Then her eyes widen.
"Oh."
She's quiet for a moment, just the distant engine noise from other racers, the rubber smell, the industrial lights overhead making her squint.
"I didn't mean—" She stops. Starts again. "I mean, I did mean it, but I didn't mean to say it out loud. Is that okay?"
Is it okay.
"Yeah, kiddo. It's okay."
"So I can..." She trails off, twisting the harness strap around her finger. "I can call you that?"
"If you want to."
"Do you want me to?"
The question lands like a blade, precise and clean.
"Yeah." The word comes out thick. "I do."
She doesn't launch at me immediately. Instead she tilts her head, considering, chewing the inside of her cheek the way Angelina does when she's weighing something.
"Can I also call you To-chan sometimes?"
My chest locks.
"You looked that up."
"Maybe." She's trying not to smile. Failing. "Is that okay?"
She looked it up. Both names, both languages, both worlds I've lived between, and this kid just claimed all of it.
"Yeah, more than okay."
Her whole face lights up and she launches herself at me hard enough I have to brace against the concrete to stay upright. Her arms loop around my neck, the rental helmet trapped between us, her voice muffled against my shoulder.
"Okay. Dad." A pause. Then, testing it out, careful with the syllables: "To-chan."
I wrap my arms around her and hold on.
We stay like that until her stomach growls loud enough to echo off the concrete. She pulls back, completely unashamed. "Can we get snacks now?"
I hand the rental helmet back to the attendant and let her drag me toward the snack area by two fingers. She orders a blue slushie the size of her head without consulting me, then slides into a plastic booth that wobbles when she puts her elbows down. Her tongue is already stained electric blue when she sticks it out to test the brain freeze situation.
"Okay." She wraps both hands around the enormous cup. "What's the good something?"
My hands are steady when I hold a weapon. They are not steady now.
I flatten my palms against the sticky table surface and anchor myself. Then lift them. Fold them in front of me. Give up and flatten them again.
"I want to ask you a question. An important one."
She stops mid-slurp. "More important than go-karts?"
"Yes."
The slushie goes down. Carefully placed on the table between us. She sits up straighter and gives me her full attention, occasionally distracted by sugar.
