How Dad's Say I Love You

So he says, my dad drove 40 minutes to pick me up at the airport. I was furious. I had already told him I was taking the train. Don't come pick me up. It was almost midnight. He was standing by the car in his slippers. You shouldn't be driving this late. Nice to see you too. He picked up my suitcase, back in the car. I brought it up again. And dad, the train drops me off, particularly at the front door. I know. And now you have to drive all the way back home with me. I know that too. He didn't argue, he just kept driving. Then I noticed a paper bag between us. An egg sandwich, an apple, the same lunch he used to pack for me when I was a kid. You probably ate something on the plane, he said. I wasn't sure. I ate the sandwich. He asked me about my trip. Our phone calls, we're usually short. How's everything going? Good, just busy with work. But this time, we had 40 minutes. So I told him about the presentation that had gone badly. Then I told him about the co-worker who had helped me. About the hotel window that wouldn't close. About the dinner I had eaten alone. He missed our exit because he was too busy asking what happened next. Neither of us mentioned it. When we pulled up outside my apartment, I tried one last time. You know you didn't have to do this. He kept his hands on the steering wheel. I know, you can get home on your own. Then he looked at me. I just wanted to hear how your trip went. That's when I realized something. I had spent the entire drive explaining why he didn't need to pick me up. And he had spent the entire drive asking me about my life. We sat there a little longer. Then I told him something about work that I'd never had the courage to tell anyone. He didn't give me any advice. He didn't tell me what I should have done. He just listened. Then he said to me, you'll figure it out. It was such a simple thing to say, but somehow I needed to hear it from him. The next morning I checked my return flight for the following month. I started typing, don't worry about picking me up. I deleted it. Then I typed, are you free on the 18th? My flight lands at seven. I started the message and I hit send. My text back, 7 a.m. or 7 p.m. He said, 7 p.m., good. We can have dinner a few seconds later. Unless you already ate on the plane. I smiled. Some people say, I love you. Others drive 40 minutes at midnight with an egg sandwich on the passenger seat. Isn't that amazing, Tom? I read this and I thought of you. That's it. That's it. I bring her a Chipotle and a Red Bull. And I pick her up at Fort Lauderdale. I swear to God. Oh, a Chipotle and a Red Bull. I bring her the Chipotle bowl she likes and a Red Bull.