Fly With You

Jonathan Toews still woke up at eight AM every morning, even after being retired from the game of hockey for a number of years. He had gotten into the habit as a kid, of course, having hockey practice before a full day of school. Then, though, it was even earlier than eight, but never once did the kid complain. He was just glad his mom had let him on skates to begin with; she was such a worrier. He always told his mother not to worry. He’d be fine. She would laugh and tell him to wait until he had kids, then they’d see who the worrier was.

Stepping out of the shower, he wiped his hand on the mirror, clearing the steam that had collected on the smooth surface. He frowned at his appearance. Even on a beautiful spring day with nothing for him to do until evening but hang out with his daughter, there was still worry in his forty seven year old eyes, and he knew it was because of that beautiful daughter still sleeping, warm in her bed, two doors down. When she had told him she had decided on UCLA his heart sunk. She was more like her mother than just her looks and playful nature. She was an explorer, a dreamer, a believer in new things.

Walking into his bedroom, he contemplated his morning. He could go for a run, but his body was still tired from the extra one he had done the day before, never wanting to turn down a chance to be with Penelope. He ran a hand over his brown hair, wisps of grey starting to come in on the sides, something no one would notice just looking at him, but Jonathan noticed them; they were not only the obvious reminder that he was getting older, but that he had been without his Delia for more than years he ever thought possible.

Pulling on a pair of cargo shorts and a plain white shirt, he made his way to his daughter’s bedroom, knocking quietly on the white wood before pushing the door open. Her long, blond hair was spread every way across the bed as she slept peacefully, completely unaware her father was in the room with her. He smiled as he walked past her waist-high dresser, her jewelry and some makeup taking up the counter top. Above it hung a mirror, ticket stubs, newspaper clippings and pictures jammed in between the mirror and its frame.

Grabbing the one of the two of them from the past holidays, he carefully sat down on the edge of her bed and stared at it for a few moments. Penelope really had no idea how much her dad needed her; she was all he had, really. His little girl (though she was now nineteen and hated to be called that) was the only thing Jonathan had left of her mother. She looked just like her, a carbon copy of her mother, and it got more and more pronounced every day Penelope got closer to twenty one, the age her mother had been when she met Jonathan.

Putting the picture back where he got it from, he moved closer toward her sleeping form, sitting on the edge of the bed next to her. The sun was streaming in through her yellow curtains brightly, illuminating the lime green painted room. Putting a hand on the side of her head, he brushed the hair out of her face, grinning as her eyes slowly fluttered open and she stared up at him with her big, blue eyes.

“Morning,” she said sleepily, stretching her arms above her head and her legs down toward the bottom of the bed.

“Morning,” he said, back. “You up for heading out to get some breakfast, then, maybe heading into the city?” Jonathan grinned as Penelope’s eyes snapped open with finality, her lips spreading wide in a grin showing off her perfect, white teeth. She sat up, nodding her head, as she ran a hand through her blond waves, trying to calm them. She eventually gave up, glaring at the amused look on her father’s face, before pulling it to the side and quickly braiding it.

“Why don’t you just cut it?”

She paused, “Mom always had it this long.” Nodding, Jonathan gave her knee a final pat before leaving her to get ready, shutting the door behind him.

Putting on a pair of comfortable sandals, he put his wallet into his back pocket, put sunglasses on his head and grabbed his car keys. He met his daughter at the front door ten minutes later when she came bounding down the stairs at a rate so fast, he was sure she was going to fall. She grinned up at him, seeming to not notice the look he was giving her outfit, pulling her own sunglasses onto her face as they left the house, him locking the door behind them.

Jonathan frowned as he looked at her long, tan, and bare legs, the shorts she wore barely covering anything. She had sandals on her feet and a light grey, scoop neck tee shirt on. It was hot out, but it wasn’t that hot out. Following his daughter to the car, unlocking it with the remote he watched her climb into the passenger seat, immediately rolling down the window after the car had been turned on.

“The usual?” he asked her, referring to the diner just a few blocks away. Penelope grinned and nodded, having missed the restaurant while she had been in California.

They ate in mostly silence, something that was not unusual for them, especially when at their favorite breakfast place. They ate quickly, filling their empty stomachs with the home-made pancakes they both got every time they went. After a short conversation with the waitresses who had been working there for years and had practically watched Penelope grow up, they were back in the car and headed toward the entrance to the expressway, heading east toward downtown Chicago.

Delia was six months pregnant with Penelope when she had Jonathan had moved twenty minutes outside of downtown and to the town of River Forest. They had found a beautiful, old stone house; Delia falling in love with its ‘charm’ has soon as she had seen it. She told Jonathan instantly that it was the place she wanted them to raise their daughter, and even all these years later, Jonathan was still raising their daughter there.

