b137 /b

    “I am. But being sorry isn’t the same as changing my mind to make you happy. I’m starting to learn, finally, that I need to be able to look myself in the eye every morning when I get out of bed. That I’m the person whose opinion matters most. And right now, I can tell you that if I went back to that office and wasted my life sitting in a gray cubicle, going blind, staring at tiny columns of numbers all day, I’d lose it. It wouldn’t even take that long.”

    “So you’ll find another job. I don’t want to see you waste your education.”

    “And I will find another job. But it’s going to be something I actually want to do.”

    All it takes is seeing his lips draw together and his eyes narrow to know what’sing next. “And what doeshethink about it?”

    “Hehas a name.”

    “Don’t split hairs with me right now. What does he think?”

    “Gianni wants me to do whatever I want to do.”

    “Right, I know what that means.‘

    “Oh? Please, enlighten me. I haven’t had a goodugh all day.”

    “I’m going to pretend this sarcastic attitude is a result of pregnancy and let that go.”

    “You don’t get to makements like that and expect me not to fire back a simr response. What do you think it means when I say he wants me to do whatever I want?”

    “He’s going to keep you home. That’s where he wants you. You’ll be the Carm Soprano from “ The Sopranos.” Spending endless amounts of money, keeping an eye on the kids, and letting your intelligence go to waste.”

    The thing is, I can’t even tell him he’s wrong. I’m sure that is what Gianni would want if I allowed him to have his way. “That’s his knee–jerk reaction!” I say, choosing my words carefully and trying to ignore the smug look on my dad’s faceb. /b“My happiness and what I want is important to him. I’m not pretending to know how good I have it, because being freely open to walk away from something that makes me unhappy is extremely lucky. Let’s face it, it’s not like I’m fulfilling my potential by checking spreadsheets all day, either.”

    b“/bI’m telling you, that wouldn’t be forever. Not for a girl as smart as you.”

    “No offense, Dad, but the workforce has changed. It’s not all about putting in the time with thepany anymore. There are no guarantees. I would rather spend my time feeling fulfilled.”

    b“/bYou’ve made your decision. And at least I don’t have to worry about you getting kicked out on byour /bbass /bwhen byou /bcan’t make rent.”

    “That’s trueb./b” I reach out, covering his hand on the table with my own. b“/bYou don’t bhave /bbto /bworry about meb. /bI mean it. bI’m /bfine. bHe /bwants to take care of me.”

    137

    “That doesn’t make me feel better.”

    “He’ll take care of the baby. That much, I know for sure.”

    He grumbles while withdrawing his handb, /bthen standing and walking over to the fridge. “Did you have lunch? I should’ve asked.”

    “I ate a little something before I went to the store to make sure I didn’t overbuy when I arrived.”

    Hisugh is genuine, even light. “Your mother’s tried–and–true technique. She used to carry protein bars in her purse just in case.” The way he transforms when he talks about her both warms my heart and makes me indescribably sad. He’s a young man still, and he’s nice looking–he’s my dad, but I can look at him objectively.

    He could find somebody to love him. Somebody who makes him happy. It’s a shame, the thought of him spending the rest of his life only loving the memory of my mother.

    “You only ate a little?” He leans into the fridge. “What about a sandwich? Turkey? Bologna?”

    My stomach growls at the word. I didn’t even feel that hungry until now. “Bologna and American? I brought a loaf of rye.”

    He grins over the top of the door. “And I have brown mustard. Just the way you like it.”

    “I had no idea that was exactly what I wanted until you said it.”

    I get the feeling he misses taking care of me. If I wasn’t hungry, I’d pretend to be if only to see him looking d for a minute, even whistling under his breath as he smears a thickyer of mustard on a slice of rye. “Has Gianni forgiven me yet for what I did?”

    I had no idea he’d want to talk about that, now or ever. And I was more than willing to let it go, if only to avoid the difort that makes me shift in my chair. “You’d have to ask him.”

    “Don’t be cute.”

    “I don’t think he holds a grudge,” I relent. “At all.”

    “How… about you?” He slides the sandwich in front of me before returning to the chair across from mine. It’s obvious he’s going out of his way to avoid eye contat with me, as he examines a scratch on the table instead. He’s probably looked at the thing a hundred times.

    I should’ve known he was more worried about me. “I don’t like to hold grudges, either. They’re a waste of energy. And I wouldn’t have shown up with groceries if I was angry.”

