Chapter Twenty-Three

Dad picked me up in front of Stella’s. “Your dad loves you,” Ethan reminded me before he left. “You’ll be fine.”

Yet I felt like I was pushing through Jell-O as I walked to the passenger side of Dad’s borrowed car, like a deep fog had muffled my ears and brain. I wanted to do anything but this. I’d never been afraid to see Dad before. But I’d behaved like a brat, and probably embarrassed him in front of his friends and colleagues. For all I insisted I had my act together, I’d acted like a child throwing a temper tantrum, and I didn’t know how to apologize.

I opened the door. “Hi, Dad.” My voice was small and I couldn’t bring myself to look at him. I stared at our feet—my polished toes in flip-flops, his besocked feet in sandals—and spoke to them. “I’m sorry.”

Dad was silent. I snuck a peek up and found him frowning at me. My heart started racing and it was getting harder to breathe and I thought I might cry—

And then he reached across the divide and pulled me into a hug.

I let out a surprised, shaky gasp and drew in a shuddering breath. I clung to him, feeling like a little kid. “I’m so sorry,” I started blubbering. “I don’t know what got into me—”

“Jordan.” He set me back a little bit, concern written in every line of his face. Had I placed any of those lines there? “Are you okay?”

“What?”

“I’ve been so worried.”

“Oh. I mean—yes. I’m fine.”

“Okay. Let’s get home, and you can tell me what happened.”

I pulled myself mostly together on the short drive to Dad’s studio apartment. Upstairs, he made us mint tea and we settled into the two armchairs. Dad stirred sugar into his drink. “What happened?”

Obviously he’d been there; he wanted it from my perspective. “I guess…I’ve been getting pretty invested in Andrea Darrel. And I think I’m right,” I said firmly, “about everything I said. She did discover the comet. But I never meant to go at Mr. Gibson. I just got worked up. I don’t like being told I’m wrong.”

“No,” Dad says evenly. “No one does.”

“I wasn’t even going to bring it up with him there, but then Mrs. Barbanel mentioned it—” I closed my mouth. I couldn’t blame a ninety-year-old woman for my loss of temper. “I got mad. I hate how often women in science have been dismissed. It’s ridiculous. It shouldn’t still be happening. But I’m sorry I lost my temper. Do you hate me? Did I ruin your chance at a grant?”

Dad’s brows shot up. “What?”

“Ethan and I thought—I don’t know, if I made this fuss about Andrea Darrel, the Gibson Foundation might be pissed off and not want to fund your grant.”

Dad stared at me a moment, his mouth twitching. He raised his fist to his mouth and let out what was clearly supposed to look like a cough, but was really a poorly muffled laugh. It went on a little too long.

“What?” I echoed, irritated.

“You two have…quite the imagination,” Dad said in his diplomatic voice. “It’s possible you watch too many movies.”

“So I didn’t ruin your chance at a grant?”

He looked amused. “I won’t lie and say grant committees can’t be petty, but I don’t think this’ll have an impact.”

I sagged in relief. “Oh. Good.”

He furrowed his forehead thoughtfully. “Jordan, I want you to be able to talk to me about anything. Is there anything else this summer you’ve been…stressing out about?”

Overheated, I tugged at my collar and looked out the window at the misshapen low moon. I thought about staying silent, but if there was ever a moment to admit to what had bothered me over the past several summers, it was now. “I guess I was a little…stressed about Ethan.”

God, how humiliating. I couldn’t believe I was admitting to my father I’d been jealous he’d paid attention to someone else more than me.

When I didn’t say anything else, Dad finally prompted, “Because you like him?”

My head whipped toward Dad’s. “What? No!”

Well, yes, but I’d been working toward a different point.

Dad looked as surprised by my response as I’d been at his suggestion. “You don’t? But—I thought—Aren’t you two dating?”

Oh my god, mortifying. “We’re not—” Actually, we were. “I mean—yes.” I squeezed my eyes shut. Did we have to talk about this? Were we done?

“That’s great!” Dad sounded way too cheerful. “I always thought you and Ethan would like each other!”

I peeled one eye open, then the other. Please don’t say Dad had been playing matchmaker? I refused to believe it. Also, Dad wanted me and Ethan to date? What?

Dad’s excitement slowly faded into bewilderment. “Is that—not what’s been bothering you?”

“No.” I drew out the word. “It’s been more…I was jealous of the attention he got from you the past couple summers.”

“What?” Dad sounded perplexed.

Honestly, how could he be perplexed? Hadn’t this been obvious? “Yeah. I felt like he was your replacement kid. Your summer kid.”

Dad looked like he didn’t know what to say. “He’s not a replacement. Not at all.”

“But—you were proud of him, Dad. He had his shit together, unlike me. I was messy and disastrous, and I know you love me because you’re my dad, but you’ve never been proud of me in the same way. You wouldn’t let me help with your work at all this summer. It felt like you thought I was incompetent.”

