we should do this semi-regularly

the doomy feelings started in, even as stacie curled my hair into long shiny ringlets and babycakes fed me strawberries. even as my aunties hovered and put finishing touches on my really luscious dewey lipgloss.

ten minutes before the ceremony. slipping into that bone silk dress.

"where's my dad?" nobody knew. they said he should be here. he would be here. but i could feel different. counting down the minutes was a moot point. i knew it would be my grandpa, in his faded air force finest, who would walk me down the aisle. and it was.

two weeks later, after the moon had been honeyed, it was my birthday. dad came over. he was like i'd never seen him. nervous, apologetic, repentent.

it seems a buddy of his had gotten his car stuck in the mud, up in the desert in the middle of the night. dad went to haul him out with his truck, but you know, that desert mud is mighty tough... dad was a mud caked man, knee deep in a broken front axle right about the time i was saying 'i do.'

i couldn't wait to forgive him. couldn't forgive him fast enough. forgave him like it was my job.

we went out to eat and it was like 'dinner, with dad, in a parallel universe' we laughed and he ordered all kinds of silly appetizers and extra entres. he told stories that i found interesting. there was none of the usual hostile sparring followed by dad's grim pronouncement "you and me's gonna have problems, ang." it was a night i would choose to have, anytime.

at my car, he gave me a stiff hug, which became a real, fatherly hug. he said:

"this was real nice. we should do this semi-regularly."

he lit up a smoke and started his truck.

i never saw him again.