Meet your father.
You told me once that never knowing your father—which was his mistake, don’t get me wrong—has always made you feel a little disposable. And I understand that, honey. If I had met your father, the first thing I would’ve done is kick him in the nuts. Maybe you deserve that chance, to call him out (and kick him). Or just see what he looks like.
I could be wrong about this, Joshua. If you hate this idea, don’t do it. I just want you to have some kind of answer. We talked about it on our honeymoon. Do you remember?
Even if this guy is as different from you as he could possibly be, maybe—maybe—it would feel like a puzzle piece clicking in. If nothing else, it’s a distraction, a project. At best, it would give you some kind of closure.
You know I only want the best life for you, Joshua, my truest love. But this one is up to you.
I love you, sweetheart.
Lauren
He did remember that night, that conversation, and his heart gave a surge at a memory he hadn’t accessed yet, the fresh wave of love and longing, so deep he could feel it radiating out from his bone marrow, through muscle and tendon, all the way to his skin.
They had spent the day swimming and paddleboarding and goofing around at the beach in Hanalei Bay, truly one of the most beautiful places either of them had ever seen. The water was so clear, the waves big enough to be exhilarating. They swam all morning, took a nap on a blanket under the shade of the palm trees, got lunch at a little takeout shack, went back in the water, the epitome of a newly married couple—in love, young, attractive, demonstrative, laughing. Blissfully ignorant of the future.
Afterward, they drove back to their house on the cliff to watch the sunset. There were two rainbows that evening, followed by the pounding rain that was so frequent on the Garden Island. Then they’d gone to bed, like any good honeymooners, and made love in a long, slow session. He could smell the sunscreen on her skin, and her faint, citrusy perfume, salt and sweat, and lying there afterward, he blurted out the thing he’d thought since about their fourth date.
“I never thought I’d find someone who would really know me, and love me anyway.”
The words hung there in the dark, and Lauren was silent.
Then she propped herself up to look at him. “Why, sweetheart?” she asked, and her voice was so gentle.
He shrugged.
“I don’t know. I never . . . loved anyone before you. I felt like there was something wrong with me. Something that couldn’t . . . connect.”
“We all feel that way, I think.”
“Did you, though?” he asked. “Or were you just waiting for the right guy?”
She kissed his shoulder, her hair cool against his skin. “I was waiting for you.”
He pulled her close, still amazed that this beautiful, smiley woman was his wife. “I guess I always figured I’d be the wrong guy. For anyone.”
“You grew up so loved, though,” she said, and it was one of her tiny flaws . . . she hated to let people sit with a negative emotion. “Your mom’s only begotten son, Ben and Sumi call you their favorite child . . .”
He thought a moment. “That’s true. But . . . well, I had two parents. One never stuck around even to meet me. Never wrote, called, visited, asked for a picture.” He shrugged. “It made me feel . . . a little . . .” His voice trailed off the way it so often did when he tried to describe feelings. “A little expendable. Unimportant. And growing up without having a dad, not even a shitty dad who only came by once a month . . . it made me different. Plus, Rhode Island isn’t exactly the most diverse state. The other kids would always ask what I was, if I was Latino or Asian or Arabic, and I couldn’t even answer. My mom just wouldn’t discuss it.”
“Those Swedes and their secrets.”
He smiled a little. “Yeah.”
She kissed his shoulder tenderly, her hair falling across his chest. “Oh, honey. I wish we’d been friends when you were little. I would’ve punched anyone who made you feel bad.”
“It wasn’t that, really. It was more . . . a hole in my life where a father should’ve been. A void.”
There was a long silence.
“Did you ever try to find him?” she asked.
“No.”
“Would you ever want to?”
He thought on that. “I don’t think so,” he said. “Not at this point in my life, anyway.”
She tucked her head against his shoulder, sliding her cool arm across his stomach. “You have the biggest heart,” she said. “You’ll be such a good dad. We’ll have the most beautiful kids in the world. Smartest, too. And they will adore you.”
It was just what he needed to hear, with his secret fear that there was part of him that was locked away, uncaring and dead. She pressed a kiss to his chest, and another to his neck.
“Should we practice making babies?” he asked, feeling a smile start across his face. “So we get it right when the time comes?”
“Yes, please, husband.” She laughed, a sound as beautiful to him as the morning birds.
What a perfect day that had been. What a beautiful, perfect day. He would always have that day, proof that he could be utterly, completely happy.
And now, remembering that conversation, pressing the memory into his heart, he could see he had given her some reason to think that he would like to meet his father.
He knew his father’s name . . . it was listed on his birth certificate. Christopher M. Zane. But first, he’d have to talk to his mom.
* * *
THE NEXT DAY, he sat in his childhood home. His mom had made pot roast for him, Sumi and Ben. Sometimes she insisted on being the one to cook, since Sumi took care of that most of the time.
They ate dutifully, Sumi sneaking some seasoning out of her purse and dashing it onto her plate, then Ben’s as Stephanie’s back was turned. Josh smiled, and she passed him some. Ah. Bulgogi spice mix, the magic of paprika, garlic, ginger and brown sugar. A pity that thirty years of living next door to the Kims hadn’t made his own mother a better cook. She viewed meals as a necessary evil, good Lutheran that she was.
“It’s delicious, Mom,” he said, winking at Sumi.
“We have happy news,” Sumi said. “Hana’s expecting again. Five months along! We thought she was too old, but guess what? She’s still got some good eggs.”
Ben chuckled. “Their oldest is a senior in high school. So much for retirement, but a baby is always a blessing.”
There was a pause.