Chapter 23

ARIA

I walk into the office and set my coffee down. After filtering through the plethora of papers tossed on my desk, I open my laptop and start sifting through the P.A. email.

My heart freezes as I spot an email from “Manny Pearson.”

I scan the email, only processing every third or fourth word. Finally, my eyes land on the bottom, where an attached photo sits, fuzzy and weathered with time.

A man with large glasses and a striped collared shirt sits in a worn chair, playing the guitar. He’s smiling at a young girl sitting on an ottoman in front of him. She’s wearing a blue dress with pink polka dots, her curly hair in two little pigtails on her head.

~I used to love that dress~, I thought.

For years, I wanted nothing more than to see my father walk through the front door, scoop me up in a hug, and tell me everything would be okay. Every day that he remained absent tore me down a little bit more.

The last time I reached out to him was to invite him to my college graduation; my invitation was returned with a “No Forwarding Address” stamp in red letters across the front.

Since then, I resigned myself to the fact that, if my father was still alive, he did not want to be in my life. And I thought I was okay with that.

Now he’s here, insistently knocking on my proverbial door.

Why now? It’s difficult not to have a bitter taste in my mouth at his sudden appearance. He doesn’t deserve to be in my life now that I don’t need him.

But I think about that little girl in the polka-dot dress, the young woman at her college graduation, and I think about every girl in between the two. They would kill for this opportunity.

I pick up my phone. Perhaps it’s time to hear him out.

“Knock knock,” Jett says as he steps into my office with a wide smile.

But when he sees me, taking in my frazzled expression, his smile falls slightly. Then his eyes land on the photo on the laptop screen in front of me. I watch his eyes search it, taking in every detail.

“Hey,” he says gently as he approaches. “You okay? What’s going on?”

I take a gulp of my latte, then sigh. Jett’s face is etched with concern as he waits for me to speak.

“My father contacted me again,” I say finally. “And I think I’m ready to meet him.”

Jett’s eyebrows go up.

“Oh, what made you decide to finally do it?”

I shrug. “I dunno. I’ve been thinking about it for a while, but seeing the photo of us…I just don’t want to have any regrets,” I say.

Jett reaches over and squeezes my knee, then looks at the photo and email. “What’s his name?”

“Why?” I ask.

Jett looks at me; I see him searching for the right words.

“I just want to make sure…he is who he says he is,” he says. “It’s for your protection, Aria. People will say and do anything for money or influence.”

To his apparent surprise, I just nod.

“His name is Manny Pearson. I’m meeting him for coffee tomorrow,” I say.

“Tomorrow? Shouldn’t you take a little more time to process this?” he says.

“It’s just coffee,” I say. “I know you’ll dig up every skeleton he has. Having a cup of coffee with him won’t hinder that.”

Jett sighs. “When and where tomorrow?”

***

I check my watch for the fiftieth time. Manny was supposed to be here seven minutes ago.

I look around the quiet yet full coffee shop and see the bodyguard Jett hired sticking out like a sore thumb. Jett wanted to come himself, but I knew the press would have a field day if we were spotted at the same coffee shop at separate tables.

I check my watch again. ~Eight minutes~.

“Ari?”

I look up into the wizened face of my father. Though he is considerably older than he was in my fuzzy memories, his brilliant green eyes sparkle just as they always did.

“Manny?” I say, and he smiles wide.

“Yeah, but you can call me Dad,” he says, and he opens his arms.

I’m not expecting this, so it takes me a second to get up and give him an awkward hug; the scent of cigarettes and musty coats invades my senses as he wraps his arms around me.

“Wow, you’re even more beautiful in person,” he says into my hair.

Finally, he lets go and takes a seat, letting out a big groan as he does so. He’s larger than in his photos, and his face is saggier, but I see the remnants of the man I used to call Dad.

“I’ve been bragging about you to all my friends. I saw you in the tabloids, and I’ve been pointing it out to everyone. They’re probably tired of listening to me.”

He beams at me, and I feel my face turn red.

“Yeah, well, it comes with the job,” I say with a shrug.

He scoffs. “I figured you’d have more money than you knew what to do with!”

“Well, I’m fixing up Grandma’s house, and that’s expensive,” I say.

“Is she still in that old brownstone?”

“Yes, and she’s refusing to leave.”

“She and your momma were always the most stubborn women I ever met.” He gives a throaty chuckle. “I was sorry to hear about your momma, kiddo. She was a good lady.”

I sigh. “She was. How come…how come you didn’t reach out to me…when she died?”

“I tried, but Louise, well, she didn’t want to make things harder on you, and she thought me coming back into the picture might be difficult for you,” he says. “She said you were taken care of.”

“I mean, I was and I wasn’t,” I say. “I certainly could’ve used a parent back then—even one I didn’t know.”

Manny sighs. “I…well, I was scared. I didn’t know anything about ya. And you were a teen by then. I was just doin’ what I thought was best for everyone,” he says.

“How would you reaching out to me, letting me know you were alive, be bad? I literally thought you were dead or something,” I say, feeling my inner teenage girl swell up inside me.

“I know, I know. And I can’t make up for the last twenty-five years, but I can be around for the next twenty-five,” he says with a smile. “S’long as I don’t get priced outta my apartment.”

“Where do you live?”

“Harlem—a little dump above a Chinese restaurant that I split with a friend, but it works for us,” he says. “I bet you’ve got a big, nice place, huh?”

“Uh, I guess? I just rent a little apartment near the office,” I say. “Um, I actually dug these photos out of my closet.”

We spend the next forty-five minutes going through all the photos.

Manny talks about how much he loved to play music and teach me songs. He used to play guitar for a band after his shift at a bodega and even brought a few photos and newspaper clippings along to illustrate his stories.

Eventually, I look at my watch and let him know I need to get on with my day, but I appreciate him meeting with me. We make plans to meet up for dinner this weekend, and then I call him a Lyft and hug him goodbye.

On the way to the office, I replay our conversation over and over in my head. Would Grandma really try to keep my dad from contacting me? Did he even try? Were his intentions truly as innocent as he said?

I decide that it doesn’t matter—that until he gives me a reason not to trust him, I’ll give him the benefit of the doubt.

Besides Grandma, he’s the only family I have.