“Oh, Allison. Honey . . .” He waves a hand. “First off, Jacob was an ass. I’d probably known that for a while, but it was one of those relationships . . . you know, the ones you get trapped in and stupidly don’t bother to get out of? So, I’m glad he left. Best thing to happen to me, next to you.” He smiles warmly. “Listen, yes, the plan was that we were going to adopt a baby, but there was this wall of pictures at the adoption office—tons of them—all kids who were in need of families.”
“Like old-timey wanted posters in a sheriff’s office.” I pull the blanket in tighter. “Only we were unwanted posters.”
Simon nods. “Yes, actually. That’s how it felt. So totally unfair and upsetting. Anyway, I was looking at the pictures, and I had a few thoughts. The first was that I was horribly naive about how many older kids were in foster care. And the second, stronger thought, was that one of these kids belonged with me. You. It was only then that I realized I wasn’t someone who needed an infant. It wasn’t important to me to make bottles or see first steps or hear first words. Kindergarten, grade school . . .” He leans back and crosses his legs. “I didn’t need to do any of that. I wanted to be a father, but being a father is about a lifetime of parenting, not just little-kid stuff.”
I hang my head and play with the fringe on the blanket. “My picture was there?”
“It was,” he says. “Every picture had some basics about the kids, including how long they’d been in foster care. When I got to yours, I read that you’d been in the system for over sixteen years. I also read that you loved to read, that you were a great student. I don’t know, a few other things. It wasn’t so much the facts about you as it was . . .” He thinks for a moment. “It was about how I felt when I saw your picture. One of those things you can’t explain. I just felt a connection, and I knew right then that I wanted to be your father. I stood in that hall with your picture for so long that Jacob eventually came looking for me.”
I look at him now. “And he hated the idea.”
“He did. And so I hated him.” Simon says this defiantly and then smiles.
I crack a smile. “No, you didn’t.”
“Okay, fine. I didn’t hate him, but I did know right then that something was horribly off between the two of us. He didn’t feel at all what I felt. So, I would have to make a choice. And I chose you. And I chose myself. It was the opportunity I’d needed to see that Jacob and I were truly a terrible fit. Wanting to adopt you? It was the easiest understanding I’d ever come to. Of course, I was terrified that you wouldn’t like me or that you wouldn’t want to live with a gay man. The day I met you, I must have changed my outfit ten times. I had a stack of things I’d bought for you, but then they all seemed stupid, so I left them at home. If you thought they were awful, you might decide I would make the worst dad ever.” He looks embarrassed. “I was very nervous, because I knew so definitively that I was your father. Sometimes you just know things, right? Without reason or fact. You just know them.”
Four months ago, I might have disagreed, but not today. “Yes. I’m sorry that I didn’t know then. I’m sorry I didn’t see right away that you were my dad.”
“Sweetheart, it’s okay. That would be expecting a lot.”
My eyes begin to burn a little. “But I know now. I really do.” He puts an arm around me, and, instinctively, I turn into him and hug him tightly. “I love you, Simon.”
His hug back is so secure and so fatherly and safe. “And I love you, too, Allison. Very much.”
“Just so you know,” I say, “I really liked you when I met you. We talked about how perfect Jane Austen is and why we both despise zoos. And you told me that you hate all dried fruits except dried cranberries.”
“That’s still true. Why would you take a perfectly nice piece of fruit and ruin it like that? But dried cranberries in an arugula salad? With a hit of blue cheese? Can’t beat that.” He rests his chin on top of my head. “And we shared a love of eighties movies, sunsets that look like postcards, and the sound waves make when they crash onto shore. We clicked. That’s all there is to it. You were my daughter, from that first moment.”
Without thinking, I rest my head on his shoulder. “You got me things to entice me to live with you?”
He chuckles. “It’s so embarrassing, but I did.”
“Like what?”
“I actually still have the stuff, if you’d like to see.”
“Really?” I sit up and face him. It’s so Simon to keep this stuff. “I would.”
It only takes him a few minutes to go to his study, and he certainly doesn’t have to dig for the box.
He watches me nervously as I open it, and I laugh. “You don’t have to worry. I’m not going to ditch you if there’s something weird in here.”
“Still, be kind. I was very anxious back then. And I guess now, too.”
In the box is, of course, a collection of things I would have loved. A trio of jangly silver bracelets from Tiffany’s, a gift set of Calvin Klein perfume, a cashmere hat and scarf, and a zippered makeup bag full of lip glosses. Then I pull out a Wonder Woman retrospective book and a set of Wonder Woman cuff bracelets.
“They’re dumb, aren’t they?” he says.
“No, Simon. They’re not dumb at all. Not even close.” I keep looking at the cuffs. “How did you know I would like Wonder Woman?”
“I figured you’d deflected a few bullets in your time and that you were probably tough as steel.”
“I wasn’t so tough,” I say quietly. “I could’ve used these cuffs.”
“Of course you were tough. You still are. You’re just happier now.”
He’s right. “These are wonderful gifts.” I am touched and at a loss for what else to say.
Simon rubs my back and pulls me in for a quick hug. “Ready to get these lights on the tree, kiddo?” He claps his hands. “Let’s get her all gussied up, shall we?”
He stands on a stepladder and begins to hang the lights, while I hold the rest of the string and feed it to him as needed. “So, since you won’t let me buy you a car”—he stops and waits for me to roll my eyes, which I do—“how about a Christmas list?”
This feels like a tremendously big deal, because I’m not one to ask him for anything. But for his sake, I think for a bit. “Those sheets you got me at the beginning of the year? I really like those, and I wouldn’t mind more.”
“‘Wouldn’t mind more.’ Noted. What else?”
“Maybe a new phone case.”
“Also noted. What else?”
We finish hanging the lights before I reply. “Maybe we could take a vacation this summer?”
“Sure. You, Steffi, and me? What did you have in mind?”
“Just you and me,” I correct him.
He lands a row of lights across branches before he responds. “I’d like that. Where are we going? Martha’s Vineyard? Cape Cod? Nantucket? The Hamptons?”
I can’t help but laugh. “It doesn’t have to be so high-end. A beach trip would be nice. But maybe a small house. Nothing too fancy, okay?”