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The English project was due on Friday, so Thursday night, I had a mini panic attack. If Cole wasn’t back, I was going to fail English. Maybe French, too. A hit like that would seriously affect my GPA. A low GPA meant getting in to college would be that much harder. A low-end college would mean a lower paying job. A low paying job meant that I couldn’t pay back my student loans. I pictured myself living with my father for the rest of my life. Or worse, ending up next to that homeless guy in the subway who always held up the peace sign.
There had to be a way to get in touch with Cole. I reached in to my pocket and dug out my cell phone. My fingers danced over the buttons, and found his number in my contact list. I was about to press the call button when I remembered. Cole wasn’t just out on some pleasure cruise. His mother had died. He was probably surrounded by family, being consoled in some French cottage. I couldn’t interrupt him. Not now. Not when he was in mourning.
I stuffed my phone back in to my jeans and resigned myself to homelessness.
Meanwhile, Dad moved around the kitchen, pots clanging, making dinner.
We were having pasta again. Daddy seemed to cook pasta a lot lately. Maybe because he was tired when he got home and wanted something quick. Maybe it was because I used to cook dinner on the weekdays hadn’t since our lives turned upside down last week. Maybe it was because he knew that pasta was my favorite.
I left my phone on the couch and walked in the kitchen, realizing that there was someone else that I had to make amends with.
A pot top clanged to the floor, followed closely by a metal spoon.
Daddy groaned, his brow already sweat soaked.
I bent down to pick up both the top and the spoon and place them in the sink.
“Need some help?” I asked.
“Only if you’re offering,” he replied.
I walked over to the table, grabbed a paper towel from the holder, and walked back over to my father. My hand raised to his shoulder, and he turned to me. Gently, I dabbed at his sweaty forehead and ears.
Our eyes danced away from each other, neither of us knowing what to say.
What could I say? Daddy had raised me, basically alone, for the last six years. He brought me my first box of tampons, knew my favorite conditioner, sewed buttons back on my shirts, and taught me how to French braid my hair. We’d fallen apart together when Mom died, and we’d built each other up so that we could keep going. He wasn’t the most hands-on dad, but he was my dad, and I wanted him to be happy.
“I spoke to Ms. Mitchell today,” I said, my voice calm and even. I continued to carefully dab at his forehead, though the sweat was all gone now.
His eyes rose to mine, searching them for reasons why I would talk to his most likely ex-girlfriend.
“I told her that I was happy you chose her.” I balled up the paper towel and threw it in the trash can by the door. “I understand that you are a grown man with feelings.” I cringed at the thought, but pressed on. Daddy stood tall and still, waiting for my words. “But you’re also my dad. You’re the last parent that I had left, and I guess I was holding on to you so tight because I didn’t want to lose you and I didn’t want you to get hurt.” I took a deep breath. “If you want to date Ms. Mitchell, that’s fine with me. I only ask that you are open with me about what’s going on in the relationship and don’t be gross with each other around me. Let’s start with firm handshakes and go from there, okay?”
I didn’t get to finish my sentence. Daddy wrapped me in a bear hug that raised my feet from the floor. He hadn’t hugged me like that in years. I held on tight, burying my face in his shoulder.
“Thank you, sweetheart,” he said in to my hair.
“I love you, Daddy.”
“I love you, too, honey.”
We stayed wrapped in each other’s arms until my nose tingled. Something was burning. Something like...
The garlic bread!
I jumped out of Daddy’s arms and ran to the stove. I turned the white dial back to off and yanked the door opened.
The garlic bread was burnt black.
How long had it been in the oven? Where was Daddy’s usual timer?
“Well, there goes the garlic bread.” I sighed, pulling on a kitchen mitt so that I could dump it in the trash.
Daddy came up behind me and put his hand on my shoulder.
“How about we wrap this up for tomorrow, and we go down to Sophia’s and get a pizza?”
His smile was warm. Loving. Fatherly.
I loved that smile.
“Fine,” I said, dumping the bread in the trash. “On one condition.”
“What?”
I threw the oven mitt at him.
“You invite Ms. Mitchell?”
Daddy’s eyes widened, a grin spreading over his face. He threw his arm around my shoulder and led me out of the kitchen.
“Not so fast, cowgirl. When I said that Leah and I were friends, I meant that. When we’re ready to move to the next step, you’ll be the first one to know.”
“Come on, Dad. I need her to pass me on my English project. My partner flaked. I figured maybe if I got her some pizza, she’d considered it.”
Dad laughed out loud. I did, too.
“Get your hat on, kid.” He pointed to the window. “It’s snowing out.”
I looked to the window, admiring the snowflakes that slid against it. Every one unique and beautiful. Every one special.
Just like Daddy.
Just like me.