“Very much.”
“I really screwed things up. So bad.”
“You had a—” Simon clears his throat, obviously trying to be tactful. “You had a bad reaction. An understandable, bad, regressive reaction to a horrific situation, but one that you can fix.”
I look at him in desperation. “What if I can’t fix it? What if it’s too late?”
“My darling daughter,” he says with a smile, “it’s only been a few days. Nothing irreparable has happened. The kind of magic that you and Esben have does not evaporate because of a freak-out. Even a freak-out as dramatic as yours.”
I’m not sure if this is true or not. I’ve never had a relationship bordering on the one I have—or had?—with Esben. Except, I realize, I sort of do. “What about you and me?”
“What about us?” Simon is rolling dough again.
“Did I hurt us? With how I’ve acted?”
“The only harm you’ve done is make me gain a few pounds, which I don’t appreciate because I have a date next week.”
“You do?”
He waves a hand dismissively. “Oh, someone I met . . . on Esben’s feed. A guy who commented.”
I perk up. “One of the people who tagged you with hotdad?”
Simon blushes. “Maybe. Yeah. He’s my age, though. Not some inappropriately young thing. Very handsome man.”
Uselessly, I start patting the wet cookies with a paper towel until Simon takes it away from me.
“Give it up. Those cookies are shot.”
I wipe my eyes. “So, are we okay? I’m sorry I hurt you. I’m sorry for how I’ve been since I got home.”
“We are always okay. Always. And I’m sorry for snapping at you, but I think I had to.”
“Esben probably should have snapped at me.”
“He didn’t?”
I shrug. “Not really. I’m not sure I gave him the chance.” I reach for a lemon bar. “He did say that I wasn’t making any sense. Mostly, he was way too nice. And probably way too scared about what a lunatic I’d become.” I lean forward and set my forehead on the counter. “I’m so embarrassed. And I feel awful. He didn’t deserve a lot of what I said to him. What I did to him.”
“Most of it, probably not.” Simon rubs my back. “But maybe a little. I’m not sure. Again, he was between a rock and a hard place, and there may not have been any right moves. In the end, I think you really know this boy. And you trust him.”
Simon is right. I’m not the person I used to be. I do trust Esben. And I do believe in him and in us.
“Goddamn it!” I suddenly scream. “Dad, how in the hell do I fix this?”
Simon busies himself with whipping up cream-cheese frosting for the carrot-cake cupcakes and doesn’t say anything.
I strum my fingers on the counter, I cry some more, I fret, I vacillate between drowning in shame and then forgiving myself because of the loss I’ve faced. Because I am flawed and not even close to being perfect.
Then a bright spot in this depressing spiral hits me.
I sit up. “I called you ‘Dad.’”
Simon nods but continues furiously whisking the concoction in the bowl.
“I called you ‘Dad,’” I say more emphatically. “That’s big.”
“You did. And it is.”
“When I was in the cab on the way to the airport . . .” I’m rather stunned. “I did it then, too.”
“Yes. I wasn’t sure if you . . . meant it.”
A smile overtakes me. Happiness overtakes me. “I did.”
“I like that.” Simon’s face looks so sweet right now, and it eases my stress and upset.
“I remember asking you to help me.”
“Yes.”
“And you did. You always do.”
“And I always will.”
I fiddle with arranging a series of cake toppings, lining up small containers of sparkles, pearls, and shimmery sugars. There are about ten food stains on my sleeves, but I don’t care. “I know that. I see now that I haven’t ever doubted that. Doubted you. Not really. You’re my father. My dad.”
“Forever.”
So, while I haven’t questioned Simon, I apparently had a massive failure when it came to trusting Esben. I slump forward. God, he deserved more. “Esben stopped texting and calling on Tuesday morning. That’s not a good sign. I could be too late. What if I’ve lost everything?”
“You haven’t,” Simon states with conviction as he pulls a perfectly risen chocolate cake from the oven. “It’s only been a few days. A few days since you lost Steffi, since you blew up at Esben. Pull yourself together, and be rational, okay? And, really, come on now. You perfected the trifle. How can anything bad happen after such an accomplishment?”
“I called you ‘Dad’ and made a trifle that didn’t make anyone want to puke. Two milestones, right?” I ask hopefully.
“Right.” Simon beams as he holds out a spoonful of his cream-cheese frosting for me to taste.
“You’re still driving me back to school tomorrow, right?” I ask.
“Yes, why?”
I lean in and taste the frosting. It’s perfect, of course. “I need to call Kerry. Get advice and girl talk before I get back to school. Do you mind?”
“Not at all. Run off. Be a college kid who doesn’t help clean up the kitchen—it’s fine. I will somehow manage . . . without you.” He feigns distress, and his act is so over-the-top that I laugh. I actually laugh for the first time in days.
“I’ll be back in a few minutes, and I will scour this kitchen, I swear.”
“Don’t worry about it.” Simon suddenly feigns casualness. “Allison? If you’d like, you could . . . just take my old car yourself, okay? I have the new one now.”
“Oh, yes. That simple little Porsche. You kept the other one? That I know you don’t need?” I eat another five scoops of frosting and try to suppress a smile before Simon grabs the spoon from my hand.
“Just say yes.”
Technically, Simon didn’t buy me a car . . .
“Okay. Yes.”
I don’t want to make a big deal out of this, but Simon walks over to Bruce and begins petting him like crazy. “Did you hear that? Our Allison is now the proud owner of a car.”
Bruce thumps his tail and pants as though he’s actually excited.
“More importantly, what’s up with Kerry?” Simon asks as he rubs his nose against Bruce’s. “What’s this call about?”
I walk over to them and stroke Bruce’s fur. “I’m going back to basics.” It’s nice to feel like myself again. Or, rather, like the new me again. Confident in what I want, even though I don’t know how everything will turn out. “Hey, Simon? Dad?”
“Yes, love?”
I move over and lean into my incredible father and hug him. “Thank you. So much. For everything.”
“Anytime.”
“Sorry about all this insane baking.”
“We all get a little bonkers sometimes. Better baking than, you know, burning down the house.”
“True.”