    Even so, the memory of that day makes me feel a little sick, causing me to set the sandwich down for a second. “You must know it hurt me to watch you beat him like that. Is this what I have to look forward to? It’ll make for a hell of a Christmas party”

    b“/bI didn’t want to hurt you. I was trying to-”

    “Help me. I know.”

    “I was doing everything I could to bprotect /byou.” He grimaces when our eyes meetb, /bthen quickly

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    137

    looks away. “I did everything I could think to do. I found that damn camera and I saw red.”

    “I know. I was upset when I found out about it. I didn’t talk to him for days.” That wasn’t quite the truth–that wasn’t why we didn’t talk for days, but he doesn’t need to know that. He never needs to know that. The thought of how he’d react is almost enough to make me regret eating when my stomach tightens.

    “I won’t say what I’m thinking.”

    “I would appreciate that.” Not that he has to say a word; he wants to point out that a few days of the silent treatment isn’t enough. Nothing will ever be enough. He’s my father, and that’s how it’ll always be. He’ll want what he feels is best for me, regardless of whactually want or need.

    I’m halfway through the sandwich when another thought bubbles up to the surface. I’m too curious to let it go, though I know I should if I want this visit to end well–or at least amicably. Any normal, concerned daughter would ask the question that threatens to get stuck in my throat. “What are you doing? I mean, with your time? Do you think you could get your job back?”

    “I’m not sure I want my job back.” The instant, guilty nce he shoots my way says I don’t have to point out the irony of him basically saying what he gave me shit over not just five minutes ago. “I know somebody down there is on the take, so how am I supposed to work beside that kind of person?”

    “I get it. I wouldn’t want to look at any of them.” The memory of walking through and feeling the weight of their stares is still fresh. Wondering which one of them was dishonest, which one stood back and let my father suffer. I’d go crazy if I were in his shoes. “But you do have skills. Training. I’d hate to see it all go to waste.”

    “It just so happens I’m putting those skills to work at a new job.” He holds up a hand when I can’t help reacting with excitement. “Don’t go overboard It’s employment, and I’m d to have it, but let’s not act like I achieved something special.”

    “What are you doing? Where is it?”

    “Overnight security at an office building downtown Nothing too strenuous, but the pay is good and it’s quiet.”

    “Do you like it?”

    He frowns but nods. “I guess I do. It’s nothing special, though it’s a good living. I’m sure I’ll start reading a hell of a lot more.”

    “That’s great! I don’t have to worry about you anymore.” And when I say it out loud, I realize how true the statement is. I don’t have to worry about him. He pulled himself together–as much as he could, anyway. He’s still got all kinds of questions and confusion hanging over his head, most of which has to do with Mom, but he’s taking steps to move forward after almost burning his whole life to the ground.

    Once I’ve finished eating, he takes the te and washes it. “I have something to show you. Something I’ve been working on.”

    137

    “Oh?” If he takes me down to his office to show off that nightmare of a corkboard, I might scream.

    “Upstairs.” Okay, at least that rules out his office. Come see.”

    He seems happy… ish. Upbeat. It’s enough to keep my anxiety from growing out of control as I follow him from the kitchen to the stairs. I have to stop worrying about him, but then again, it’s not like he hasn’t given me any reason to.

    He leads me to my old bedroom, where I pull up short in surprise at what I find inside. “When did you-” Of course. This is why he was going through things and found the camera.

    Running a hand over the crib that now stands in the corner where my bookcase used to live, he exins, “I pulled out the baby furniture from the attic. Your old crib, the changing table, the rocking chair.”

    “I can see that.” The bed and dresser are still in their ce, but the rest of the room looks more like a nursery. “What brought this on?”

    “I thought you might want to bring the baby around for a visit asionally.” There’s hope in his voice, small and shy but undoubtedly present. He straightens out the cheerful flowered sheet in the crib, then props a teddy bear up in the corner. “I wanted them to have somece to sleep. I’m looking forward to meeting them. I want you to know that. This baby is going to have a lot of love around them.”

    “Oh, Dad.” That’s as much as I can choke out before I throw my arms around him. “Thank you. I was so worried you would have weird, mixed feelings about the baby because of Gianni.”

    “Let’s just say I never saw myself getting linked to him in such a permanent way.” He chuckles, chagrined, while stroking my hair. “But this baby is a blessing. And I want nothing but the best for both of you.”

    “Thank you.”

    “Keep in mind I n to spoil the hell out of this kid.

    I close my eyes as thest of the tension I was holding drains out of me. “I would expect nothing less.”