My grip shifted on the phone. Water slid from my hairline to my jaw and dropped onto the screen.
ME: What time?
SOFIA: ur asking like u might come
ME: I’m asking what time.
SOFIA: dad
ME: Sofia.
The three dots came back and stayed long enough to do damage.
SOFIA: told Mom i’m not going unless u r there
The phone became very solid in my hand.
Outside the bathroom, the radio murmured from the bedside table. Someone called for updated gate status. A vehicle reversed below with two short beeps. The reserve kept moving. Radios murmured. Engines reversed. Gates opened and closed. My daughter had asked me to show up, and nothing around me had the decency to stop.
I typedI’ll try.
Stopped.
Juliette’s voice cut through the steam and tile and dull ache in my arm.
Don’t give people maybe when you already know the answer.
I deleted the words.
SOFIA: don’t say maybe if u mean no
My throat closed.
ME: I won’t.
I opened the airline app with hands that did not feel entirely reliable.
Johannesburg to Dulles. Leave October 22. Land October 23. Buffer for delays. Rental car. Three connections available, one terrible, two survivable. The fare was obscene. Fatherhood often arrived wearing the face of international aviation.
I selected the one with the longest Dulles buffer.
Passenger details. Seat selection. Payment. Confirm.
The confirmation number appeared on the screen.
A specific date. A specific seat. A promise with numbers attached.
I took a screenshot and sent it to Sofia.
ME: Flight confirmed. Arrive Oct 23. Dulles. Send me the schedule.
No reply for nearly a minute.
Then:
SOFIA: for real?
ME: For real.
