Dad frowned and leaned forward in his seat. “What do you mean, not know anything? You know so much!”
“Well, I don’t know how to read Hebrew, like the Barbanels, and sometimes I feel like I’m trying to fake my way through the prayers. I feel pretty fake a lot of the time, actually.”
Dad looked gutted. Really, you should never tell fathers anything, they are sensitive souls. “You’re not fake. You’re as Jewish as anyone else.”
A twist in my chest relaxed at those words. “It’s not that I want to be more religious,” I explained. “I want the culture. I feel left out of some parts.”
“We can learn it together,” Dad said staunchly. Dad, my anti-organized-religion father. “We could do Duolingo?”
“Really?” I said, a little amused.
“Yeah!” He brightened. “It’ll be fun. I could use some brushing up on my Hebrew.”
“Okay.” I smiled. “That would be nice.”
“I want you to feel like you can talk to me,” Dad said earnestly.
“I do. I really do, Dad. I guess I’ve needed to—sort things out for a while. But I’m starting to feel pretty sorted.”
“I want to help,” Dad said. “However I can.”
“You are helping,” I told him, and I meant it. Because it was true; if there was one thing I knew in the world, it was that my father would be there for me, no matter what. “Just being with you helps.”
Twenty-Four
I stayed the night at Dad’s place. He borrowed an air mattress that took over the entire floor. I had to admit, I wouldn’t have lasted the summer on it. (It had half deflated by the time I woke up.) In the morning, I took Dad’s bike back to Golden Doors. The high today was supposed to be ninety degrees, but this early, the world was still cool, the light soft and birdsong gentle.
I walked inside Golden Doors, now so familiar it felt like home, and followed the scent of banana bread to the great room. One of the triplets waved me over. “Ethan’s looking for you. On the roof walk.”
“Thanks.” I grabbed a coffee and two slices of banana bread and carried them upstairs. When I arrived, Ethan turned to me. “Hi.”
“Hi.” I sat down and handed him a plate.
“Thanks. How’d it go with your dad?”
“Really well. I got out everything I’ve been stressed about. Um—he knows we’re dating.”
“Does he?” Ethan looked half pleased, half apprehensive. “What’d he say?”
I rolled my eyes. “Apparently, he thought we’d be a good match.”
“Ha!” Ethan let out a joyful shout. “I knew it!” He paused. “I suppose this is less great for the rest of our summer if he tells my parents.”
“Hopefully they won’t kick me out for the last few weeks,” I teased.
“We should probably take advantage whenever we can, just in case.” He leaned forward, and for a few minutes we indulged in drowsy, sweet kisses.
Then I pulled back. “The triplets said you were looking for me?”
“Maybe this was why I was looking for you.”
I made a face. “I really hope you weren’t using your thirteen-year-old cousins to arrange a booty call.”
“Right. Fair. I wanted to make sure you were okay, and also…” A smile grew across his face. “Did I mention the Gibson Foundation sent me lots and lots of old documents at the beginning of the summer? For my research into his early work wire-dragging near Nantucket?”
“I think you did,” I said slowly.
“Turns out they included a bunch of letters he’d sent. Including this one, to his brother, on April fifteenth.”
