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Kris dangled his feet absentmindedly in front of the backside of the truck. He bumped his soles against the tailgate, on which he was uncomfortably perched. Following a bird on the roof of the house across the street, he saw it shake its wings, then take off and pass him overhead.
The day so far had brought wonderful weather, but he noticed the wind slowly growing in strength. His father had told him that the weather forecast promised all-day sunshine, but he was beginning to doubt that.
The door to the Flower King flung open. Kris heard the unmistakable humming of his father, who appeared a moment later carrying two fishing rods, and clad in his multicolored sunhat. It was older than Kris, and it showed in how the color had faded, but the man loved it all the same.
“Hey, buddy! Ready for the trip?” he called.
Kris had been ready for quite a while. He flashed him a thumbs up and jumped down from the truck. His father walked over to him and ruffled his hair with a huge, soft hand. Kris noticed that his fur was all messy and unkempt, with several little knots dotting the parts not covered by his shirt and cargo shorts.
As soon as the hand was lifted, Kris started combing his hair back into place with his fingers, prompting a hearty laugh from his father.
“Let’s go!” came his booming voice as he walked along the truck. “I’ll let you pick the music.”
Kris had settled on an old rock CD with a distinctly ‘dad’ feel to it. He liked his father’s music more than most of the stuff on the radio, anyway. Out of the corner of his eye, Kris noticed him drumming along on the steering wheel. He smiled to himself.
The truck rumbled and bumbled as they drove along and the roads got less asphalty and more gravelly. It had a good amount of years under its belt, and Kris wouldn’t be surprised if it set out one of these days. His father wasn’t the most careful driver in the world either, he acknowledged, and was surprisingly prone to road rage for such a jovial man. Though he would always phrase his tirades very wholesomely.
“I really do wish they would go a bit faster,” he mumbled, as they trailed behind another car.
“I think you’re already going past the speed limit,” Kris said.
He didn’t answer.
After a while, they made a final turn down a dirt road and before long, they were there. The car stopped and Kris jumped out. He heard the heavy THUNK of his father slamming his door and cringed. He was about to walk away when the call came from behind him.
“Oh. Kris, you can bring some soda. We’ll be a while.” He said the last bit in an almost sing-song voice.
Kris headed back to the truck and looked over the cargo area. An unopened case of no-brand cola stood next to a mostly empty case of light beer. Next to him, he saw a furry hand reach down and grab the last ones remaining. Kris ripped open the plastic covering the soda case and fished out two cans, one for each hand.
“You can have more, if you want,” came his father’s low voice behind him.
Kris didn’t want more, but he grabbed another one anyway.
He hugged the sodas close as they walked down the sloping road to the lake. His father walked in front, carrying an amount of supplies that seemed impossible. He wondered if he would be that strong someday. They walked along the river’s edge, hearing the chirping of the birds and the rustling of the trees in the wind. Kris could also hear his father humming, though the tune was hard to make out. They stopped when they got a worn bench with the paint slowly cracking off. Kris followed his father’s hands as they put down a bag, the beer cans, and a plastic box of worms, then leaned the fishing rods against the bench.
“Ready?”
Kris looked at the rods. “I mean I’ve never done this before.”
His father made a noise and put his hand on his shoulder. “Don’t worry. It’s easy as pie.”
That sure is a choice of words, Kris thought.
With a surprising amount of grace, his father opened the plastic box and grabbed a worm. He carefully put the hook of one of the rods through it, then handed the rod to Kris.
“You go down to the water, I’ll be there in a moment,” he said.
Kris waddled down the slope from the bench to the river, soda clutched in his left hand, fishing rod in his right. He felt rather silly if he was honest, but then again, he often did on family trips. He sat down on the bank and put the cans down next to him. Behind him, he heard his father open a beer, then his heavy footsteps in the dirt as he approached and sat down next to him.
“Do you know how to throw it?” he asked.
“How would I?” Kris replied.
“Of course, of course, silly me. Here, let me do it.”
He grabbed the fishing rod from Kris’ hands and brought it as far behind his back as he could and gave it a mighty swing, sending the hook flying across the lake, where it landed a good distance out. He handed the rod back.
“There you go. Easy, right?”
Kris nodded uncertainly. It didn’t seem very easy, to be honest, but he didn’t want to disappoint the old man. He held the fishing rod tight, watching the bobber as it, well, bobbed. His father’s hook came soon after, landing a little bit further out than Kris’.
He took a swig of his beer. “Ah, this is how it’s supposed to be,” he said. “I’m so glad you came with me, Kris.”
“Of course, dad.” He leaned his head against the messy, white fur beneath the sun-bleached sleeves of his father’s hawaiian shirt. He felt the familiar sensation of a hand coming over to gently nuzzle his shoulder.
“Now, you don’t always catch one, so remem-” He stopped. “Say, do you feel something?”
Kris did feel something. A drop had landed on his face seconds before, and more were already following. He opened his mouth and felt one land on his tongue.
His father shook his head. “I’m sure this will clear up. The weather forecast said nothing but sun.”
Kris looked skeptically at the cloud-covered sky. If there was a sun back there, it was doing a great job of hiding. He could already feel the rain drawing strength. They covered themselves with their arms as the wind swept the water against their face.
His father made a thoughtful hum. “I’m starting to think the weather lady may have been mistaken.” His voice was contemplative, if slightly annoyed.
Kris nodded. "The sky's all dark, this could go for a while." He felt the heavy clap of a furry hand on his shoulder.
“You know, I think there’s cocoa at the shop,” his father said, gently taking Kris’ fishing rod in hand. “The lake will be here tomorrow.”
