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It’s not like Matt doesn’t know when it’s Father’s Day. The Church always holds a sermon about the grace of the Father and His love for His children. There are gift recommendations at every store around the corner. Special meals in households with plenty of verbal “Happy”s and whatnot.
He just never made it a point to think about it.
Matt didn’t visit his dad at his grave or talk to the chest with the few reminders he had left. He didn’t have anyone to ask about it, and he was fine with that. It was preferable, even.
That was, until he met Foggy.
His roommate was very expressive, and as much as he complains about his big family and the pressure they put on him on top of law school, it couldn’t be more clear that Foggy loved them. And they loved him.
Foggy spent every major holiday with his family, exchanging banter and homemade gifts. Concluding the evenings with a large dinner and loud cheer (not that Matt had ever actually participated).
As much as it shouldn’t surprise Matt, Foggy also celebrated Father’s Day. And as always, he invited Matt.
“Come on. We already finished all our exams, take a break! Unstress! Eat a home cooked meal for once!”
And normally, Matt would say something like, “Can’t. I’m attending mass tonight,” or “I’ll probably go to sleep early,” or “I’m flattered, Foggy. Maybe next time.”
For some reason, he accepted.
To be fair, Foggy was great at steering away from touchy subjects. He didn’t bring up Matt’s blindness much, and when he did, he didn’t treat Matt like glass. He didn’t ask about Matt’s dad unless Matt brought him up first.
Unlike Foggy who was born with an unnatural degree of empathy and understanding, his kid cousins weren’t.
“Why are you wearing sunglasses inside?”
“What’s the stick for?”
“You’re Foggy’s roommate?”
“I thought you’d be taller.”
“What’s your father like?”
And Matt answered, keeping his tone level and kind. He’s blind—no, he wasn’t always—and the stick helps him get around. Yes, he’s Foggy’s roommate. How tall did they think he’d be? And his dad was the best man he’d ever known.
“Was?”
Matt tried for a patient smile. He really did. It’s all thanks to an adult who’d taken pity on him that he didn’t just spit out “He’s dead.”
But they didn’t take the hint, didn’t react when the woman said they needed to go set the table. They stood there stubbornly, jittery, like Matt was a puzzle they had to solve.
The last question left him more speechless than anything.
“Do you remember what he looked like?”
The unnamed Nelson finally managed to get the kids to shut up and leave, but by then the question was already in the air. She turned around with pity and uncertainty written in her body language: weaving her fingers, shifting her weight, muscles tensed. She stumbled over an apology and the excuse that they were kids who didn’t know better.
Only, she had a furrow in her brow that meant she was curious too. And the fact that Matt didn’t have a quick answer was proof enough.
“I’m… I need some air.”
He knew that no one meant to cause him any discomfort. He knew that it was an honest question borne of curiosity, and yeah, he got that. Kids asked questions. That’s in their nature. They wanted to know things, and they made everything their business.
And, honestly, it’s on him that the one time he accepted Foggy’s invitation to a family dinner was on Father’s Day. It was only natural that they’d ask. It’s his fault they asked.
And now that the question was out there, Matt realized that he didn’t. He didn’t remember. He couldn’t remember. He…
Matt’s dad smelled like copper and salt and frozen peas. Like dried blood, sweat, and just a pinch of whiskey. He liked takeout and pizza, so his clothes always had a faint scent of garlic or pepperoni.
His voice held an accent that Matt never picked up, and it dipped and peaked in ways Matt hadn’t heard from anyone else. His bones would creak and grind together from too many punches. Steps light on one foot, heavy on the other.
His skin was warm all over after a fight. Raised where there were bruises, sticky where there were cuts. His shoulders were wide, and his hugs were fortresses of comfort. Of safety.
Matt would be able to recognize him in a heartbeat. If he was standing in front of him, Matt would know that it was his dad.
But other than the itchy stubble on his chin, a cut here or there, and the heat from blood rushing under his cheeks after a match, Matt could not, for the life of him, remember what his dad looked like.
And if asked, Matt would admit that he didn’t remember much of his sight. He remembered what it was like to see, but the details were just… gone. Forgotten, now that he’s lived longer without it.
But, dammit, his dad. His dad. He’s supposed to remember his dad. The one person in his life that meant the world. The one person who cared about him, who loved him. Who died, because of him.
God damn it. God damn him. Why didn’t he try to hold onto it? He couldn’t look at photos to refresh his memory, couldn’t pull up pictures of Battlin’ Jack, couldn’t even check the mirror for his dad’s likeness. Or maybe he screwed that up too.
Why didn’t he sear his dad’s face into his mind when he had the chance? Did he really take it for granted? Why did it take this long to realize that he had no fucking clue what his dad looked like?
“Matt?”
He sat up straight, alert. He hadn’t noticed Foggy come out.
“Hey.”
