you’re going to move again? Does that mean I have to leave too?”
“Actually, you can stay here as long as you want. Of course, I was hoping… well, I was wondering… Would you like to come live with me for a while?”
The flicking stops. “Live with
I think back to my first encounter with Nora. How everyone stared at me when she crossed the room and approached me. Just me. That was the moment. When I was with her, as long as she was there, I was what I wanted. Now I want something different. All the secrets are out. I don’t need to be a bigshot.
I look over at my dad. “If you’ll have me, I’d love to have you.”
Once again, I get the toothy grin. This is all he wants to be. Included. Accepted. Normal.
“So what do you say?” I ask.
“I’m going to have to think about it,” he says, chuckling.
“Think about it? What do-”
“You don’t even have a job,” he blurts with a laugh.
“And that’s funny to you?”
He nods his head vigorously, over and over and over. “Unemployed lawyers are no good.”
“Who says I’m going to be a lawyer?”
He stops, surprised. “You’re not going to be a lawyer?”
I think back to the small crowd of reporters that still camp outside my building. It’s going to take years before it gets easy. It doesn’t matter. That’s not what’s important anymore. “Let’s just say I’m looking at all my options.”
He likes that answer. Anything’s possible. “Look,” he adds, pointing down at his feet. “Just for you.” He picks up his pant leg, and I expect to see a dark black dress sock inside his white sneakers. Instead, he reveals a bright white sock. “They don’t stay up,” he says, “but they look nice.”
“They sure do-but I think I like the black ones better.”
“You think so?”
“Yeah. I think so.”
Shrugging, my dad lifts his feet and sends us swinging through the afternoon breeze. Straight ahead, the golden sun is shining directly in our eyes. It’s so bright, I can’t see a thing beyond the porch. But I see everything.
“Y’know, Mikey, the 57 on the ketchup bottle stands for fifty-seven varieties of tomatoes.”
“Really?” I reply, taking it all in. “Tell me more.”
I’m still afraid of letting my father down, the cancer that killed my mother, dying unexpectedly, dying for a stupid reason, dying painfully, and dying alone. But for the first time in a long time, I’m not afraid of my past. Or my future.
