Dear Matt,
Our daughter is ten today. I said before that I wouldn’t send any more letters, but I have an important reason this time. I’m very sad to tell you that Dan is sick. He’s been having severe heart problems over the last year, and his condition is likely terminal. He so desperately wants to adopt Ash, and I’m writing to ask you if you would please consider signing over your parental rights, as you were named on her birth certificate. Ash is a wonderful child, witty and beautiful, with a great sense of humor. She is the joy of my life. I never blamed you for the choices I made a decade ago, but now I can change things for her and Dan by making it official with the adoption.
I know you’re very busy, but would you please get in touch with us?
Regards,
Grace Porter
212-555-1156
The life she led, the tragedy, despair, and rejection, was all because of me. I could have blamed Elizabeth, but it wouldn’t matter in the end because Elizabeth meant nothing to Grace. I knew that if you followed the trail of pain, it would lead to me, at least in Grace’s mind, and my pain led to her.
Staring at my phone, a question popped into my head. I shot off a text immediately.
ME: Why were you looking in the missed connections section?
GRACE: I wasn’t.
ME: How did you get the note?
GRACE: A student of mine recognized the title “Green-eyed Lovebird” when he was looking for his own missed connection and brought it to me.
ME: So you didn’t really want to find me? Was it just for Ash?
There was no response.
Two hours later, I was on their doorstep, wearing plaid pajama pants, slippers, and a coat. It was six p.m. and the sun was beginning to set. Ash came to the door wearing white flannel PJs with a green turtle pattern on it. She swung the door open wide and announced, “Hello, Father!”
“Hello, Daughter.”
She pointed behind her with her thumb and lowered her voice. “Should I ask if she wants to come with us?”
I shook my head. Ash looked down for a second, as if figuring out what to do, and then yelled, “Bye, Mom! Love you, be back later.”
“Love you. Be careful!” Grace yelled from the other room.
“Ready?”
“Yep.” She bounced out the door.
“We’re going to a restaurant that serves breakfast anytime,” I told her.
“Oh cool. I’m gonna get blueberry pancakes during the Renaissance,” she deadpanned. I stared for a beat and then she started cracking up.
“You scared me for a second. I was concerned about your IQ.”
“I got that joke from a TV show.”
I laughed. “Now I’m really concerned about your IQ.”
The place Grace and I used to go to was long gone, so I took Ash to a diner in our neighborhood.
“Mom told me you guys used to do this breakfast-for-dinner thing all the time in college.”
“We did.” I smiled at the memory but didn’t want to dwell on the past. “How was school?”
“Good. Boring, except for ceramics.”
“You like pottery?”
“I love it.”
“My mom—your grandmother—loved it. She had a little art studio set up behind her house in California. She called it the Louvre.” I chuckled at the memory.
“I know.”
“Your mom pretty much covered everything, didn’t she?”
“Why didn’t you want her to come tonight?”
This daughter of mine didn’t pull any punches. “Like I said before, things are complicated.”
“You guys love each other, so why the hell aren’t you together?”
“It’s not that simple, Ash. I need time.”
“Well, I think you’re wasting it.”
Why was the fifteen-year-old the smartest one in the room?
Because she doesn’t have decades of bullshit clouding her judgment.
We ordered pancakes and milk shakes, and Ash told me about school and a boy she liked.
“Boys are pigs. You know that, right? Stay away from them.”
She sipped her milk shake thoughtfully. “You don’t need to do this. Seriously.”
“I do. I want to meet your friends and come to your school events. And that’s not a request.”
“I know.”
After we totally stuffed ourselves with pancakes, I paid and we headed out. On our way to the door, Ash stopped in front of the refrigerator case.
“You want a piece of pie?” I asked.
She dug into the little purse slung across her chest. “No, I’m gonna buy a piece for Mom.”
“I’ll buy it. What does she like?”
She raised an eyebrow. “You know what she likes.”
“One piece of chocolate cream and a piece of peanut butter to go,” I said to the woman behind the counter. She bagged it up and handed it to me, and I led Ash out of the diner.