Page 55 of Lucky Mother Pucker

The look in his eyes warms when he talks about how much he loves playing. I smile, happy that he loves it so much.

“I just wish my dad would lighten up. It would be nice if he felt more like my dad and less like a hypercritical hockey analyst.”

“Hypercritical?”

“He’s not one for compliments. He says they don’t help you become a better player. To him, the only thing that makes you better is knowing what your weaknesses are so you can improve them.”

“Wait, so, when he watches you play, does he even tell you good job?”

“Nope.” Leo’s jaw works as he crumples his napkin in his fist. “I don’t remember the last time he said that to me.”

“Not even when he hugs you?”

There’s a flicker of pain in his mahogany eyes. “He’s not a hugger.”

My chest aches. Poor Leo. Having a dad like his sounds awful. What would it be like to grow up with a parent who was so hard on you? Who criticized you and demanded perfection from you always? Who never expresses a loving feeling to you? Who never hugged you?

I think about my dad, how warm and kind he was. How he was proud of me, no matter what. I must have tried a million different activities as a kid. Ballet, soccer, dance, gymnastics. I wasn’t very good at most of them, but he always showed up and cheered me on. He was always proud of me.

As long as I tried my best and was a good person, he was happy with me.

And he always hugged me. Every single day.

My heart squeezes in my chest when I think about how much I miss his bear hugs.

I’d give anything to have him back…but now I realize how lucky I was to have him for the time that I did. I never doubted his love for me, ever. He loved me unconditionally, always. I’ll remember it forever. That’s not something everyone gets.

“Enough about my dad. What was your dad like?” Leo hesitates for a second. “Sorry, I wasn’t trying to pry. If it’s too painful to talk about him, you don’t have to.”

“No, it’s okay. I love talking about him.” I start to smile. “He was the best. Warm and funny and goofy and kind. He told endless dad jokes. It drove my mom and me crazy.”

Leo flashes a small smile. “Tell me one of them.”

“One time, he said, ‘Lucy, honey, I have some bad news. I’m colorblind.’ And I was like, ‘What? That’s crazy.’ And he says, ‘I know. It came totally out of the blue!’”

Leo chuckles. “Tell me more about him.”

That warm feeling inside of me burrows deeper, hearing the genuine interest in Leo’s tone. Just knowing that he wants to know more about him means so much. I’m always alone, so I never get to talk about him anymore. But now I can.

“He was an accountant. Such a numbers guy. He had a spreadsheet for everything. He was the kind of person who never hesitated to help out our neighbors. He’d get up early and shovel their driveways in the winter whenever there was a big snowfall. He’d offer to check their mail and get their packages when they were out of town.”

Leo’s smile grows. “He sounds like a really nice guy.”

Emotion bubbles up in my throat. “He was the best dad. The best person. I was lucky to be his daughter.”

My eyes start to water. Leo reaches across the small table and scoops my hand in his. “If this is too much, we can stop.”

“No, it’s okay. I really miss talking about him.”

“Then tell me more.”

“He was ridiculously dedicated to keeping the lawn in front of our house immaculate. Every Saturday morning in the spring and summer, he would get up early to work on it. He’d try to get me to help him, but I’d always whine about wanting to sleep in.”

“Did he make you get up anyway?”

“No, he was a big softie. He let me get away with a lot.”

“Like what?”