Until There Was You(28)

“Dad! Could you, like, knock? Don’t I get some privacy around here?”

There she was, his baby. Earbuds in, eating popcorn, lying on her bed and looking at a magazine, not in the trunk of some car, not duct-taped, not at the bottom of a river.

“I called you.” He was panting, sounding, yeah, like he might drop dead any second.

“Oh. Guess I didn’t hear.”

“Nicole, you have to answer the phone if I call!” he barked.

“Dad, I said I was sorry!”

“No, you didn’t!”

“I’m sorry.” She finally looked up. “You okay?” Her face creased in a frown. “Daddy, you’re all sweaty.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re a whack job,” she said, returning her attention to the magazine. “What, did you think there’d been, like, a break-in?”

“No,” Liam said, still panting like a dying racehorse. “Nope, just felt like running. Exercise. Stay healthy. You know. But I was glad to see you locked the door. Good girl. Don’t ever forget that.”

“Whatever.”

“No, not whatever, Nicole. You always lock the door. The dead bolt and the doorknob lock and the safety chain.”

“Okay, Dad. I will lock the door against the alien hordes, I swear to God.” She gave him an ironic smile, looking so much like Emma that it made his chest ache even more.

“So, I thought you were coming today, Nic.”

“Coming to what?” She flipped the page and cooed over an outfit.

“Nicole, today was the opening of the garage. It would’ve been nice if you’d been there.”

His daughter frowned. “I thought it was on the twenty-first.”

“No. It was today. The twelfth.”

She heaved herself off the bed and went to the kitchen, where the calendar of their daily events hung in the pantry closet. “Look, Dad. Right here, your handwriting, the twenty-first.” She gave him a fond smile. “You messed up, Captain Dyslexia.”

Liam stared at the calendar. She was right.

“Sorry I missed it, Daddy.”

“That’s why I called you. A lot.”

She pulled her phone from her jacket, which hung over the back of a kitchen chair, no matter how many times he’d told her to hang it up properly. “Oh. Wow. Eleven times. That’s really neurotic.” Another tolerant smile.

“Nicole, it’s not funny. You really have to answer the phone. I was worried.”

“Dad. Please. I’m almost sixteen.”

“Exactly.” Liam went to the sink and washed his hands—fifty-five seconds—and then splashed water on his face.

“So,” Nicole said. “I have that party tonight at the Graftons’, remember? And I’m sleeping over?”

Liam exhaled slowly and tossed the paper towels in the trash. “Right. Except we need to rethink that.”

Nicole’s tolerant mood evaporated instantly. Her hands went to her hips, and her chin jutted out, just as it had when she was three. “Dad, you told me last week I could go! You said! You promised!”

“I didn’t promise. I said yes, but it was conditional.”

“No! It wasn’t!”

“Look,” he said carefully. “I don’t really know the Graftons—”

“Mrs. Grafton called you! Twice! You met her at the band concert!”

“Right, but what do I know about her really? And this party… Are there guns in the house? Dogs that bite? Alcohol?”

“No, no, and yes. No guns. A cockapoo puppy, so I don’t think anyone’s going to get, like, mauled. And yes, they have alcohol, Dad, the parents are allowed to drink, but it’s not like they’re going to serve us martinis, okay?”

Liam sighed and looked at the ceiling. “Something’s come up. The Osterhagens are having a party tonight at the restaurant, and they want us both to come. They like you.” It was true. Liam had taken Nicole to Guten Tag for dinner last week, and both Osterhagens had fussed over her. Him, too, which had been kind of nice.

“Of course they like me,” Nicole said. “I’m adorable. And they’re really nice and stuff, but I’m not coming. I’m going to Alexa’s party, and I’m sleeping over. You gave me permission, I’ve been an angel all week, so you can’t ground me, I got an A on my physics test—”

“You did? Good girl.”

“And Alexa is my first new friend, and I’m going. And that’s all she wrote, Dad.”

It was one of Emma’s sayings. She used to slap down the lid of her laptop and say just that.

“You’ll call me every fifteen minutes,” Liam said.

“No, Dad. I won’t. But I’ll call you once, okay?”

“Every half hour. Text or call. It’s reasonable.”

“It’s insane. I’ll text you twice and call you once. And I’ll call you before ten tomorrow morning and let you know when I’m coming home.”

“You’ll text me four times and call me four times.”

“Three texts, two calls. That’s my final offer. Otherwise, I may lose this cell phone.”

Liam grinned and kissed his daughter’s head. “You lose that cell phone, and I’ll have the police at the Graftons’ house so fast you won’t know what hit you.”