“Daddy!” she chastises good-naturedly. “I told you Robbie and I would do that tonight.”
Dusting off my throbbing hands, I shrug my stiff shoulders. “No big deal, honey. I wanted you two to be able to relax. This is your last night before all the wedding craziness starts.”
“People get married every day, Dad.”
“That’s a fact. But how many of them do it in Rome?”
“Probably a lot of Italians.”
I can’t help grinning. “Smart ass.”
She sticks out her tongue pluckily and, for about twenty seconds, I consider kidnapping her and running away, anything to keep her my little girl forever. But I know that time is past.
Gone.
Over.
I have to let her go. It’s as much a part of life as death is, and that is something I’ve become intimately familiar with.
Grace’s eyes cloud with concern. “Are you sure this won’t be…too much for you?”
“I’m positive. I wouldn’t miss this for the world. And the seats are surprisingly comfortable.”
“I don’t mean just the flight. I mean the whole trip. Rome… All the memories.”
I cross the room and lay my hands gently on my daughter’s shoulders. “Gracie,” I begin, using one of my pet names for her, “I couldn’t ask for more. Your mother…” The lump in my throat inflates like a hot air balloon. I have to clear it before I can continue, but even then, I can hear the emotion straining through my vocal cords. “Your mother would be thrilled. And I can’t think of any place I’d rather be than a city where I spent so many wonderful days with her. I’m looking forward to it. I promise.”
Her smile returns tentatively. “Okay. If you’re sure.”
“I’m sure.”
She pops up on her tiptoes and kisses me on the cheek. I want to take her in my arms and hold on to her, hold on tight and never let go. But I can’t. I can’t risk her getting a glimpse of my true feelings on all of this. I don’t want her to know how hard this has been, and will be, for me. But I’ll get through it. For her. For my daughter.
Much like my wife, I would do anything for Grace.
“Where’s the little chick?” comes a second female from somewhere in the vicinity of the kitchen.
“Back here!” Grace says in a louder voice.
Within half a minute, Nissa appears in the hall. She walks up to Grace, slings an arm over her shoulders, and hauls her in for a smacking kiss on the cheek.
“You packed yet, kiddo?” she asks.
“Daddy just finished, even though I expressly forbid him to touch any of this.”
Both Nissa and Grace both turn their disapproving gazes toward me, but in Nissa’s I see the laughing tolerance she’s always had for the way I indulge and spoil my little girl. “Thick-headed as always, I see,” Nissa says, shaking her head. Then she looks back to Grace. “No, I meant for your trip. You know the honeymoon.” She wiggles her eyebrows, and a sly grin plays with the corners of her mouth. I can remember finding her wearing just such an expression as she sat with my wife, having coffee early in the mornings. I woke to find them that way countless times.
I push that thought out of my head in favor of what’s happening right now. “Oh no!” I say firmly, holding my hands up to stop what might be a disaster.
“Oh no, what?” Nissa asks, her features arranged in her most innocuous fashion.
“You are not helping her pack for her honeymoon!”
“And why not?” Nissa’s hands go to her hips. I know what that means. Grace does, too. If the finger comes out…
“If you recall, I got to see firsthand what kind of sh— stuff you pack for Europe.”
A mixture of happiness and deep melancholy swirl through me.
Europe.
Lena.
Lingerie.
Kisses in London, Paris, Rome, and several more countries than I ever thought I’d kiss my wife in.
“Nathaniel Grant, you ought to be ashamed! Do you seriously think I’d pack things like that for my little Gracie-Lou?”
I say nothing, just eye her suspiciously. I don’t think. I know.
Finally, she concedes. “Fine,” she huffs, muttering under her breath. “Spoilsport.”
I smother a grin.
As she has for years, Grace sweeps in to mediate. “I have everything I’ll need, Aunt Nissa. It’s fine. Really.”
“Are you sure? Because after Mark and I split and I married Thad, he let me take his credit card for a spin and, girl, let me tell you. I bought some pretty nice stuff. You sure you don’t want to come take a look?”
“Aren’t you needed at home?” I ask, pushing through the door to take Nissa by the shoulders and aim her toward her own house, which she kept in the divorce and then remodeled for her new husband. She was adamant they live in that house, in this neighborhood. She wanted to be close to Grace, something I’ll never be able to adequately thank her for.
“As a matter of fact, I do need to get supper on.”
“Then by all means,” I say, giving her a nudge, smiling in spite of myself.
Nissa blows Grace a kiss over her shoulder and reminds her, “See you at the airport, kiddo. Call if you need me.”