Foggy sat next to him, wrinkling his nose at the wet newspaper he tossed to make room.
They stayed in silence for a few minutes, Matt listening to Foggy’s heartbeat and slowly getting his own to match. God, he was a mess, and for what? A stupid question.
A stupid fucking question that he wouldn’t have been asked if he decided not to come.
Father’s Day, Matt. What did you expect?
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” he answered quickly. Foggy didn’t buy it. Not that he had to say anything, Matt wouldn’t have either.
“You wanna talk about it?”
No, he didn’t. “There’s nothing to talk about.”
Foggy sighed but didn’t push it. Matt’s saving grace, really. It’s why he liked Foggy.
“Want to come in? Food’s getting cold.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“Hah, okay. Matt, buddy, if you don’t want to be here, just tell me. We can get some takeout and binge some inaccurate lawyer scenes. Or, you know, we can catch the bus back to campus. I’ll quiz you on the case studies.”
He didn’t want Foggy to leave a family dinner for him. Especially when it shouldn’t be a big deal. Especially when it’s his fault.
“Nah, I’ll just… I’m good here. Really.”
He could feel Foggy’s shoulder sag against the wall. Hear the subtle change in his breathing. “Yeah, if you’re sure.”
“Thanks, Foggy.”
“Yup.”
And for another handful of minutes, they sat in silence. Matt racked his brain for bits of his dad: sweat and accent and stubble and… nothing.
It’s lost forever now. He let it slip from his mind and he’s not getting it back.
Blood and bones and stitches and—
“Are you… Are you sure you don’t want to talk about it?”
Matt’s so wrapped up in his own head that he failed to stop the words from falling out.
“I can’t remember what he looked like.”
Another bout of silence, except it’s so heavy, Matt felt like he might suffocate.
“I can’t remember what my dad looked like.”
And as if that wasn’t bad enough, the words kept on spilling out, and he couldn’t get his mouth to shut the hell up.
“He’s the last thing I saw. Before I lost my— I stared right at him when I went blind. We took so many pictures together. I saw him everyday, back when I could see. And I just—”
He waved at his head helplessly.
“I can’t remember.”
He didn’t expect Foggy to reply. What was he going to say anyway, that there were other ways to remember him? Matt’s aware of that, but it doesn’t erase the fact that the one staple in his life was gone, and he managed to forget the face of his own dad.
“Oh.”
Appropriate response, all things considered.
“If… if it makes you feel any better, you don’t exactly know what I look like either.”
It’s not the same, but the comment leaves Matt so stumped, so dumbfounded, that he stared at Foggy a bit too accurately for a blind man.
“Or what God looks like,” he continued slowly, obviously afraid he might offend Matt.
But again, it’s not the same. What was his point?
“That doesn’t stop me or the big guy from loving you. And I doubt it stops you from loving us back, right?”
Rather than answer, Matt asked, “Aren’t you atheist?”
“Agnostic, but that’s irrelevant. What I’m trying to say is that it’s okay if you don’t know what someone looks like. You don’t need to see to love.”
That’s easy for Foggy to say.
“You can’t beat yourself up for that, Matt.”
The empty face of a man he called dad stared at him.
“It’s not your fault.”
He scoffed and ignored the hole in his senses.
“People forget faces all the time.”
Foggy, you’re amazing, but please stop talking.
“Matt?”
God, why was he so hung up on this? Foggy’s right, he shouldn’t blame himself, it wasn’t healthy. He did have other ways to remember his dad. He didn’t need to know what his dad looked like, because seeing things hadn’t been a part of Matt’s life in a long time. He had other ways.
But still.
He forgot his dad’s face.
“Matt, say something.”
“He was the last thing I saw.”
Foggy clamped up and blinked at him, so uncertain and worried. “You were nine. And you went blind.”
Then, “Do you want to go back? To campus?”
He’s trying to help, and Matt had the distinct feeling that he was pushing Foggy away.
“Come on, get up. I’ll go grab your cane, then we can head to the bus.”
His cane? Oh, must’ve left it beside the table when the kids were inspecting it.
Matt stopped him, his voice low as he asked, “Can I, um… I want to know what you look like.”
Foggy, sweet and empathetic Foggy, didn’t so much as question it as he leaned back down and guided Matt’s hands to his cheeks. He didn’t say anything as Matt traced along the lines. Didn’t mention the weirdness of the situation like Matt thought he would have. He just let Matt finish and went inside for the cane.
It’d been so long since Matt touched someone’s face. The last person was his dad right after he was shot, and… well.
He tried to piece together the nose and eyes and maybe form a picture of what Foggy might look like.
Then, using that template, he tried to do the same with his dad.
“Alright, got it. Ready to go?”
Matt still can’t remember, but… that’s okay. He hadn’t been concerned with it until now, and he can just… not think about it. Maybe.
“Yeah.”