This Is What Happy Looks Like(69)

It was easy to blame them. But the truth was, it was Graham’s fault too. He’d told himself they didn’t understand his new life, and then, instead of letting them in, he’d shut himself away. He’d mistaken loneliness for independence, and had become so good at closing himself off from the world that it took an e-mail from Ellie to remind him what it was like to have a real conversation.

She’d been so much braver than he ever was, marching into an unknown town to confront a father she didn’t remember, and who obviously didn’t remember her either. Graham’s parents lived only a short drive away, but it wasn’t until he’d made it all the way to the other side of the country that he’d finally done something about it, and now, it seemed, it was too late. The geography of the thing wasn’t the point; it didn’t matter where they were: there was still too much space between them.

But watching Ellie with her father this afternoon had struck at something deep inside him, something hollow and expansive that he hadn’t even known was there. Her face had been etched with such undisguised hope that he wished he could have done something to protect her, to shield her from what had unfolded. To look at one of your parents and have them look back at you with complete and utter blankness was unimaginable to Graham. He knew it wasn’t the senator’s fault—how could he possibly have guessed that this random girl in the crowd was his daughter, of all things?—but still, he’d burned with a quick and sudden anger. No matter how long it’s been or how far you’ve drifted, no matter how unknowable you might be, there were at least two people in the world whose job it was to see you, to find you, to recognize you and reel you back in. No matter what.

Now he inched closer to her on the bench. The silence between them—usually so full—felt empty and brittle, and he wasn’t sure exactly how to fix it. Up the street, the bus came into view, and there was a long hiss as it pulled to a stop in front of them. Ellie and Graham were the only two people waiting, and they climbed the steps slowly, weary travelers nearing the end of a long journey.

“Maybe it’s for the best,” he said once they were in their seats and the bus had lurched forward again. The ocean was on their left now as they headed back south, and Ellie leaned her forehead against the window. Graham wished he were sitting on the other side, wished that she would lean against his shoulder instead, but he knew she needed space right now. He could understand that better than anyone.

“You’re probably right,” she said, though it was clear her heart wasn’t in it. “It’s just kind of weird, you know? Ever since I was little, I’ve always dreamed about what it would be like to be a senator’s daughter. But I guess I never really thought about being his daughter.” She paused and shook her head. “That probably doesn’t make any sense.”

“Are you kidding?” Graham asked. “Do you know how many girls dream about me—” He hesitated when Ellie rolled her eyes. “I’m serious,” he said with a half smile. “But the thing is, it’s not me they’re actually dreaming about, you know? It’s the idea of it. And so the real thing is always a big disappointment.”

“In the case of my dad, yes,” she said. “But in the case of you…”

“Only a little bit?” he said with a hopeful grin, and she smiled.

“Only a little bit,” she agreed. “But you’re probably right. It’s for the best. Besides, if my mom ever found out I’d asked him for money without even coming to her…”

“You know,” Graham said, “I’d be happy to—”

“No,” she said, a bit harshly, then caught herself, realizing how it had sounded. “But thank you,” she said, her voice softer, and she gave him a rueful smile. “It wasn’t really about the money anyway.”

“It was about seeing him,” he said, and she nodded.

“I’ve been picturing that moment my whole life,” she said. “That wasn’t exactly how I thought it would go.”

“Really?” Graham said. “You never imagined shaking hands with him at a Fourth of July clambake?”

Ellie laughed, and then—because he couldn’t wait any longer—Graham lifted an arm and drew her into it, pulling her against him so that her head was on his shoulder, and they were both angled to the window, the ocean rushing by, a wavering ribbon of blue against the paler sky.

“Do you think I should have asked him anyway?” she said, and Graham shook his head, his chin brushing against her hair. “Or even just told him who I am?”

“It wasn’t the right moment,” he said. “You did what anyone would do.”

“Which was nothing.”

“You went there in the first place,” he said. “That’s something.”

“Doesn’t feel like it,” she said, then let out a hoarse laugh. “I actually believed this time too.”

“Believed in what?”

“The quest,” she said. “My dad.”

Graham’s eyes moved to the window, the sun flashing through the trees. He thought again of the way her father had looked at her, the empty greeting and absent smile, and then he pictured his own dad, flipping burgers on a barbeque in someone’s backyard in California. Would it have been different if Graham were applying to colleges right now, worrying about the SATs instead of memorizing lines? Or was this just what happened when you got older? Maybe growing up was really nothing more than growing away: from your old life, from your old self, from all those things that kept you tethered to your past.