The cruise celebration

“Habit,” he said when his daughters laughed.

For forty years, George had been the person left on the platform, at the gate or beside the car.

Now both daughters were beside him.

He waved anyway.

His seventieth birthday had produced three competing ideas and a family argument about surprises.

“Ask him,” their cruise adviser, Denise, suggested.

George wanted to be with them. He also wanted somewhere to sit quietly when being with them became loud.

They reviewed cabins, dining arrangements, sailing documents and the actual conditions attached to the itinerary. Denise helped them ask the cruise line their specific questions.

One cabin plan was wrong for his needs. A different arrangement worked better.

The sisters stopped discussing how much they could fit into each port.

They asked what he would enjoy.

On the second afternoon, weather changed a planned stop.

One daughter began apologizing, as though she had scheduled the wind.

George pointed toward the lounge.

“Is the cake still there?”

It was.

They spent the afternoon at a table near the window. He told them about a journey he had taken before either was born.

“You never told us that.”

“You never stayed still this long.”

After dinner, they went out on deck.

Their older sister called from home. George held the phone too close, then too far away. Eventually all three daughters fitted into the conversation, though only two fitted beside him at the rail.

In the morning, the sea was pale beneath the sky.

George was already outside when his daughters found him.

“Who are you waving at now?”

“Nobody.”

He made space beside him.

For once, the people he usually watched leave were going in the same direction.