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“No, he’s not,” Izzy says, darting forward and wrapping her arms around my waist. “He’s the best. I really love him a lot.”
Well, fuck. I lean down to kiss her head. “I love you a lot too. Why don’t you go check out your bedroom, Izz? Fill it up with toys.”
“Is it really going to be mine, Uncle Shane?” she asks, practically dancing on her feet. Mira and her friends brought her to the spa earlier, and her fingers and toenails are painted a bright, sparkly purple that she claims is a “unicorn” shade. Given they’re fictional animals, no one can dissent—but I suspect Izzy would give them a hell of a good argument if they tried.
“Yes, honey,” I say. “It’s yours.”
I can feel Ruthie watching me as Izzy grabs the box of toys, nearly as big as she is, and heads toward the room in the back of the house. When I look at her, there are tears in her eyes again. “Oh, Ruthie,” I say, lifting a hand up to stroke her cheek.
“You said it was her bedroom,” she tells me in an undertone. The others are far enough that they probably can’t hear, buried in loud conversation as they are. I half expect Ruthie to tear into me for creating expectations that can’t be fulfilled. But she doesn’t. Instead, she lifts onto her toes and wraps her arms around me, the spray bottle and towels still in her hands.
“It is,” I say into her hair, letting her presence calm me. Because she’s safe, and she’s going to stay that way. “I want you to be here. I’ve been wanting you here.”
“Because my apartment complex is a dump,” she teases. “Whenever you’re there, you look like you’re cataloguing a honey-do list in your head.”
“Yes,” I agree, because I like it when she calls me out. “But it’s also because I want you both here. I want you staying in my house, my bed. And I do want Izzy to make that bedroom hers.”
I mean it. I feel at peace, even as I’m aching to fix this situation for her. I keep reminding myself of how far we’ve come on that front. Vanny’s facelift is well underway, waiting only on a new mural, which Shauna, who knows an abundance of painters, is taking care of. Thanks to Mrs. Longhorn, we have hundreds of new books to add to Ruthie’s collection and bundle for sale. Tomorrow, we’ll focus on recreating the bundles that were ruined.
We’ll make her project shine for her.
We’ll make damn sure to erase her doubts and write a new script over them, so fear will never make her hesitate to let some quack read her fortune again.
We eat the pizza when it comes, then play a couple of rounds of Apples to Apples because it’s a game Izzy can play with the help of a dedicated reader. But Nicole keeps making every round into a different dirty reference, some of them so obvious even a five-year-old might be in danger of figuring them out, and it’s not long before Ruthie breaks off to put Izzy to bed.
Twenty minutes later, she comes out with a half-smile on her mouth. I rise without anyone telling me to. I feel compelled to as surely as if there were a hook in my lip and she just gave it a tug. Ruthie grins at this bit of telepathy. “She requires the great and powerful Oz to come read Mr. Rumptwinkle to her.”
“Glad to hear you agree about the great and powerful thing,” I say.
Danny groans, and Leonard starts laughing.
I ignore them both and get up, giving Ruthie a quick kiss on the temple as I make my way to Izzy’s room.
“Uncle Shane,” she says brightly when I open the door, much too chipper for a kid who’s supposedly on the verge of sleep. She frowns as I close the door. “I shouldn’t call you that anymore, should I, if you’re married to my mom?”
I come over to the bed and sit on the ground beside it, putting my head about level with hers. “You can call me whatever you’d like, sweetheart.”
It occurs to me after the fact that giving a child an open invitation like that is as good as asking to be called Captain Fuckface.
“What if I called you dad?” she asks softly, the words carving a hole into my chest. “I know it’s mostly pretend, but I’ve never had a dad. Mom said he moved away before I was born. She told me we don’t need him, and she’s right. My mom is a very strong woman.”
A smile lifts my lips. “That she is. And you’re shaping up to be another one.”
Izzy’s lips tremble. “Don’t tell mom, but I’ve still thought about having a dad. I think I’d like to pretend.”
That hole in my chest seems to stretch wider. Part of me wants to tell her no, because I don’t know what the future holds.
It’s indescribably painful to have a father and lose him. To watch the life be ripped from him. I won’t give her that and then take it away—I can’t.
But even if I don’t get what I want, even if I don’t get Ruthie, maybe I can still be that person for Izzy. Maybe I can still stand up for her and give her what she deserves.
I clear my throat, trying not to show her what a loop she’s thrown me for. “I’d be very honored, Izz, but that’s not a decision we should make tonight. Let’s sit on it for a while, and I’ll also talk to your mom.”
“Okay,” she says, “I think I’d want to take it slow, anyway, to see what it feels like. It would be a pretty big change. Can you read the Unicorn Diaries to me now? I know you’re probably sick of them, but I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of them.”
“How could a person ever get sick of Mr. Rumptwinkle?” I ask with a wink, ignoring the sudden sweatiness of my palms.
Dad. I never thought I’d be one. That wasn’t the path I’d chosen—because that path was the path that led to annihilation. To being snuffed out and remembered only by the people who mourned you most. The ones who couldn’t let go, no matter how hard they tried.
