Dad looked as surprised by my response as I’d been at his suggestion. “You don’t? But—I thought—Aren’t you two dating?”
Oh my god,mortifying. “We’re not—” Actually, we were. “I mean—yes.” I squeezed my eyes shut. Did we have to talk about this? Were we done?
“That’s great!” Dad sounded way too cheerful. “I always thought you and Ethan would like each other!”
I peeled one eye open, then the other. Please don’t sayDadhad been playing matchmaker? I refused to believe it. Also, Dadwantedme and Ethan to date? What?
Dad’s excitement slowly faded into bewilderment. “Is that—not what’s been bothering you?”
“No.” I drew out the word. “It’s been more…I was jealous of the attention he got from you the past couple summers.”
“What?” Dad sounded perplexed.
Honestly, how could he be perplexed? Hadn’t this been obvious? “Yeah. I felt like he was your replacement kid. Your summer kid.”
Dad looked like he didn’t know what to say. “He’s not a replacement. Not at all.”
“But—you were proud of him, Dad. He had his shit together, unlike me. I was messy and disastrous, and I know you love me because you’re my dad, but you’ve never been proud of me in the same way. You wouldn’t let me help with your work at all this summer. It felt like you thought I was incompetent.”
“What? No! I don’t think you’re incompetent, I think you’re brilliant. I—” He took a deep breath. “Jordan, I knew you didn’twant to come here. I knew I was making you leave your friends and your job and your home. I certainly wasn’t going to make you work for me. And look! You found a job you really liked! You’re flourishing!”
“I found the job because I wanted to prove to you I could do what you do! Prove I could be a good researcher and figure things out and be as smart as you or Ethan.”
Now Dad looked even more stunned. “I thought you liked astronomy? More than the history I research.”
“Well—yeah.” He had a point. I was probably happier having spent the summer studying the stars than I would have been studying navigational methods. “But I wanted to be closer to you, Dad. I thought—Why notme, Dad? Why couldn’t I assist you? I wanted it to be me. I want to feel like you’repicking me.”
“You are my favorite person in the whole wide world,” Dad said, his voice hoarse. “I will always pick you over everyone else.”
Tears brimmed at the bottoms of my eyes and threatened to spill out. I sniffed. “Okay.”
He hugged me, and then the tears did spill out, leaving wet tracks down my cheeks and damp stains on my shirt. My voice came out shaky. “You’re my favorite person, too.”
“Oh, Jordan. I love you so much.”
That set off the waterworks, and I felt like I was ten. But it felt good, too, crying. I didn’t feel sad or upset; I didn’t feel like a hot mess. The tears felt cathartic, like I was finally letting go of all the stress and worry and jealousy I’d been carrying around. I knew my father loved me; I knew it was us first. But it was good to hear it, too, on occasion. Good to remember.
“The other thing, Dad,” I said, once I had cried myself out and dashed away the tears, once my throat didn’t feel tight and my chest didn’t feel heavy. “I worry you’re so busy focusing on me, because Icanbe a mess—”
“You’re not a mess,” Dad said. “You’re seventeen.”
I smiled wryly. “Okay, maybe. But I feel like you don’t focus on yourself enough. And I want you to know—I want you to really know, it doesn’t have to only be us, forever. You can pick someone else.” I sniffed and pushed my hair back. “I want you to be happy.”
“I am happy.” Dad brushed my hair out of my face. “When you’re happy, I’m happy. You make me so proud. I’m so impressed with the young lady you’ve grown up to be. You’re strong, and adventurous, and brave. I think you’re incredible.”
I sniffed and rubbed at my watery eyes. “Youhaveto think that. It’s in the rulebook.”
He laughed and hugged me. “I’m so sorry your mom didn’t get to see you all grown up. I wish you’d had longer with each other.” He hesitated. “Part of the reason I worry about you is because—I want to give you everything. But I couldn’t give you two parents. I couldn’t give you Mom back. I feel horrible about that.”
“You don’t have to feel horrible. I miss Mom, but I’m okay, Dad. I mean, I wish we talked about her a little more. I don’t have memories like you and Gary and Grandma and Grandpa have.”
“Oh, honey.” Dad rubbed my back. “I know. I can do better at that. I worried about upsetting you by bringing her up. And when you were little—maybe I wasn’t ready. And so I never got in the habit of it. But I can be better.”
I took a deep breath. “And…I don’t know, I wish we did a little more around Shabbat and the holidays. I guess that’s when I feel connected to her.”
Dad was quiet a moment. “Do you wish I’d raised you more Jewish?”
“I don’t know,” I said softly, because I didn’t want to hurt his feelings. “It might have been nice. But I didn’t make it easy, I didn’t exactly want to go to Hebrew school as a kid.” I hesitated. “Sometimes I’m a little embarrassed when I don’t know anything.”
