Probably he was just saying that to getThea to stop pressuring him—something she’s very good at. She’s the freaking Spanish Inquisition when she sets her mind to it.
I desperately want to ask her to describe the way he said that, his body language, all the things—but she is my daughter, not a girlfriend I’m having drinks with, and I can’t use her as some go-between in my love life because I’m too chicken to ask Nate these questions myself.
Even ifThea would clearly enjoy it if I did.
“Well,” I say, “I’m glad you’re friends with him. He is really nice.”
I expect that look from her that says she knows why I’m changing the topic, but instead she looks down at her feet again, scuffing them some more.
“I told Nate about Daddy being mean to you,” she says. “Is that okay? I asked if he already knew and he said yes.”
I gape, then close my mouth. “Yes, that’s okay. I’m glad you could talk about it with him. I’m even more glad you could talk to me.”
“He told me I should tell you,” she says. “I was afraid to make you sad, but he said you would want to know.”
Those tears are back in my eyes again. I’m a little terrified that there might have been cameras around while he had this conversation, or other producers who might have overheard. But Nate went to the trouble to make sure we could talk privately, and he probably wouldn’t have been so careful if the secret was already out. “He was right.Thank you.” I hug her tight again and she clings back, and we sit without talking for a few more moments, just feeling the breeze ruffling through our hair. I make the sign for “I love you” and she does too, our hands side by side.
Nate made sure we had the time to talk about this, away from everyone else, rather than encouraging her to wait until I got home.
Nate knew what I needed, what she needed. Heknowsme.
I feel lightheaded again, but not in the panicky way of before. More like a floaty feeling all over.
I don’t want Nate to get in trouble, though, for giving us this time, so I pull reluctantly away fromThea. “We can talk more about all of this when I get home,” I say. “But right now, I think we need to get back to the show before Rosie glitter-bombs someone.”
Thea giggles and nods, and we head back to the others. Nate is across the street helping a chattering Rosie balance on the edge of the fountain as she walks around the rim, and I’m kind of amazed she hasn’t jumped away from him and into the water. He looks over at us as we approach, his brows drawn together in concern.
I smile at him, and now I do sign, “Thank you.”
His whole posture seems to relax, and he grins and signs it back—which is how deaf people say “You’re welcome” way more commonly than the actual sign for that.
He’s been doing his research.
And more and more, I feel like it may have nothing to do with his job at all.
