“He can’t speak, Sweet Pea.”
Sweet Pea?
Irritation prickles over me as I turn, ready to give my best death glare to this stranger who’s trying to give me yetanotherflower-based nickname.
“Who the fuck are you calling?—”
My words cut off as I realize exactly who I’m looking at. My heart begins to pound as an unfamiliar emotion sinks in.
Aside from his warm olive-toned skin and messy black hair, I don't look much like Pietro Amato. He's nice looking but not striking, aside from his smile and sparkling hazel eyes. He’s dressed in a simple white button up, slacks, and shoes.
But his presence is a palpable thing. Even as a spirit, it's like he has his own gravitational pull. Warm and kind and strong and...fatherly. Which is extremely fucking strange, but not bad.
At least, it's not bad until his eyes tear up.
"My little miracle," he whispers, half laughing and half on the brink of crying. “Dear gods, look at you. So grown up and beautiful. The spitting image of your mother. Seeing you finally, I'm just so..."
I wait, carefully keeping my expression blank so that if he admits he's ashamed to have a daughter as messed up as I am, I can pretend it doesn't hurt.
Pietro Amato finally shakes his head, wiping moisture from one of his cheeks. “I’m so proud of you, it hurts. Getting to watch you grow and fight and becomeyoufrom my place in the Beyond has been the greatest reward I could have possibly asked for.”
Oh.
The lump in my throat makes it impossible to form the words I can't even find, so I nod a little too aggressively. This is suchunfamiliar territory that I’m completely out of my depth, so I blurt the one thing I think is relevant.
"I wish I knew you while you were alive."
So much for not getting sappy.
Amato beams, reaching out as if to brush my hair back from my face, but his hand passes through me. “We’ll have so much time together in your afterlife someday, you'll get sick of me. But for now, I’ll happily share in all your happiest moments from here. All right?”
I nod again. I can't help the feeling that's settled over me. I don't know this man, yet in a way, I do. He spent his life taking care of others. Although he's clearly a purer soul than I ever was, I like to think that I at least inherited a fraction of his altruistic side.
Sachar pulls a strange pocket watch from one of his cloak pockets and tucks it away, looking meaningfully at Amato. My father nods and smiles at me again.
“I love you, Sweet Pea. I always have and I always will. I just have a favor to ask.”
A favor? I hesitate. “Okay.”
“Stop thinking you’re tainting our last name. You don’t have to go by Amato if you don’t want to, but…I would be extremely honored if you did.”
Godsdamn it, now I’m seriously struggling to keep the moisture from escaping my eyes. I clear my throat, nodding.
“All right. I have a favor, too.”
“What is it?”
“Whenever I end up here one day, don’t call me Sweet Pea. I’m not a fucking flower.”
He laughs. He doesn’t bother making me that promise before Sachar makes a strange sign with one of his hands, and they both vanish, leaving me alone in the white nothingness. After I’vestared at literal nothing for a few moments, letting the fact that I just met my real father sink in, Syntyche again appears.
I’m still not sure if she walks or floats under that cloak, but her movements are so graceful that it has the same effect either way. She stops in front of me.
“It’s time to return.”
I study her. “That was the favor you asked Sachar for. You just wanted me to meet Amato.”
“Yes.”
