I crack a smile. “No, you didn’t.”
“Okay, fine. I didn’t hate him, but I did know right then that something was horribly off between the two of us. He didn’t feel at all what I felt. So, I would have to make a choice. And I chose you. And I chose myself. It was the opportunity I’d needed to see that Jacob and I were truly a terrible fit. Wanting to adopt you? It was the easiest understanding I’d ever come to. Of course, I was terrified that you wouldn’t like me or that you wouldn’t want to live with a gay man. The day I met you, I must have changed my outfit ten times. I had a stack of things I’d bought for you, but then they all seemed stupid, so I left them at home. If you thought they were awful, you might decide I would make the worst dad ever.” He looks embarrassed. “I was very nervous, because I knew so definitively that I was your father. Sometimes you just know things, right? Without reason or fact. You just know them.”
Four months ago, I might have disagreed, but not today. “Yes. I’m sorry that I didn’t know then. I’m sorry I didn’t see right away that you were my dad.”
“Sweetheart, it’s okay. That would be expecting a lot.”
My eyes begin to burn a little. “But I know now. I really do.” He puts an arm around me, and, instinctively, I turn into him and hug him tightly. “I love you, Simon.”
His hug back is so secure and so fatherly and safe. “And I love you, too, Allison. Very much.”
“Just so you know,” I say, “I really liked you when I met you. We talked about how perfect Jane Austen is and why we both despise zoos. And you told me that you hate all dried fruits except dried cranberries.”
“That’s still true. Why would you take a perfectly nice piece of fruit and ruin it like that? But dried cranberries in an arugula salad? With a hit of blue cheese? Can’t beat that.” He rests his chin on top of my head. “And we shared a love of eighties movies, sunsets that look like postcards, and the sound waves make when they crash onto shore. We clicked. That’s all there is to it. You were my daughter, from that first moment.”
Without thinking, I rest my head on his shoulder. “You got me things to entice me to live with you?”
He chuckles. “It’s so embarrassing, but I did.”
“Like what?”
“I actually still have the stuff, if you’d like to see.”
“Really?” I sit up and face him. It’s so Simon to keep this stuff. “I would.”
It only takes him a few minutes to go to his study, and he certainly doesn’t have to dig for the box.
He watches me nervously as I open it, and I laugh. “You don’t have to worry. I’m not going to ditch you if there’s something weird in here.”
“Still, be kind. I was very anxious back then. And I guess now, too.”
In the box is, of course, a collection of things I would have loved. A trio of jangly silver bracelets from Tiffany’s, a gift set of Calvin Klein perfume, a cashmere hat and scarf, and a zippered makeup bag full of lip glosses. Then I pull out a Wonder Woman retrospective book and a set of Wonder Woman cuff bracelets.
“They’re dumb, aren’t they?” he says.
“No, Simon. They’re not dumb at all. Not even close.” I keep looking at the cuffs. “How did you know I would like Wonder Woman?”
“I figured you’d deflected a few bullets in your time and that you were probably tough as steel.”
“I wasn’t so tough,” I say quietly. “I could’ve used these cuffs.”
“Of course you were tough. You still are. You’re just happier now.”
He’s right. “These are wonderful gifts.” I am touched and at a loss for what else to say.
Simon rubs my back and pulls me in for a quick hug. “Ready to get these lights on the tree, kiddo?” He claps his hands. “Let’s get her all gussied up, shall we?”
He stands on a stepladder and begins to hang the lights, while I hold the rest of the string and feed it to him as needed. “So, since you won’t let me buy you a car”—he stops and waits for me to roll my eyes, which I do—“how about a Christmas list?”
This feels like a tremendously big deal, because I’m not one to ask him for anything. But for his sake, I think for a bit. “Those sheets you got me at the beginning of the year? I really like those, and I wouldn’t mind more.”
“‘Wouldn’t mind more.’ Noted. What else?”
“Maybe a new phone case.”
“Also noted. What else?”
We finish hanging the lights before I reply. “Maybe we could take a vacation this summer?”
“Sure. You, Steffi, and me? What did you have in mind?”
“Just you and me,” I correct him.
He lands a row of lights across branches before he responds. “I’d like that. Where are we going? Martha’s Vineyard? Cape Cod? Nantucket? The Hamptons?”
I can’t help but laugh. “It doesn’t have to be so high-end. A beach trip would be nice. But maybe a small house. Nothing too fancy, okay?”
“A luxury cottage, then,” he says with a smile. “We’ll boil up lobsters every night and track sand all over the rental house from our days by the ocean.”
“There’s something else,” I say with a touch of anxiety. I adjust some lights and fidget too much with their placement. “I mentioned this before, but . . . could Esben come over for dinner?”
“That’s not a Christmas present, but absolutely.” His eagerness is palpable. “Any night is fine. Oh, I could do an appetizer tray with smoked salmon, deviled eggs . . . and then beef Wellington for an entrée and a trifle for dessert!”
“I . . . I was thinking something less formal.”
“Well, sure. Box spaghetti and a jar of sauce it is,” he says with mock pouting.
“Okay, okay. Upscale and show off your cooking it is. And wine. There better be wine.”
“Why? You nervous for dear old dad to meet the boyfriend?”
“A little,” I confess.
“Don’t be. I adore him already. Anyone who makes you this happy is clearly someone I’m going to like.”
“Okay.”
“Then we’d better get this house in Christmas order to impress him!” Simon crosses the room to retrieve one of three ornament boxes. “Let’s do this!”
CHAPTER 22
DANCING
Simon reties his apron yet again and surveys the kitchen. “Okay, I think we’re in pretty good shape. Does Esben like cheese? I hope he likes cheese!”
I can’t help laughing. “Why are you more nervous than I am? He’s going to love you. And the cheese. All the cheeses.” I glance at the tray. “All nine of them.”
“Did I go overboard?”