180 Seconds

  “Okay. I’ll see you online. Bye, Simon.”

  “Bye, kiddo.”

  I check Twitter, and, within only a few minutes, Simon has followed me. So, I follow him back and then go check out what exactly Simon tweets about. Gardening, cooking, lots of tweets to Bravo about various reality shows . . . then I see something from last week that stops my scrolling.

  Simon has retweeted Esben’s video, and he also replied with his own short video. I click on it. Simon, dressed in a formal shirt and tie, is sitting at the kitchen table. “Hi, everyone,” he says nervously. “My name is Simon, and, uh . . . what makes me happy is . . .” He reaches for a piece of paper and holds it up. Allison, it says. “My daughter, Allison. I waited a long time for her to come into my life, and it was worth it. She,” he says, swallowing hard, “she lights up my life.” He sets down the paper and stops the video.

  I poise my finger over the heart symbol below his video. It takes me a few seconds, but I tap it. Then I retweet his video and caption it with, How awesome is my father?

  I text Simon. Would it be okay if we had Esben over for dinner during break?

  He’s never texted back so quickly. Any night or every night.

  Every night might be excessive, I reply.

  I’m a very good cook, Simon points out. He may never want to leave.

  I laugh. Fair enough.

  Esben’s gravelly morning voice booms from my bedroom. “Where is my human pillow? Where are my clothes? Why am I alone in this bed? Do I smell coffee? Do I have a headache because I drank too much tequila or because someone hit me over the head while I was sleeping when I got frisky?”

  His morning voice is even cuter than his fully awake voice. I go into my bedroom and stand on the mattress. “So, I take it you don’t want me to jump up and down?”

  He groans. “Oh God, please don’t.” Then he moves his head a bit. “Although I could see up your robe if you did . . .”

  I drop to sit. “We’d skip a step on the spectrum if that happened.”

  He tugs me down to his chest and hugs me. “And I am quite enjoying the spectrum.”

  I stay against him, enjoying the heat that emanates from his body and the way he holds me so firmly and yet so tenderly at the same time.

  “Want coffee?” I murmur.

  “In a minute. Let’s just stay like this for a little while.” He lifts the covers. “Don’t worry. I ate, like, forty mints I pulled out of my pants pocket because I don’t have a toothbrush here.”

  “Thank you for your thoughtfulness.” Because it seems idiotic to keep my robe on after I didn’t have it on all of last night, I take it off and tuck myself under the sheets, and he rolls over so that he’s spooning me.

  “How are you feeling?” I ask.

  “A little rough, but I’ll be okay.” Esben runs a hand through my hair, and we lie together quietly for a while. “Especially with you here like this.”

  As difficult as it was to see Esben so upset, I do feel that our relationship has better balance now that I have been able to do something for him. From the day we met, I have been the fragile one, the one leaning on him constantly. Now, I understand that I am capable of letting him lean on me. I’m stronger than I knew.

  Later, I bring him a cup of coffee, then another, and I wait until he’s awake enough to talk.

  “Esben?”

  “Yeah, baby?”

  “What happened to Kerry . . . it’s why you haven’t had sex yet. And why you’re so careful with me.”

  “Partly, yes. Look . . . I know that what happened to her was rape, not sex. Two very, very different things. Drastically different.” He drinks a little more coffee and gathers his thoughts. “I may be dying for us to have sex, sure, but I am going to be very attentive about what we’re doing together. It’s easy for girls, especially, to feel pressure to move faster than they want, because they think the guy will leave otherwise. I’m not that guy.” He sets down his cup and puts an arm around me.

  “I know that. I really do. You’ve been so good and made me so comfortable. What Kerry went through? It’s horrible, Esben. It’s horrible. But, as you said, what happened to her and what’s happening with us are two entirely different things. I’m asking you, very directly, for something. I’m asking you for intimacy.” I turn in to face him, and I place my hand over his and move it under my top, guiding him across my stomach so that his touch radiates over my skin.

  Esben begins kissing my shoulder, and I know he’s smiling when he says, “You are comfortable, aren’t you?”

  I inch his hand a little higher. “I am.” So much so that I push him back onto the bed and tease my hand up his chest. “I want you out of this shirt.”

  “You do?” he asks hesitantly.

  I begin to lift up the fabric. My breathing has picked up, and I want to stop talking now. “Waist up, okay?” I manage to say. “No fabric between us. Just you and me.”

  Immediately, Esben rolls me onto my back, his hand now caressing my skin. “Yes,” he says with heat and promise. “Yes.”

  I tug up on his shirt. Hard. “Take this off. I want to see you.”

  So, he does. And, later, mine comes off.

  And then, even later, when Esben’s bare chest is pressed against mine and when his mouth is still exploring my skin, he whispers to me. “Allison,” he says, “you’re wonderful. You know that? Everything about you is wonderful.”

  I ease his hand to my underwear, and, before he can say anything, I nod. “Yes, I’m sure.”

  Despite our move up the spectrum, we both manage to make it to class. Somehow.

