“You did.”
“Who stayed up all night building your science fair volcano because you spilled glue in your hair and cried for an hour?”
She hiccups a laugh through the tears. “You.”
“And who’s gonna drive six hours just to come to your band concert?”
She blinks. “You’d do that?”
I give her a look. “Do you really think I’d miss it?”
Her voice softens. “You promise?”
“I swear on my badge.” I pause. “And on your favorite hoodie.”
That earns a half-smile. “You hate that hoodie.”
“Because it’s missing half its hem.”
“It’sdistressed, Dad. It’s supposed to look that way.”
“Pretty sure it’s supposed to look like clothing, not something a raccoon chewed on.”
She laughs again, this time without tears.
I exhale, feeling some of the weight ease from my chest. “Look. I know me and your mom didn’t work out. We tried, and we failed, and that’s on both of us. But what came out of that, getting to be your dad—there’s no world where I regret that. Not one.”
She’s blinking so fast now, something she does when she’s trying not to cry. She leans in and hugs me anyway. Hard. “You’re such a sap,” she mumbles against my shoulder.
“Don’t tell anyone. I’ve got a reputation to keep up.”
We stay like that for a while, the sound of traffic and distant laughter filling the air. When she finally pulls back, she wipes her face and sniffs.
“So,” I say lightly, “you think you can forgive me for moving to the middle of nowhere?”
“Driftwood’s notnowhere,” she mutters, but there’s no bite in it.
“I hear it’s got great waves. You can come visit in the summer. I found a place near the coast that has this tiny porch that looks out over the ocean. And there’s an extra room. It’s yours.”
“Mine?”
“Completely. Paint it black if you want. Hang posters of screaming bands. I won’t even complain about the noise.”
Her mouth opens like she’s waiting for the catch. “Really?”
“Really. I even checked the Wi-Fi. Strong enough for all your vampire shows.”
She laughs, shaking her head. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Yeah, but you love me.”
“I guess.” She shrugs with mock reluctance, then grins. “Maybe a little.”
“Good. Because I love you a lot.”
We head back inside to finish our lunch. She steals some of my fries when she thinks I’m not looking. I pretend not to notice.
When I drive her home, she’s humming along to the radio. Before she gets out, she leans over and hugs me again.
