“What changed?”
Could you be a little more vague, Mom? “What do you mean?”
“You said Meg wanted you to try to find Michael, right? We both know you would have done anything for that girl. But you didn’t ask me about him then, not even when Meg asked you to. So why now? What’s changed?”
I really don’t want to talk about this. Plus, I don’t know how to explain it. “I don’t know.” I pick up Hope’s car seat. “I’m sorry. I have to go.”
“Please, Ry. I want to know.” Her eyes are almost begging. Fuck.
I put the car seat back down and pull the rubber band out of my hair and redo my ponytail just to have something to do with my hands. “Honestly, Mom, I’m totally sucking at this whole parenthood thing. I have no clue what I’m doing. Hope even seems to know that. So I thought…maybe…if I met my own father, things would start to click into place. Like, I don’t know, on some basic level. What fathers act like when they’re in the same room as someone they gave their DNA to. Or what it feels like to look at your father’s face. Stuff like that. I thought if I had those experiences, things might start to make more sense for me and Hope.”
Mom stares at me as if I’m speaking Korean. Finally she unclamps her jaw. “First of all, you’re not sucking at all. You’re doing amazingly well, actually.”
Ha. Whatever. I’m not sure if I actually say that out loud.
“Second…you really think Michael has something to teach you about being a parent that I don’t?”
Shit. Suddenly I’m realizing how that reasoning must sound to her. Like I think she wasn’t enough of a parent. Like everything she’s done for me was so lacking that a five-minute visit with my deadbeat, glorified sperm donor would be more meaningful than a lifetime with her. Goddammit. That’s not what I meant at all.
“Mom…that’s not…not teach me anything…more like what it feels like…I mean, you’re the best—”
She holds up a hand to stop me. “It’s okay, Ry.” She takes a breath and then asks, “Have you started looking for him?”
I nod.
“Anything?”
I shake my head. “I think it might be a lost cause.” But her question reminds me of all my other Googling, which provides me with the perfect opportunity to get far, far away from the subject of Michael. The news that the day care dilemma won’t be an issue next year should cheer up Mom at least a little.
“I almost forgot—I did some research last night,” I say. “UCLA has a day care for students’ kids. And they give you financial aid. So I can take Hope to California with me. I know it’s not gonna be easy, but I really think I can do it.”
She crosses back over to me, places her hands on my shoulders, and really looks at me. Then she smiles a sad, weary smile. “You know what, bud? I think you can do anything, if you want it badly enough.”
“So”—I pause—“I’m gonna go to practice.”
Mom nods. “Have fun.”
? ? ?
“I got your message last night,” Alan says as I run him through the basics of child care.
“And?”
He shakes his head. “I haven’t seen any of Meg’s journals in months. Since she was still…here.”
“Damn.”
“What exactly are you looking for?”
I quickly explain my theory about the checklist and he goes, “That’s so Meg.”
“So you think I’m right? About her leaving us some sort of message?”
“I guess it’s possible. Or at the very least maybe she left us each a journal. As a…” He looks like he’s searching for the word.
“Souvenir?”
“Or like a gift? But I don’t know where she would have left them if they’re not at your house and they’re not at my house. It’s not like she was going out all that much.”
“I know. That’s the problem.” But with every moment that passes, my desperation to find Meg’s journals grows. Because if I’m not going to get answers about how to be a dad from my father, then maybe I’ll get them from Hope’s mother. What if Meg left pages and pages of motherly wisdom behind? What if, even though she’s gone, she didn’t actually leave me alone in this?
At this point, I don’t care where the answers come from—Michael or Meg or somewhere else entirely. Soon I’ll be “Daddy,” and all too soon after that, Hope will be old enough to start remembering stuff, and I really need to figure out what the hell I’m doing by then, because I don’t want to permanently screw her up. So you can be damn sure I’m going to follow any lead that comes my way.
I hand over Hope and all her stuff and book it across town to school. I get to practice at 9:55.
“Brooks,” Coach O’Toole barks, not looking happy. “You’re late.”
“I know, Coach. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”