Chapter 25
When we get back to The Bixby, I offer to go back to my mom’s apartment. Even though Kira’s mood rebounded once we got to the car, the whole ride home, I felt like a ghost. I’d witnessed something too intense for my level of intimacy with Nick.
But he urges me to hang out at his place while he puts Kira to bed.
The expression on his face—spent, depleted—triggers an image in my head. I know exactly whom I would model him after—bearded Bruce Wayne, from the arc where Batman has amnesia. (I realize it’s impractical for Batman to have a beard, but he looked fantastic in those issues.)
I stretch out on his couch, distracting myself with my phone, waiting for him to come join me.
An hour passes.
At some point, I hear him snoring in Kira’s room. I try to sleep, too. I close my eyes and take deep breaths, but I can’t relax.
On one hand, I now know that if someone kidnapped me from the stairwell, Nick would transform into that single-minded man I saw tonight. He would stop at nothing to rescue me. I imagine a lot of running and ambushing with hitherto unknown martial arts skills involved.
There’s something comforting about that.
On the other hand, it could be a protective instinct reserved for his daughter, part of that mysterious parental bond that I could never understand.
I see how much he loves Kira. I mean, obviously I knew that; anyone would know that. But it’s like turning the prism a little bit to reveal a different angle on that love.
They have this dynamic that will always be completely their own. Anyone else would be on the outside, looking in. It’s a bond I don’t have with anyone. Even in his best moments, my father wasn’t that man.
When I had his attention, my dad made me feel like he was shining a spotlight on me. But how often did I have his attention? What would our relationship have been if I didn’t go in so hard on his hobbies? His interests?
Does it matter if someone loves you from eight hundred miles away and 95 percent of your communication is about a comic book collection or a bunch of vague half-truths about how great you’re doing?
“You’re still here,” Nick says. He’s rubbing his eyes.
I sit up. “I can go. I just didn’t know if—”
“No. Don’t leave.” He squeezes my shoulder. “I’m glad you’re here.”
I make room on the couch, and he immediately drops down and puts his arms around me.
I feel so warm, in every sense of the word. My breathing, my pulse, my thoughts slow for the first time in hours.
“Man, I did a whole ‘Liam Neeson tearing down European cities to find his daughter’ thing.” He chuckles lightly.
“I really felt that, you know. Like, physically. That terror. I’ve felt it for a second or two—if she falls down or I lose sight of her in the grocery store or something.
But this was like being stabbed in the gut.
All my other feelings disappeared, and I had this tunnel vision. ”
“You were on fire,” I tell him. “I saw this very specific facet of you.” I pause, debating whether or not to self-disclose. “And it felt like I was almost…in your way. Or like you couldn’t even see me.” I grow quiet, waiting for his response.
“Are you upset? Because I was frantic, looking for my daughter?” He looks almost puzzled. “Any father would have done the same.”
Am I upset? Or am I trying to figure out where I could possibly fit into the map of their lives when Nick’s compass is always going to steer toward Kira? But as I stare into the black void of Nick’s TV, contemplating that question, I know that’s not what’s unsettling me.
“I understand why you were so focused on Kira. Obviously. But assuming ‘any’ father would have done that…That’s not true…
” I trail off again. “The way you are with Kira”—I swallow—“you’re devoted to her.
She has no reason to doubt that you’ll always be there for her.
No matter what. Even if she does something wrong. Even if you’re upset with her.”
“I really hope she feels that way when I have to ground her for sneaking out or smoking pot or something,” Nick says.
“Seeing the two of you together, it’s, like…these feelings come bubbling right up to the surface. Not every father-daughter relationship works like yours. You know that, right? Sometimes I would push myself so hard to do everything right, to be so deserving…and I never got that effort back.”
“That’s exactly what parenting feels like sometimes,” he says. “You give everything to this little nugget who’s depending on you to keep them alive, and they’ll never understand how hard that is until they have kids of their own.”
“I don’t think I’ll ever understand it. Whether I have a kid or not. It just wasn’t in the forefront of my mind until now.”
“Maybe you’ve been burying those feelings for a while.” He wraps his arm around me again, but I don’t let myself get comfortable. “With…your dad?”
“After he left,” I say, “I was scared I’d never see him again.
