On one hand, I now know that if someone kidnapped me from the stairwell, Nick would transform into that single-minded man I saw tonight. He would stop at nothing to rescue me. I imagine a lot of running and ambushing with hitherto unknown martial arts skills involved.
There’s something comforting about that.
On the other hand, it could be a protective instinct reserved for his daughter, part of that mysterious parental bond that I could never understand.
I see how much he loves Kira. I mean, obviously Iknewthat; anyone would know that. But it’s like turning the prism a little bit to reveal a different angle on that love.
They have this dynamic that will always be completely their own. Anyone else would be on the outside, looking in. It’s a bond I don’t have with anyone. Even in his best moments, my father wasn’t that man.
When I had his attention, my dad made me feel like he was shining a spotlight on me. But how often did I have his attention? What would our relationship have been if I didn’t go in so hard on his hobbies? His interests?
Does it matter if someone loves you from eight hundred miles away and 95 percent of your communication is about a comic book collection or a bunch of vague half-truths about how great you’re doing?
“You’re still here,” Nick says. He’s rubbing his eyes.
I sit up. “I can go. I just didn’t know if—”
“No. Don’t leave.” He squeezes my shoulder. “I’m glad you’re here.”
I make room on the couch, and he immediately drops down and puts his arms aroundme.
I feel so warm, in every sense of the word. My breathing, my pulse, my thoughts slow for the first time in hours.
“Man, I did a whole ‘Liam Neeson tearing down European cities to find his daughter’ thing.” He chuckles lightly. “I really felt that, you know. Like, physically. That terror. I’ve felt it for a second or two—if she falls down or I lose sight of her in the grocery store or something. But this was like being stabbed in the gut. All my other feelings disappeared, and I had this tunnel vision.”
“You were on fire,” I tell him. “I saw this very specific facet of you.” I pause, debating whether or not to self-disclose. “And it felt like I was almost…in your way. Or like you couldn’t even see me.” I grow quiet, waiting for his response.
“Are you upset? Because I was frantic, looking for my daughter?” He looks almost puzzled. “Any father would have done the same.”
AmI upset? Or am I trying to figure out where I could possibly fit into the map of their lives when Nick’s compass is always going to steer toward Kira? But as I stare into the black void of Nick’s TV, contemplating that question, I know that’s not what’s unsettlingme.
“I understand why you were so focused on Kira. Obviously. But assuming ‘any’ father would have done that…That’s not true…” I trail off again. “The way you are with Kira”—Iswallow—“you’re devoted to her. She has no reason to doubt that you’ll always be there for her. No matter what. Even if she does something wrong. Even if you’re upset with her.”
“I really hope she feels that way when I have to ground her for sneaking out or smoking pot or something,” Nick says.
“Seeing the two of you together, it’s, like…thesefeelings come bubbling right up to the surface. Not every father-daughter relationship works like yours. You know that, right? Sometimes I would push myself so hard to do everything right, to be so deserving…and I never got that effort back.”
“That’s exactly what parenting feels like sometimes,” he says. “You give everything to this little nugget who’s depending on you to keep them alive, and they’ll never understand how hard that is until they have kids of their own.”
“I don’t think I’lleverunderstand it. Whether I have a kid or not. It just wasn’t in the forefront of my mind until now.”
“Maybe you’ve been burying those feelings for a while.” He wraps his arm around me again, but I don’t let myself get comfortable. “With…your dad?”
“After he left,” I say, “I was scared I’d never see him again. But I still had the comics. And I knew he cared about that. So I reached out to him. I just needed to know that he hadn’t completely disappeared. Sometimes we talk about comics prices or reminisce about the same handful of stories from when I was a kid. I thought that was a thread we could build on. But he doesn’t ask me any questions about my life. I mean, he thinks I’m still in grad school. I let him believe that I’m still the best student, still his little prodigy.”
“What would happen if he knew you’re not perfect? Or that you needed financial help or a place to stay?”
“He wouldn’t hop on the next plane to find me a new apartment, that’s for sure.” I take a deep breath. “Sometimes I fantasize about ambushing him. Because he still travels around to all these different flea markets. And I have this plan where I find out where he’s going to have a booth some weekend, and I show up there, with all those boxes of comics loaded in a truck. And I confront him with all of it.”
“Wow.”
“Not having a driver’s license kind of undermines the plan,” I admit.
“Well, if you’re determined to do it, I’d drive you.”
“Really?”
“But it won’t make you feel better,” he says. “You’re probably imagining some big apology, but sometimes, all you can do is make peace with yourself.”
