All I could do was hope that he somehow found a compass.
• • •
I sat alone on the front porch later that night, curled up on a rocking chair with an old quilt and a mug of hot chocolate. The early November breeze was cool and crisp, laced with the rich, oaky scent of nearby wood smoke and the dizzying sense of imminent change. The leaves were becoming brown and brittle, and those that had already dropped were swirling in circles across the dark lawn. I realized, watching the leaves dance, that I had barely noticed the reds and golds of October, hadn’t had even one cup of cider or eaten a single caramel apple. I had dreaded everything about Halloween, convinced that someone, Kyle or one of his clones, wouldn’t be able to pass up the opportunity to dress like Mary or Joseph or baby Jesus. I’d stayed home on Halloween as a precaution, and kept the door locked and the lights off while my parents took Gracie out trick-or-treating. Nothing happened, no jocks cross-dressing in a long blue Mary tunic caroling at my doorstep, thank God, but I wouldn’t have had the heart to celebrate, anyway. And besides, soon enough my Halloweens would be very different—next year I could be dressing my seven-month-old baby in a fluffy orange jack-o’-lantern costume. It was time to change, along with the season. Time to let go, time to make new traditions.
An owl hooted from high up in a nearby tree, and I shivered, pulling my mug closer to my chest and inhaling the warm sugary vapor. It would be my birthday in a few weeks, and Thanksgiving, then Christmas right around the corner. I couldn’t imagine celebrating any holiday without my dad. He would be there, yes, sitting in a chair at the table eating turkey, driving the car to church on Christmas Eve, but he still wouldn’t really be there. Not in a way that mattered. I set the mug down on the porch rail and squeezed my eyes shut as I rocked back in the chair, willing away the tears that I refused to cry. Not anymore.
A soft knock drummed against the front door behind me, so quiet that I didn’t hear it at first over the tapping of my chair.
“Um, yes?” I said, confused. People knocked to come in to the house. “Come . . . out?”
The door opened and my dad stepped out onto the front stoop. I tensed, not willing to start another round of the evening’s conversation. He’d disappeared for the rest of the night, hadn’t even come out of hiding for dinner. “I’m too tired right now, Dad. I don’t want to fight with you anymore tonight.”
“I just came out to check on you. It’s late, Mina, and cold out. That blanket’s not enough. I think you should head back inside.”
“Oh,” I said, too surprised to say more.
“I also came out . . .” He paused, scuffing his slipper back and forth against our worn WELCOME TO THE DIETRICHS’ mat. “I came out here to say I’m sorry. About some of the things I said earlier. Pastor Lewis just threw me off, I suppose. I was expecting him to have very different advice from what he gave. But he chased me down after I stomped out of the room like a child, and he said a lot of things that I needed to hear.” He glanced at the empty rocking chair next to me, hesitating for a few seconds before sitting down on the edge of the seat.
“I want to try to be more a part of all this, Mina. Even if I can’t agree to believe everything that you’re saying, I still want to support you. I’m your dad. I want to start acting like one again.”
“Okay,” I said, nodding in the dark. “I’d like that. A lot. And . . . and I want to apologize, too. I told you that I’d never forgive you when you made me call Nate that day. I wish it hadn’t happened quite that way, yeah, but we were both angry. Neither of us could be completely rational. Nate had to find out one way or the other, and it was probably better it happened sooner rather than later. I needed to let him go so that I could start moving on.”
There were a few beats of silence before he spoke. “I appreciate that. But I’m still sorry that it hurt you.” He settled a little farther back into the chair, kicking the runners up as he rocked in a rhythm that seemed to directly oppose my own. I watched his silhouette in the dim porch light, slowing my chair until the pace better matched his beat.
“How are the college applications going?” he asked, his voice still just a little more polite, a little more formal than I was used to.
I grinned to myself in the dark, wondering how long this question had been gnawing away at him. Usually this kind of conversation annoyed me, but now—I felt practically giddy. My dad was harassing me about college applications again. It felt beautifully, fabulously normal. “Just Penn State. Following in your footsteps, of course. The application barely took any time at all, and I figured I would go to the branch campus near us, at least in the beginning, take some English classes and knock out other general requirements. As lovely as it would be to move away, get a fresh start somewhere else, I obviously can’t do that. Firstly, I don’t need to explain to you that I’m broke and need state tuition, and, secondly, I need to be near Mom and Gracie. And you. I can’t do this alone, even if that means I don’t get the Ivy League degree I always imagined I would. Dreams change, Dad. They get rewritten so that we can create new dreams instead. I think that’s the secret to growing up, right?”
“You can be very wise sometimes, daughter,” my dad said, and I didn’t have to turn my head to see the tiny smile on his face. “One more thing. I want you to know that your mom and I have talked about some of the . . . arrangements. And I want you know that you’re welcome to stay here after. After the baby is born.” He paused, probably as surprised as I was to hear those words out loud—those words out of his mouth. He was acknowledging my decision. He was acknowledging my baby. “We of course want you to continue with your studies and to continue with a job on the side that will help you to contribute. But we don’t want you to worry about living on your own and funding everything by yourself. Not right now. This can still be your home. Okay?”
“Okay,” I said, reaching over to squeeze his hand in mine. We were both quiet then, and I closed my eyes, lulled by our synchronized rocking, the creaking of the old porch planks with each sway and tap of our chairs.
“Well, you may be wise, but you’re not wise enough to make all your own rules yet. You’re not even eighteen,” he said, pushing off the chair to stand. “So it’s time to get inside and get to bed. Father’s orders. You need to stay healthy, got it?”
I nodded, swiping at a tear on my cheek with my sweatshirt sleeve as I stood to follow him in. “Got it, Dad.”
In all of my almost eighteen years, being sent to bed had never felt so amazing.
In my dream I was perfectly skinny again, straight up and down from shoulders to toes, no round belly or swollen chest. I was flat and hard and entirely naked, standing with Nate in the middle of the tree house. A cool, early spring breeze ruffled the curtains, and goose bumps raced along my arms and legs. Nate saw me shiver and stepped closer to me, pulling me against his bare chest, warming me with his body heat. This was the night we had planned, the night all those months ago when I’d had my real chance. This could be so different, I thought, looking up into his eyes. There was no hate there, no disgust or bitterness. Just pure, raw love and desire. We could be so different.