Goodnight, From One Imperfect Being to Another (part one)

April 22, 2017

We start with oysters. Three for me, six for him. The wine list sits between us, a hefty dare that neither of us wants to take.

“Dad,” I hiss across the table. “It’s like a Bible. But of wine.” I grin and lift the thing in my hands. “Okay, maybe two Bibles.”

“It’s your Bible,” he says. “Order what you want. It’s your birthday.”

“It is so not my birthday.”

It’s quiet and proper in here but we laugh and we don’t care.

“You couldn’t help things,” he says. “Mother nature screwed us and then your gall bladder screwed us, so we’re here in April, and it’s your birthday.”

“Whatever you say. I like that. I vote for a bottle then.”


Time moves slow at places like this, but it’s okay.

“When’s the last time you were here?” he asks.

“God, Dad. I remember it exactly, and it’s so disappointing.”

He looks at me funny and gestures out the window at the view–as if to say, what could go wrong, a view like this?

“Anniversary dinner. He was trying to do a good thing but I was grossly pregnant with D. I got two sips of wine and heartburn from the lobster.”

We crack up and people look and again, we don’t care.

“So that’s over 15 years ago.”

“Dad, we just ordered a bottle of wine that’s more than a car payment and I buy yoga pants at SuperTarget…so yeah.”


“Since when do you like lamb?”

“I have no idea, but damn, it’s delicious, buddy.”

He shakes his head.

“What? It’s not like you haven’t surprised me sometimes. Remember Ireland? Salmon? Lobster? And this is Mr. Beefeater, here?”

He gives me the brown eye twinkle.

“Who would I be if I couldn’t keep you on your toes?” he says.

I cut into my beautiful, bloody plate of lamb and chew. “Backatcha, sir. I’m glad you keep me on my toes. Keep doing it.”


Coffee service comes and it comes with a mind-boggling tray of things to add to your cup. I add nothing, because mine is full.

We sit there and he looks out at the lights and the sky and the winding road down.

“Your mother,” he says, and he takes my hand. I squeeze back. “I could have done so much better by her.”

The thing I think is: Don’t talk bullshit.

The thing I say: Dad, I am here.


It is the only thing I have.





{ 9 comments… read them below or add one }

Annie April 22, 2017 at 7:53 pm

Gah, the beauty and feeling in this is so deep. Love you.


Julie Gardner April 23, 2017 at 2:41 pm

This is perfect.


Biz April 23, 2017 at 8:44 pm

I am always in awe of your writing talent – hugs!


Lisa @The Meaning of Me April 24, 2017 at 7:25 am

Love this.


Sherri April 24, 2017 at 10:26 am

Love this


alexandra April 24, 2017 at 11:26 pm

You write like a dream, friend. xo


Dana Talusani April 28, 2017 at 4:01 pm


YOU write like a dream, but that means everything. Thank you.


elizabeth May 10, 2017 at 7:23 am

I’ve been meaning to comment on this because it’s so fucking beautiful. I can almost taste the food right alongside you two.


Dana Talusani May 12, 2017 at 4:09 pm

Wish you’d been there for those oysters.


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