“The comics?”
“They’re my dad’s,” I say. “He started the collection and we both added to it. It was a hobby we did together for a long time.”
“See, that’s what I’m hoping will happen with Kira. I’ve shown her a few episodes and she doesn’t seem that excited about it, yet. But someday we can watch it together, you know?”
Nick sounds so genuine, so enthusiastic about this possibility that I don’t have the heart to tell him where my dad is now and that I haven’t seen him in person in years. Instead, I pick up my wineglass off the floor and take a big sip.
“I want certain things to be specific to Kira and me. Whenshe lives half her life at her mom’s house, I never know what I’m missing out on. Like, Nora taught her how to ride a two-wheeler. I found out after the fact. And I’ve always pictured myself doing that classic dad thing, you know? Running behind the bike, holding on to the seat until they justget itand zoom away. And now she just does it and I never got to witness that moment.”
“Maybe her mom always wanted to teach her daughter how to ride a bike,” I say.
“Sure,” he replies. “It’s just hard to accept that half of those milestones will happen without me. It’s weird to see video of your own child reading her first word instead of being there. But I need to be the one to teach her how to drive. That’s nonnegotiable.”
I feel my cheeks flush and I don’t think it’s the wine.
“You should definitely follow through on that,” I say. “In fact, I’m going to call you in seven years and make sure you’re doing it. Otherwise she might end up like me: tethered to Columbus’s shitty public transit system, ride-sharing, and friends with cars. I never got my license.”
“You don’t drive?” Nick asks incredulously. “How is that possible?”
“My dad started to teach me, but he moved out of state before I really learned anything. I went off to college and I didn’t really need a car on campus. And in New York, it obviously wasn’t an issue. There wasn’t a reason to learn until I ended up back here. My mom tried to teach me a few years ago, but she was so nervous I just couldn’t calm down and focus. Neither of us wants to repeat that experience. But I get by. I use Lyft when I need to. I don’t pay for car insurance or gas. It’s one less thing to worry about.”
Nick looks deeply unconvinced.
“Well, thank you for being patient with Kira,” he says. “She’s very”—I can see him searching for the right word—“curious.”
“I’m not great with kids,” I admit. “I feel awkward around them, like…I’m trying to be cool. I guess it’s different when it’s your own daughter.”
“Kira calls me ‘cringe,’ ” he says. “But you handled some awkward questions.”
“Really? I introduced her to the termfurry.”
“You’re a natural,” he says.
I let out a scoff in protest. No one has ever complimented me on my skill with children. I never dreamed of having babies, raising a family. In fact, every choice I’ve made has steered me in the other direction. But I don’t feel comfortable saying that to a parent.
“I’m not used to having conversations with kids,” I say. “I need a better filter.”
“Well, she’s getting to the age where she needs less filtering. It’s good for her to see adults who aren’t her parents—women, especially—who are smart and independent and funny.”
I stare at him for a second, going over those words in my head.
“Oh, I’m a terrible role model.” I feel blood rushing to my cheeks again. I genuinely can’t imagine a child looking tomefor guidance about anything.
“What makes you say that?”
Oh, the list I could provide! All the holes that have been poked in my self-esteem for the last five years.
“Living with my mom, for starters,” I reply.
“You’re saving money, right? That seems responsible.”
I open my mouth to respond, but I don’t know how to have a casual conversation about the fact that I’ve been living here “by default” for the last five years. It’s probably any parent’snightmare: the adult child who hasn’t managed to start their own life.
There’s a knock at the door.
“Sam?”
“And there she is, right on cue,” I say. “I better wake up Romily.”