“What? No! I don’t think you’re incompetent, I think you’re brilliant. I—” He took a deep breath. “Jordan, I knew you didn’t want to come here. I knew I was making you leave your friends and your job and your home. I certainly wasn’t going to make you work for me. And look! You found a job you really liked! You’re flourishing!”

“I found the job because I wanted to prove to you I could do what you do! Prove I could be a good researcher and figure things out and be as smart as you or Ethan.”

Now Dad looked even more stunned. “I thought you liked astronomy? More than the history I research.”

“Well—yeah.” He had a point. I was probably happier having spent the summer studying the stars than I would have been studying navigational methods. “But I wanted to be closer to you, Dad. I thought—Why not me, Dad? Why couldn’t I assist you? I wanted it to be me. I want to feel like you’re picking me.”

“You are my favorite person in the whole wide world,” Dad said, his voice hoarse. “I will always pick you over everyone else.”

Tears brimmed at the bottoms of my eyes and threatened to spill out. I sniffed. “Okay.”

He hugged me, and then the tears did spill out, leaving wet tracks down my cheeks and damp stains on my shirt. My voice came out shaky. “You’re my favorite person, too.”

“Oh, Jordan. I love you so much.”

That set off the waterworks, and I felt like I was ten. But it felt good, too, crying. I didn’t feel sad or upset; I didn’t feel like a hot mess. The tears felt cathartic, like I was finally letting go of all the stress and worry and jealousy I’d been carrying around. I knew my father loved me; I knew it was us first. But it was good to hear it, too, on occasion. Good to remember.

“The other thing, Dad,” I said, once I had cried myself out and dashed away the tears, once my throat didn’t feel tight and my chest didn’t feel heavy. “I worry you’re so busy focusing on me, because I can be a mess—”

“You’re not a mess,” Dad said. “You’re seventeen.”

I smiled wryly. “Okay, maybe. But I feel like you don’t focus on yourself enough. And I want you to know—I want you to really know, it doesn’t have to only be us, forever. You can pick someone else.” I sniffed and pushed my hair back. “I want you to be happy.”

“I am happy.” Dad brushed my hair out of my face. “When you’re happy, I’m happy. You make me so proud. I’m so impressed with the young lady you’ve grown up to be. You’re strong, and adventurous, and brave. I think you’re incredible.”

I sniffed and rubbed at my watery eyes. “You have to think that. It’s in the rulebook.”

He laughed and hugged me. “I’m so sorry your mom didn’t get to see you all grown up. I wish you’d had longer with each other.” He hesitated. “Part of the reason I worry about you is because—I want to give you everything. But I couldn’t give you two parents. I couldn’t give you Mom back. I feel horrible about that.”

“You don’t have to feel horrible. I miss Mom, but I’m okay, Dad. I mean, I wish we talked about her a little more. I don’t have memories like you and Gary and Grandma and Grandpa have.”

“Oh, honey.” Dad rubbed my back. “I know. I can do better at that. I worried about upsetting you by bringing her up. And when you were little—maybe I wasn’t ready. And so I never got in the habit of it. But I can be better.”

I took a deep breath. “And…I don’t know, I wish we did a little more around Shabbat and the holidays. I guess that’s when I feel connected to her.”

Dad was quiet a moment. “Do you wish I’d raised you more Jewish?”

“I don’t know,” I said softly, because I didn’t want to hurt his feelings. “It might have been nice. But I didn’t make it easy, I didn’t exactly want to go to Hebrew school as a kid.” I hesitated. “Sometimes I’m a little embarrassed when I don’t know anything.”

Dad frowned and leaned forward in his seat. “What do you mean, not know anything? You know so much!”

“Well, I don’t know how to read Hebrew, like the Barbanels, and sometimes I feel like I’m trying to fake my way through the prayers. I feel pretty fake a lot of the time, actually.”

Dad looked gutted. Really, you should never tell fathers anything, they are sensitive souls. “You’re not fake. You’re as Jewish as anyone else.”

A twist in my chest relaxed at those words. “It’s not that I want to be more religious,” I explained. “I want the culture. I feel left out of some parts.”

“We can learn it together,” Dad said staunchly. Dad, my anti-organized-religion father. “We could do Duolingo?”

“Really?” I said, a little amused.

“Yeah!” He brightened. “It’ll be fun. I could use some brushing up on my Hebrew.”

“Okay.” I smiled. “That would be nice.”

“I want you to feel like you can talk to me,” Dad said earnestly.

“I do. I really do, Dad. I guess I’ve needed to—sort things out for a while. But I’m starting to feel pretty sorted.”

“I want to help,” Dad said. “However I can.”

“You are helping,” I told him, and I meant it. Because it was true; if there was one thing I knew in the world, it was that my father would be there for me, no matter what. “Just being with you helps.”