  CHAPTER 21

  CHRISTMAS WONDER

  After being in a car for hours yesterday and then running errands all day today with Simon, it’s very nice to be curled up on the couch in Simon’s house in Brookline. My house. I have to start saying that. This is my house, too. The ride I got from Esben and Kerry took absolutely forever, because it was snowing and the roads were a mess. Simon texted me every fifteen minutes to make sure that I wasn’t dead, but I understand that he was nervous, especially once he found out that Esben’s car is not exactly new, nor equipped with all the safety features Simon would like. Even though the drive was a long one, I had fun with Esben and Kerry, and I’d been so looking forward to seeing Simon.

  Our shopping trips today included filling two carts at the supermarket, because Simon has gourmet meals and plenty of baking planned. He’s promised to teach me some basics, and I’m just hoping to learn to make something edible. Then he took me to the mall and insisted on buying me new clothes, including a few special outfits for Christmas and New Year’s. Not only did I not protest, I enjoyed it. I enjoyed being treated to such nice things, and I enjoyed being with him. And I particularly enjoyed sneaking off and buying him a reindeer statue that he’d been admiring but didn’t buy for himself. His look of delight when I gave it to him made me smile, because I knew he would add this to his collection of holiday decorations that had taken over the house.

  The constant Christmas music that played over the mall speakers didn’t bother me, the bustling crowds didn’t make me insane, and the peppermint hot chocolate we tried that tasted like liquid holiday didn’t conjure up childhood trauma. All new and welcome experiences. Simon did try very hard to get me to take my picture with Santa, but I drew the line there.

  Right now, I am wrapped in a mahogany-colored chenille throw in the plush living room, while Simon swears in a most colorful manner as he tries to unknot strings of lights for the tree. Even though I know she’s unreachable, I text a selfie of me pouting to Steffi, because she’s not here, and then a picture of a frustrated-but-amusing Simon. Damn cruises and their unreliable Wi-Fi! This spell where we can’t talk or text is killing me, but I am happy for her high-seas dating adventure.

  “Would you please let me help?” I have repeatedly offered to assist in this monstrous light-detangling task, but Simon keeps insisting I sit here with my cocoa and relax. “And I feel bad that you wa
ited for me to decorate the tree. It’s already December nineteenth!”

  “Of course I waited for you, silly. And I should have just bought some new lights while we were out today. But, at this point, I am in a battle that I have to win on my own.” Furiously, he shakes the bundle in his hands, and, suddenly, the tight ball comes apart. “Huh. That was weird.” He looks at me. “It’s a Christmas miracle!”

  Playfully, I stick out my tongue at him. “It is not.”

  “You being in the holiday spirit brought Christmas luck, then. How’s that?” The Santa hat he’s got on, paired with his bright-green shirt and red tie, is ridiculous in the most wonderful way. “Speaking of which, it’s nice to see you so happy about the holidays this year. Esben have anything to do with that?” he asks with a smile.

  “Maybe,” I admit. “It’s not just about having a boyfriend, though. He’s made me see how much good is actually out there. How to move on from my past, I guess.” I pull the blanket around me more tightly. “I was kind of stuck there.”

  “I know you were. It’s understandable. You’ve had a rough go of it.”

  I watch him undo one of the last knots. “I’m sorry, Simon.”

  He stops and looks up. “For what?”

  “For not . . . for not being better.”

  “Better? Better at what?”

  “For not being a better daughter.”

  He drops the lights and sits next to me on the couch. “Allison, don’t ever say that again.”

  “Do you ever regret adopting me? Your boyfriend left you because of me. He wanted to adopt a cute little baby, not some pissy teenager.” Then I ask him something that I have never asked him before. “How did you even know about me? One day, I just heard that there was a potential adoptive father who wanted to meet me. Then you and I talked for an hour—I was probably boring and miserable to be around—but then I was told that you wanted me. I’ve never understood why.”

  “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?”

  “A luxury cottage, then,” he says with a smile. “We’ll boil up lobsters every night and track sand all over the rental house from our days by the ocean.”

  “There’s something else,” I say with a touch of anxiety. I adjust some lights and fidget too much with their placement. “I mentioned this before, but . . . could Esben come over for dinner?”

  “That’s not a Christmas present, but absolutely.” His eagerness is palpable. “Any night is fine. Oh, I could do an appetizer tray with smoked salmon, deviled eggs . . . and then beef Wellington for an entrée and a trifle for dessert!”

  “I . . . I was thinking something less formal.”

  “Well, sure. Box spaghetti and a jar of sauce it is,” he says with mock pouting.

  “Okay, okay. Upscale and show off your cooking it is. And wine. There better be wine.”

  “Why? You nervous for dear old dad to meet the boyfriend?”

  “A little,” I confess.

  “Don’t be. I adore him already. Anyone who makes you this happy is clearly someone I’m going to like.”

  “Okay.”

  “Then we’d better get this house in Christmas order to impress him!” Simon crosses the room to retrieve one of three ornament boxes. “Let’s do this!”