Traffic that Saturday morning wasn’t as bad as he thought it was going to be, and only ten minutes into their drive, they could see the skyline of downtown Chicago ahead of them. Glancing at his daughter, Jonathan almost swerved the car into the divider when he saw tears in Penelope’s eyes, having taken her sunglasses off to wipe the moisture from her cheeks.

“Nel, what’s wrong?” Jonathan asked, reaching his hand toward her and putting it on her knee in a comforting way.

“It’s silly,” she said, laughing at herself, “but I really, really missed home while I was gone. First semester, it didn’t really set in because the whole college thing was new, and I was meeting new people, and I was super busy, but second semester just seemed to never end.”

“Oh, baby.”

“Would you be mad at me if I said I didn’t want to go back to UCLA?”

‘Never,” Jonathan told her instantly. “I would love to have you home, Nelly.”

“Okay,” she said, wiping at her eyes again. “I want to come home.”

Still driving at nearly seventy miles an hour on the expressway, Jonathan tried to ignore the conflicting feelings he was feeling. He was overjoyed at the thought of his daughter staying in Chicago instead of returning to California, but her words, her simple ’I want to come home’ was a painful reminder of her mother, who had spoken the same words to him twenty years before.

The father, daughter duo spent the day downtown, seeing the sights they had seen a million times before but somehow never got sick of. They walked along the busy streets, ducking into shops that caught their eyes, stopping for snacks from sidewalk vendors, and simply enjoying each other’s company. Jonathan found themselves heading toward the lake, rolling his eyes in amusement as Penelope ran forward, telling her father her toes were begging to feel sand.

“You were just in California four days ago, kid. How can you miss sand already?”

“You know how I feel about the water, dad.”

“Just like your mother,” he mused to himself as he watched his daughter rush forward into the water, holding her sandals in her hands as she waded into the water. Shaking his head, he watched from his spot as she reached into the water and splashed more on her legs, cooling her off from the unusually intense heat for May.

She was coming back toward him when his cell phone rang. Pulling the small device from his pocket, Jonathan answered with an amused, “What?”

“God, Tazer, don’t act like you’re not excited to hear from me,” the smooth voice of Adam Burish said from the other end. Jonathan fought the urge to roll his eyes at his former teammate. Even twenty five years after the agitator had left the city of Chicago, deciding to sign with Dallas, he was still in Jonathan’s life, whether the longtime Blackhawks’ captain wanted him or not.

“I’m going to see you at the game tonight,” Jonathan responded, referring to their jobs as commentators for the Blackhawks games on TV, as Penelope slipped her sandals back on her feet and took a seat next to her father.

Everyone expected Adam Burish to come back to Chicago after his career was done, and he had done so immediately. He was in his mid thirties when he called it quits and moved back, now married and with a couple kids of his own. It was easy for him and Jonathan, who had never left Chicago, and was still playing at the time to fall back into their easy friendship. Adam made fun of ‘the kid’ as he still called him, and Jonathan took it. Though, Adam was almost slightly disappointed he didn’t get as bothered as he had before. The damn kid had learned to let go a bit.

“Who is it?” she mouthed. When her father mouthed ‘Burish’ back to her, Penelope grabbed the phone with a loud, “Adam!” and successfully making her father cringe.

“Penelope, my beautiful girl, when did you get in?”

“Just yesterday; I’m hanging out with daddy today.”

“Are you coming to the game tonight?” he asked, “Eric will want to see you.”

Penelope rolled her eyes at the mention of Adam’s sixteen year old son. She wasn’t the only one who looked exactly like one of her parents; Eric Burish was a spitting image of his father when he was younger. Though, the now aged man really hadn’t changed all that much. He had a few age lines on his face, but he still wore his brown hair shaggy and his blue eyes were as vibrant as ever. Another thing that never dimmed was his thousand watt grin and his million dollar personality. Eric, as well, had the same personality of his father and would never leave an opportunity to flirt with a girl open.

“Yeah, sure, I’ll come. I haven’t been to a game all season…”

“Eric will be happy when I tell him. That kid likes you, Nel. Give him a chance.”

“He’s only sixteen!”

“So? You could be meant for each other,” Adam spoke, amusement in his voice.

“I will not marry a Burish,” Penelope said, finality in her voice and successfully making her father cough out the sip of water he had taken from his water bottle at the sound of her words. “It would kill daddy, but not as much as me marrying a Kane.”

Disconnecting the call after a few more minutes of talking, Jonathan had his phone back and the two of them fell into a comfortable silence as they stared out at the water ahead of them. “I love you, Nel,” he said, breaking the silence between him and his daughter. “It killed me while you were gone.”

“It killed me, too, dad,” she told him, truthfully. “You’re all I have.”

“Same here, kid,” he told her as they stood up from their seats, ready to kill a couple more hours downtown before they would head back to their home and get ready for that night’s Blackhawks’ playoff game against the Detroit Redwings.