Kris smiled and accepted a helping hand to get him upright. Cocoa sounded like a good prospect. Nothing really beat a day like that, staying in with the water pitter-pattering against the window. Then he remembered that the shop's back room didn't have windows. Tragic. After packing the last bits of gear, the two rushed up the slope to the bench and grabbed what they had left there. They ran back the way they came, racing against the clock to avoid the worst of the rain. As they smacked the car doors behind them, it was clear they had failed. Kris pulled off his by now soaked sweater and threw it to the floor of the car. His T-shirt had been slightly spared underneath it.
The car started and they headed back. Kris had always found a certain peace in car rides like these, rain pouring and skies grey. Like the car was its own little world, sheltered from the harsh outside. He liked to watch the raindrops running down his window and pretend they were racing each other. The dad rock from the speakers mixed with the pitter-patter of rain to form the background noise as he lost himself in thought.
He didn’t realize they had arrived until the engine came to an abrupt stop and his father shook him gently to bring him out of his daze.
“You really should be sleeping more,” he said, concerned.
Kris nodded. He opened the door and rushed over to the marquee covering the entrance to the Flower King. His father followed behind with lumbering steps and dug for the key in his shirt pocket. The shop was cold when they entered, and Kris felt a shiver creep up through his body. He cast a look at the flowers on display to his left, then walked briskly to the door to the back room and headed through, his father close behind.
The back was a mess as usual. Papers and planting equipment littered the floor, and the botanically-themed wallpaper was starting to peel off in places. On the other side of the room was the bed, unmade as usual. It didn’t seem like his father spent much breath maintaining the place. Or doing much else, for that matter.
“Let’s see if we can get some heat in here,” his booming voice came from behind. Kris watched as he fiddled with the radiator, and the loud noise of hot water in the pipes began filling the room. “We can!” he said, sounding surprised.
Kris sighed. “If you’d sell some flowers, you wouldn’t have to worry about that.”
His father sighed. “I know. I know.” Suddenly, he seemed to light up. “Oh, do you want to come help me sell some after school tomorrow?”
“Yeah,” Kris said. “That sounds nice.”
“I’m so glad I have you,” his father said. “Let’s get you that cocoa.”
He went over to the bed and ducked down, then reached underneath it. His hand rummaged through a series of very noisy objects and pulled a few out to find what he was looking for, finally retrieving a plastic can of cocoa powder. He rose to his feet and walked over to the spot on the floor between the TV and the bed, where an old electric kettle sat plugged into the wall.
Kris went over and sat on the bed, watching him fill the kettle and start it. He then moved to the counter where the most precious of his flowers stood and found two mugs in the cupboard beneath. Kris took the one he handed to him and examined it. Nose Nuzzle Championship ‘98 was written on it in a cartoonish font, and below the text was a simplistic illustration of two monster noses touching.
His father noticed his interest. “Oh, did I ever tell you that story?”
Kris looked up from the mug and shrugged.
“Hmmm. Well, I’ll spare you today. But someday you’re getting the full version!” he exclaimed. “I bet your mother has some fun stories from that day too,” he added with a hearty chuckle.
The kettle dinged. He handed Kris the cocoa can and a spoon that seemed to have been inside, then went to get the water. Kris poured some in the mug - significantly more than the instructions called for - and began stirring it around absentmindedly. He felt the bed suddenly sink as his father sat down next to him, weighing it down.
“Here you go,” he said, then began pouring the water in Kris’ cup as he stirred. “You can sit further back, if you want.”
Kris kicked off his shoes and moved backwards across the bed until he reached the wall. His father grabbed the bunched up blanket from the corner of the bed, then bundled Kris up inside it.
“That’s better, right?” he asked.
“Yeah,” Kris replied, shifting his body beneath the blanket to get comfortable.
He lifted the mug to his lips and took a noisy sip. Too bitter. When making his own, he always put in enough sugar to bring the cocoa to the spilling point, but he wasn’t sure his father even had sugar around.
The silence broke. “Is it… good?”
Kris nodded. The tone of the question made any other reply unthinkable. He knew how hard the man tried to make him happy. “It’s great,” he said with a smile, taking a second sip. He scalded his tongue.
With a soft, happy noise, his father rose from the bed then walked over to the fridge. He opened it and began rummaging. Kris cocked his head. He emerged a few moments later holding two small tubs. He handed them to Kris.
“I know these are your favorite,” he said with a smile.
Kris looked at the cover. It was chocolate pudding, with the familiar, nostalgic image of a reptilian monster under the brand name. He’d used to beg his parents for these whenever they went shopping. Those days seemed to be so far gone.
“Wow!” he said. “It’s been years since I’ve had one of these.”
“I thought you might like it.” His father looked uncertainly around. “Ummm, could you use the spoon from your cocoa? I’m not sure where the others are.”
Kris opened the tub and dug in. If the cocoa had tasted too little of chocolate, this was most definitely too much. A sugary taste mixed with the synthetic flavor of cheap preservatives to create a sweet, nostalgic and slightly nauseating experience.
His father sat down again.
“I’m sorry the fishing trip didn’t work out today,” he said.
Kris looked up from his pudding. “Well, like you said, the lake’s not going anywhere.”
“I know. I just wanted us to spend some time together.”
“Aren’t we?” Kris asked.
His father turned towards him and grabbed his shoulder affectionately. "We are. And I couldn’t ask for a better evening” he said with a weak smile. “I’m sorry I don’t have anywhere for you to sleep here. I promise I’ll get everything sorted soon. I’d really love for you to.”
Kris swallowed another spoonful. “It’s fine, dad. Really. I like spending time here. And tomorrow I’ll come help like we talked about. It’ll be great!”
“Yeah,” his father said, turning his head away. “It will.”
Kris looked at him and noticed his shoulders trembling. And in the quiet that surrounded the bed, he swore he could hear a soft choking sound.