I notice that the cookies in front of me are getting wet. Apparently, I’m crying on them. “Steffi loved me. For real.”
“She did.” Simon presses a tissue to my face. “You know that. Listen to your heart.”
“And Esben loves me. Also for real.” The cookies are about to get drenched.
“Very much.”
“I really screwed things up. So bad.”
“You had a—” Simon clears his throat, obviously trying to be tactful. “You had a bad reaction. An understandable, bad, regressive reaction to a horrific situation, but one that you can fix.”
I look at him in desperation. “What if I can’t fix it? What if it’s too late?”
“My darling daughter,” he says with a smile, “it’s only been a few days. Nothing irreparable has happened. The kind of magic that you and Esben have does not evaporate because of a freak-out. Even a freak-out as dramatic as yours.”
I’m not sure if this is true or not. I’ve never had a relationship bordering on the one I have—or had?—with Esben. Except, I realize, I sort of do. “What about you and me?”
“What about us?” Simon is rolling dough again.
“Did I hurt us? With how I’ve acted?”
“The only harm you’ve done is make me gain a few pounds, which I don’t appreciate because I have a date next week.”
“You do?”
He waves a hand dismissively. “Oh, someone I met...on Esben’s feed. A guy who commented.”
I perk up. “One of the people who tagged you withhotdad?”
Simon blushes. “Maybe. Yeah. He’s my age, though. Not some inappropriately young thing. Very handsome man.”
Uselessly, I start patting the wet cookies with a paper towel until Simon takes it away from me.
“Give it up. Those cookies are shot.”
I wipe my eyes. “So, are we okay? I’m sorry I hurt you. I’m sorry for how I’ve been since I got home.”
“We are always okay. Always. And I’m sorry for snapping at you, but I think I had to.”
“Esben probably should have snapped at me.”
“He didn’t?”
I shrug. “Not really. I’m not sure I gave him the chance.” I reach for a lemon bar. “He did say that I wasn’t making any sense. Mostly, he was way too nice. And probably way too scared about what a lunatic I’d become.” I lean forward and set my forehead on the counter. “I’m so embarrassed. And I feel awful. He didn’t deserve a lot of what I said to him. What I did to him.”
“Most of it, probably not.” Simon rubs my back. “But maybe a little. I’m not sure. Again, he was between a rock and a hard place, and there may not have been any right moves. In the end, I think youreallyknow this boy. And you trust him.”
Simon is right. I’m not the person I used to be. I do trust Esben. And I do believe in him and in us.
“Goddamn it!” I suddenly scream. “Dad, how in the hell do I fix this?”
Simon busies himself with whipping up cream-cheese frosting for the carrot-cake cupcakes and doesn’t say anything.
I strum my fingers on the counter, I cry some more, I fret, I vacillate between drowning in shame and then forgiving myself because of the loss I’ve faced. Because I am flawed and not even close to being perfect.
Then a bright spot in this depressing spiral hits me.
I sit up. “I called you ‘Dad.’”