But I still had the comics. And I knew he cared about that.
So I reached out to him. I just needed to know that he hadn’t completely disappeared.
Sometimes we talk about comics prices or reminisce about the same handful of stories from when I was a kid.
I thought that was a thread we could build on.
But he doesn’t ask me any questions about my life.
I mean, he thinks I’m still in grad school.
I let him believe that I’m still the best student, still his little prodigy. ”
“What would happen if he knew you’re not perfect? Or that you needed financial help or a place to stay?”
“He wouldn’t hop on the next plane to find me a new apartment, that’s for sure.
” I take a deep breath. “Sometimes I fantasize about ambushing him. Because he still travels around to all these different flea markets. And I have this plan where I find out where he’s going to have a booth some weekend, and I show up there, with all those boxes of comics loaded in a truck. And I confront him with all of it.”
“Wow.”
“Not having a driver’s license kind of undermines the plan,” I admit.
“Well, if you’re determined to do it, I’d drive you.”
“Really?”
“But it won’t make you feel better,” he says. “You’re probably imagining some big apology, but sometimes, all you can do is make peace with yourself.”
“I mean, I’ve done a lot of therapy. Not recently,” I say. “But I thought I got to the acceptance stage, you know? And then you just keep casually demonstrating, like, ‘No, I actually am this amazing father.’ Those can exist.”
“I’m not that amazing. I mean, I’m glad you think so.
Most of the time I feel like I’m hanging on by a thread.
But I know I’d do anything for my kid. That’s the only thing I’ve ever felt one hundred percent confident in.
That’s what I don’t understand about dads like yours.
Once Kira was born it was like everything inside me got reoriented in that hospital room.
I had no idea what I was doing, but I knew I’d give anything for this little wrinkly, red screaming thing.
And the more she becomes a full person, the more I feel that. ”
“Were you scared when you found out Kira was…coming?” I don’t know how to phrase my specific question. How do you politely ask someone if their child was planned?
“It was more than scared. It’s probably the most complicated mix of emotions a person can have. She was…a surprise. We didn’t have any kind of plan. And neither of us was completely convinced about having a kid. But it was almost like a sign? It felt really meaningful.”
We lie down and I let him wrap his arms around me. Random explosions of neighborhood fireworks go off in the near distance, occasionally lighting up Nick’s windows.
“I had that surprise,” I say. “I guess…six—no, seven—years ago? And it felt like a sign that I definitely shouldn’t have a baby.
” I don’t talk about it much with anyone; there’s no great time to weave it naturally into a conversation.
But right now, it feels important that Nick knows that I’ve faced that same decision—albeit under very different life circumstances—and that, unlike him, I made the completely opposite choice.
“There was no part of me that was considering it,” I say.
“So an abortion was an easy decision. I remember looking up how bad it would hurt—that’s what made me nervous.
Once it was over, I didn’t have any regret or weird feelings about it.
If I got pregnant tomorrow, I’d probably do the same thing.
I don’t feel any more equipped to do that now than I did back then. ”
“I understand that,” he says. I’m glad there’s not an extended moment of silence where I’m awaiting his reaction.
“Having a child means accepting that your life is going to change. That you’re forever going to have a different priority.
I just happened to be in a place in my life where…
a different priority forced me to get my shit together.
But it doesn’t work like that for everyone. And you made the right choice for you.”
“I don’t feel especially…motherly,” I say. “Whatever that instinct was tonight that transformed you into superhero dad? I don’t know if I have that. I may never have that.” Maybe it’s saying that out loud, but the exhaustion finally hits me. “I mean, I should be the one comforting you right now.”
“I’ve had years of practice,” he says. “When I was in my twenties, I wasn’t the best guy, you know?
There are a handful of women out there in the world who would have some awful things to say about me.
And they’d be justified. Believe it or not, you’re getting the improved version of me,” he says. “Maybe not physically.”
“Bearded Bruce Wayne,” I mumble. My eyes feel heavy.
“Who? Isn’t that Batman?”
“That’s who you remind me of. Ten years ago, there was this storyline were Bruce Wayne had amnesia and grew a beard.” I can’t stifle a yawn. “He was kind of hot. Daddy energy.”
I hear Nick say something in response, but I don’t quite catch it. I’m already drifting off.