his hands was a small bouquet of white roses. At the sight of the Brit, the knots in my stomach that had been unraveling tightened once more.
“Linc! Uh, hi… What are you doing here?”
“You’re not the only one with dead relatives, Ms. Palmin. Mine just so happens to lie next to yours.” With one hand, he gestured to the headstone to the right of my father’s; it read: Maria Kingsman: Beloved wife and mother 1965-2009. “Who might this be?”
“Oh! Uh, Linc, Dad. Dad, Linc.” When I realized that I had just introduced a headstone to a living person, I blushed.
Linc, on the other hand, seemed perfectly at-ease with what I had just done, and dipped his head respectfully towards my father’s headstone. “You have a wonderful daughter, Mr. Winchester. You were lucky to have her.” He nodded once again, then stepped carefully around Gavin and placed his bouquet of roses on Maria’s grave. As he did so, he crouched down near the gravestone and murmured a few words, soft and low. I wasn’t able to make out what exactly he was saying, but once he had finished, he stood carefully and mimicked Gavin’s posture.
A few moments of silence passed as the three of us merely stood there. It was Linc who finally broke the quiet with an awkward cough, “Maria”—the word stumbled off of his tongue, as if he was uncomfortable with referring to the woman by her first name—“Was my mother. I think the both of you would have liked her.”
Again, we lapsed into silence.
“What was she like?” I murmured, eyes fixed on the simple grey stone that decorated her final resting place.
I heard Linc inhale and exhale heavily and I allowed myself to look back up at him.
“Caring, strong, venerable, delightful, amazing, beautiful—the list could very well be endless.” A facial expression I couldn’t identify surfaced on his face. A small smile was curving his lips upwards, and his eyes seemed far off, as if all they could see were his memories. “Her cooking was to die for,” he laughed a little bit, “but she couldn’t bake for the life of her. Once she tried to make cookies… the result was a batch of chocolate-chip charcoal.”
Gavin and I laughed softly along with him until his eyes regained focus. The queer facial expression, however, remained in place. He seemed serene, at peace. “And your father?” He waved his hand towards my dad’s grave. “What was he like?”
“I-I never really met him,” I stammered. “All I ever knew of him was his name.”
Linc’s calm expression faded away to be replaced with an apologetic one, “I’m terribly sorry, Ms. Palmin. To never know one’s father is an awful thing indeed.” Though his tone seemed sincere enough his face said differently. I wondered why his lip curled slightly at the mention of fathers.
“Mm…” I mumbled; in truth, I had never really considered never knowing my father an ‘awful thing’. I had never known him, thus I had never missed him. At times, I’ll admit, I wondered what it would be like to have a father, but I had larger worries.
“It’s been delightful indeed, but I must be off.” Linc’s face regained its emotionless quality as he turned slowly on his shoe’s heel and strode back off in the direction he had come.
“It was nice meeting you, Dad.” I whispered hesitantly, before moving back and setting of with Gavin back to the car.
////
Short and somber, but necessary.
What do you think of Linc's reaction to fathers?
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Learning to be Beautiful
Teen Fiction"Your beauty should not come from outward adornment, such as elaborate hairstyles and the wearing of gold jewelry or fine clothes. Rather, it should be of your inner self, the unfading beauty of a gentle and quiet spirit, which is of great worth in...
