Page 27 of Wish I Were Here
He sighs and finally looks at me. “Sorry, Kitty Cat. I’m afraid you can’t get it back.”
“Why not?”
Dad hesitates. “It’s complicated.”
How complicated could it be? Unless he can’t reach her.
My pulse picks up speed. Is it possible I was right about her all along?
Once my dark phase receded and I decided my mother wasn’t a murderer, I filtered through a whole host of other scenarios for what might have happened to her, until Isettled on the one that was the easiest to swallow. Maybe shehadto leave. For an important job. Because she’s off in far-flung places helping people. Maybe there was some reason shecouldn’tstick around to raise me.
It’s embarrassing. I’m an almost thirty-year-old mathematics professor, far too old for these childish fantasies. But I admit that sometimes—when Dad loses another job, when another collection notice comes in—my mind still drifts in this direction. Because it’s easier than believing she just didn’t care.
“Do youknowhow to reach my mother?”
Dad shrugs again, his shoulders going all the way up to his ears. “Nope.”
I take a step closer to him. “If my mother has my birth certificate, and you know how to get it back, you have to tell me. My whole life is falling apart here. My identity has gone missing, I almost got arrested today, I’m about to lose my job, and the only hope I have is that birth certificate.”
“I’m sorry. I don’t know how to get it back.” Dad leans over and pats me on the cheek. “But I’m sure you can solve this without involving your mother. You’re the smartest person I know, and you always work things out.”
“I can’t solve this! It’s not a math equation. Math equations have rules. They make sense. Nothing about this situation makes any sense at all.”
He slides the tote bag onto his shoulder. I hear the change jingle to the bottom. “I’ll see you soon for dinner, Kitty Cat.”
“Wait!” I reach out to grab his arm. “You can’t just leave. This isn’t some kind of joke. At least tell me what you know about her.”
Dad pulls away, stumbling in the grass as he backs up. “Let it go, Kitty Cat.” His jaw clenches, and he stares over my shoulder instead of meeting my eyes. “Just let it go, okay?” His voice cracks at the end.
I’m so shocked that I drop my hand, my stomach churning with a turmoil that’s familiar from my childhood conversations about my mother. I swallow down my protests.
Dad runs a hand through his hair, disrupting his man-bun, and shakes his head as if he’s trying to clear it. When he turns to Luca, the tension is gone from his face. “Keep practicing that juggling. You’ll get it eventually.” He gives a wink, but it lacks the warmth and ease of his earlier smiles.
“Thanks, Andy,” Luca says, but his eyes are on me, and his brow creases with something that looks like concern.
“Sorry I’ve gotta go,” Dad says, sounding anything but sorry. He gives me a crooked smile. “I—uh. I’ve got to see a man about a horse.” And with that, he turns and heads in the opposite direction.
I watch him weave across the lawn, waving to a group of older women and making faces at a baby. They all giggle.
“Don’t buy a horse!” I yell, just in case he’s serious. “Don’t eventhinkabout buying a horse.”
So that was my dad.” I turn to Luca, who’s staring at me with his eyes wide.
“He’s…” Luca blinks. “Not what I was expecting.”
“Yeah, well…” My mood darkens. “He’s never what anyone is expecting. At least not for the father of uptight Catherine Lipton, anyway.”
Luca’s brow furrows, and he reaches out to touch my arm. “Who said you were uptight?”
Nobody said it, not in a long time, anyway. But for my whole life, I’ve felt it. Why can’t I just loosen up, chill out a little?
Because some people don’t have the luxury to loosen up and chill out. But I don’t want to talk about it with Luca, who—now that I’ve seen them together—is even more like Dad than I realized. Fun, unrestrained, always up for a good time. What people don’t see is that there’s a downside to the guy who’s always the life of the party.
He leaves his empty pizza boxes and crushed-up beer cans all over the lawn for someone else to clean up.
I pull my arm away. “It doesn’t matter. I need to focus or I’m going to lose this job.”
“You said the lunch didn’t go well? You were only in there for about five minutes.”
