Dad and D’Ann had planned so many adventures over the next seven days that there simply wasn’t time to think about California. We had picnics on the beach, drove to the pick-your-own strawberry place and then stayed up all night making jam. D’Ann made a shirt for me on her sewing machine, and let me try on all her face creams. When the weekend came, D’Ann took us to her family home for a big Italian dinner. Her parents and siblings were boisterous, full of jokes and second helpings, filling my plate high, inviting me to foosball games in the basement, rides on the tandem bike and badminton matches. At the end of the night, my new aunts and uncles pressed folded five-dollar bills in my hand “for ice cream.”
I grew so addicted to being the center of attention that soon I started forgetting my manners. Each time I asked Dad or D’Ann for something and got it, I was emboldened to push for more. There was a danger of becoming spoiled, but I couldn’t resist experimenting with their devotion, testing its strength and durability. Each time the results came back positive, it was like a little hit of dopamine, a squiggle of joy at hearing the loveliness of that word yes. I encouraged them to dote on me because it pushed away my rising dread that this was all going to end, and soon I would return to a world that did not revolve around me.
One night, as the three of us watched a movie in bed together, Dad got up and asked if we wanted anything from the kitchen.
“English muffins! With butter!” I commanded, not taking my eyes off the TV.
D’Ann nudged me and pointed at Dad, who was in the doorway with his hands on his hips. “Shouldn’t there be a please in that sentence somewhere?” he said.
I was mortified. I had forgotten who I really was. I had become an insatiable baby bird; no matter how many worms Dad put in my mouth, I kept squawking for more. It wasn’t even food I wanted; I was hungry to find out how far he’d go to indulge me. But I’d finally found his limit.
“Please,” I croaked.
He nodded, and I sunk back into bed and pulled the covers over my head, hiding from his disapproval. I had almost lost Dad over some toast. I vowed to be more polite, to go back to the girl who kept her thoughts to herself.
I found Dad the next morning glugging down a tall glass of milk. He was wearing shorts and salt-cracked leather Top-Siders, and D’Ann was packing sandwiches into a cooler. It was one of those New England summer mornings when the air already felt milkshake thick; every piece of furniture I sat on stuck to my legs. Dad downed the milk and then put the glass in the sink. I wasn’t sure if I was still on his bad side, so I waited for him to speak first.
“Let’s go find a breeze,” he said.
That’s how I knew that everything had been forgiven.
The beach was the perfect place to spend my last day with Dad and D’Ann. It always seemed like time moved more slowly at the shore, away from clocks and telephones and schedules. I wanted to stretch our last hours, dreading the thought of having to say goodbye to my father yet again. I had an oversensitive reaction to letting go of him, because it reminded me of all the times we’d been torn apart against our will. I was afraid of that feeling I always got when we parted, a clawing feeling on the inside, like fingernails raking a line from behind my collarbone and through my insides, all the way down to my belly button. I was afraid of getting back on the plane without him. I didn’t know if I was strong enough to handle it.
I pushed these thoughts aside as the blue of the ocean came into view. Someone must have called ahead and reserved the beach just for us—the parking area was empty save for the gulls circling overhead and the few lone surfers peeling themselves out of their wet suits. We walked along a boardwalk, passing a snack shop where a machine spun a cotton-candy web, and above it on a second story a riderless carousel whirred to old-timey piano music. We crested a dune, and spread before us was a glittering blue crescent, with steady curlers of foam rolling toward shore.