If You're Out There(54)

“We’ll see,” says Mom. “He claims he’s stepping out of the dating game for a little while, at least until he’s ten.”

“Huh,” I say. Something in this house still isn’t right. I peer down the open hallway. “What’s different in here? Why does everything feel so nice?” Mom grins, waiting for me to catch up. I look at Whit. “You unpacked!”

Mom squeals and claps her hands. “We had a stoop sale while you were out.”

“I’m still mourning a few items,” says Whit, slumping down to rest her chin on Mom, who promptly takes the opportunity to palm her face and cover it in kisses. Whit laughs. “I suppose it was worth it.”

“Oh! And we made a hundred bucks!” says Mom. “Here, buy yourself something pretty.” She hands me a twenty from the counter. “And I forgot,” she says to Whit. “This came for you.” She sighs, handing her an envelope. “I still love seeing mail with your name on it.”

Whit rips through the top corner and pulls out a photo. “One of my old patients,” she explains, handing me the picture. “This little baby came out early. Four pounds. Now look at her,” she says, showing us. “So sweet and chubby you just wanna eat her like a turkey leg.” Mom and Whit both linger on the photo.

“Wait,” I say. “You guys aren’t thinking about having another—”

“No,” Whit interrupts, though Mom sort of teeters her head from side to side. Whit laughs. “Not yet, anyway. I think we’ve got our hands full here.”

I smile, surprised by the welling emotions inside.

“Hey.” Mom bumps me with her shoulder. “Did you know your dad always said you were the world’s most eatable baby?”

I did not know that. The thought actually makes me a bit queasy, but I shake it off and say, “I believe the official title would have been world’s fattest blob of freckles.”

“You were adorable,” corrects Mom, pretending to be stern. “I swear you were even cute in the sonograms—from the day Dad started calling you Boop.”

The welling feeling grows. “That was Dad’s name for me?” Mom’s eyes do a quick Zan-scan. “What?”

“Just. Go easy on him, okay? I think you made him . . . afraid.” I cringe at the impending awkwardness. “Better get moving.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I say.

Mom pulls me to her, and though it feels a little abrupt, I stop to hug Whit too. She squeezes me back, and a pang of sadness shoots through me. Hug a lot. Even if it’s weird.

But actually, this time, it isn’t.

I walk through the warm night, in a fog from the strange day. I think of Logan, and his mom, and all the good in my life I take for granted. Thoughts of Priya slip in and out, but I send them away. It isn’t easy, but I’ll get it.

I’m living here, now. I’m letting go.

It’s only when I reach the apartment that I really emerge. I turn the knob and stop short. Under the big low-hanging lamp in Dad’s apartment, a small army of plastic takeout containers has overtaken the dining room table.

“Whoa,” I say. I scan the dishes row by row—the bright reds, greens, and oranges smashed against the see-through sides. It smells amazing.

Dad walks in and I look around, confused. “Is all of this for us?”

“It is,” he says. “And it’s meat. It’s all meat.” I laugh, feeling oddly winded, and Dad says, “I’m so sorry, Boop.”

“Look, we don’t have to—”

“Yes we do,” he says. “Those things you said? You were right. When your mom and I . . .” He shakes his head. “I did check out, for a long time—on you, and your brother too, though he was too little to understand.” He tries to smile. “But I didn’t love you any less.”

I can officially no longer stand the sincerity in his eyes, but he grins and says, “We might get a little real here, and you’re gonna have to deal with it.” Something in my chest tightens, but I breathe through it. “It’s hard to explain. My world sort of crashed, you know? I should have put you first, but you were such an obvious reminder of what I’d lost. And you know how intense your mom is.” He sighs. “I guess I figured she had it covered. In my mind, you didn’t need me. But that’s no excuse.”

I nod to the floor. “It’s okay.”

He walks to the cupboard and sets out two plates, alongside forks and serving spoons. “I know it’s not that simple. But for now, at the very least, I should know that my daughter eats meat. And . . .” He waits for me to look at him again. “I’d like to be the dad. If you’ll let me. And maybe even meddle in your life sometimes. Once I’ve earned the right. By being there, and . . .” He shrugs. “And by ordering the meat.” I laugh. “Would that be okay?”

He pulls out a chair for me and I smile through a sniff.

“Yeah,” I tell him. “That’d be good.”



From: Zan Martini <[email protected]>

To: Priya Patel <[email protected]>

Date: Sat, Sep 15, 11:58 pm

Subject: if you’re out there . . .

I just thought you should know that if you’re okay, then I’m okay.