Brodie rolled his ideas at the reasoning.
She said, “Do you have loads of money?”
His eyes widened. “Well, I…”
He hesitated, thinking for a moment about his wealth. He looked around at the old-fashioned living room, the furnishings—barely changed, Maeve had said, since her grandma passed. The well-worn couch that enveloped Zoey like a hug, the TV half the size of his at home and probably a sixteenth of the size of the one he had in his basement cinema room. He thought of his vineyard and then of his mom’s homemade elderflower cordial. His custom-built coffee table in Malibu, cut from a slab of onyx, compared to Maeve’s rattan and bamboo one that had a book under one leg to keep it level. He looked at how much Zoey loved being in this room. How cozy and safe she seemed, how happy to be home. He was never home in Malibu more than a week, max. And when it came to Autumn Falls, this was already the longest he’d been back in years.
All that money, no desire to be home.
As he’d said to Maeve—nowhere’s home. It had made him feel cool and carefree when he’d said it then, now however it felt a little pitiful; having nowhere he really wanted to be. He wondered if that was how Maeve had taken it when he’d said it. Had she felt sorry for him rather than being impressed? He knew instinctively that she—unlike most other people in his life—was good at reading between the lines, looking below face value. He felt suddenly uncomfortable in his seat, aware that pity was not the impression he’d been going for.
He looked at Zoey snuggled under her blankets, and finally said in answer, “You know, some things are much better than money.”
She shrugged and pressed play on Harry Potter.
Brodie spent the first half of the film watching Zoey’s profile engrossed in the movie. He watched her eyes widen in fright or suspense, watched her smile and laugh and say, “Do you think wizards exist?” and “Would you prefer to fly or be invisible?”
He thought of his dad—My job as a parent wasn’t to be your friend. Hard work. Responsibility. He looked at Zoey slurping the Coke. He didn’t know how to be anything other than her friend. She’d more likely be the one teaching him responsibility.
He tried to focus on the film but he couldn’t concentrate. He kept thinking about a future sitting in that living room, over and over, hours on end. He’d told Maeve he’d be there for when Zoey wanted him to be. He’d told her not to worry. But even intermittent parenting required having to be present. What was the point otherwise?
What would his own parents say if he shirked his duties now he knew about them? It was okay to be living a life free of any responsibility and obligation when it was only his own life he was wasting.
He felt a claustrophobic pressure build in his chest and found himself scratching at the neck of his T-shirt.
But then what was the point of being present, if he didn’t know how to be a father. If he couldn’t offer the guiding principles required of him?
Maybe he could offer Maeve a lot of money. Maybe itwasgood for something. She could replace her coffee table.
He sat forward, unable to get comfortable, elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped under his chin.
When the film ended, Zoey said, “Do you want to play Barbies?”
“Sure.”
He tried to think of it like being with Willow. Growing up, he’d battled her My Little Ponies with his Dinosaurs. He didn’t have to teach Willow anything. And they always had a great time together. But then most of the time he was with Willow, he spent flirting with her dancer friends.
Zoey went off and came back with the dolls, placing the box down on the table.
Brodie sat up straighter, rolled his shoulders, gave himself a pep talk. He was being ridiculous. He could cope with a dose of domesticity. It wasn’t that hard. And he didn’t have to be around all the time.
Zoey handed him a plastic doll and a sparkly hairbrush. “Your one’s hair needs brushing.”
He sat absently brushing Barbie’s hair, thoughts flying all over the place. Why did he want to help his dad fix the roof anyway? Brodie didn’t want to fix a roof. He could pay someone to fix a roof. He’d offered as a favor, but it had become a test of whether he was needed. To prove that he wasn’t completely useless. He thought again of everything his dad had said about being a father. The stress on his face when he said it. The burden of it. Because to do it wrong came with catastrophic consequences. It could ruin a person’s life. Make them never want to come home.
“Brodie, what are you doing?”
He realized he’d been tugging so hard brushing the knots out of the doll’s hair that he’d almost pulled her head off. “Sorry,” he said, placing the Barbie back down on the table. He felt ill. Wondered if he might have a temperature. Felt a sheen of sweat on his forehead. “Maybe I’ll just watch you.” He glanced out the window at his car, felt the pull to leave. But he couldn’t leave, he was trapped here looking after his kid.
“Are you my dad?”
“Whoa!” Brodie was startled back into the moment. Zoey, too, had put her Barbie down on the table and was looking at him, big wide eyes, her hands clasped neatly in her lap. Brodie swallowed, his mouth dry as dust. “What makes you think that?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. I’d like it, I guess. If you lived with my mom and were here every day and at Christmas and on my birthday and came on vacation with us and never left. I’d like it if it was the three of us, forever.”
Brodie’s veins ran cold with absolute, sheer, claustrophobic terror. “Yeah,” he managed to laugh as if that were the dream.
Zoey didn’t laugh, she just said, “Are you?”
