28. Logan

28

LOGAN

As I end my final work call on Tuesday, I hang up the phone with panache, hold my arms out wide, and stare happily at the little person patiently waiting on the other side of my desk, flipping through an old Far Side comic.

“I’m done now. All done,” I say.

Amelia holds up a finger, speaking quietly under her breath. “Blah, blah, blah, Ginger.”

I smile. “That’s one of the best ones.”

She looks up, shuts the book, and shrugs. “I like Calvin and Hobbes better.”

“And that is your prerogative.”

“What does that mean? Like pierogis? Because those are good.” She slides out of the chair where she’s been quietly reading since my sister picked her up from school and dropped her at my regular Upper East Side office an hour ago.

“‘Prerogative’ means choice. It’s your choice to like what you like,” I say, grabbing my cell and tucking it into the pocket of my slacks.

She nods. “I don’t think I want to use that word for a while though. It’s too hard to say.”

“Confession—it’s a little hard for me to say too.”

“Nothing’s hard for you,” she says as we leave the office and head to the elevator.

“That’s not true at all.”

“What’s hard for you?” she asks as she presses the button for the lobby. “Not tying your shoes.”

“True. I mastered that a while ago.”

“Not reading. You’re good at that,” she points out as the car arrives and we step inside.

I want to tell her all the things that have been hard for me. Trust would be top of the list. Believing in second chances. Letting go of my armor.

But I’ve done all that lately. Thanks to my friends and their support, thanks to my daughter and her attitude, and most recently, thanks to Bryn and her big heart and wonderful soul.

That’s why the next thing I have to do is easy.

When Amelia and I head for Central Park, away from the noise of the cars and cabs, where buses fade to a background hum, I clear my throat. “So, there’s someone I want you to meet later this week.”

Her big brown eyes sparkle, and her mouth forms an O. “Is it the author we wrote to? Is she giving her cats superpowers? That would be amazing.”

I laugh, squeezing her hand as we head to the playground. “That would be amazing, and we will keep the dream alive. But . . .” I pause briefly to see if nerves descend on me, if worry grips me. But neither arrive. I only feel good about this decision. Bryn and I have been texting and talking the last few days, and this next step feels right. Just as I want our relationship in the open, I want my daughter to know what’s making me so happy. “I met someone I like.”

Amelia furrows her brow. “Like, an author? Or a cartoonist?”

Okay, maybe it’s not completely easy. “A woman. A woman I like. I’m dating someone.”

“Oh. Is she nice?” Amelia says, asking the simplest of questions.

I give the simplest of answers. “She’s great. She’s kind and smart and funny, and she loves cats. And I’d like for you to meet her.”

Amelia smiles. “She sounds cool. You should give her a gift. I like gifts. I’m going to go on the swings now. Bye.”

And she runs off to the playground a few feet away.

Well, I guess that was easy.

As she pumps her feet to get the swing going, I send a text to Bryn.

Logan: Amelia says you sound cool. Can’t wait to see you tomorrow.

Bryn: She’s correct. I am cool. Also, same to you. :)

Then, an idea pops into my head, and I know an excellent gift for Bryn.