My dad drove away, the sound of his engine dying in the distance, and I cried, knowing that I now had two parents to love.
I never thought I would meet my dad, let alone be on good terms with him. And yet there I was, the middle of July, watching his car drive away.
It was a fluke, truly. How many times over the years had I thought about him? I'd lost count. There were times that I tried Googling his name, or "Asking Jeeves", but never with any real confidence, or conviction. No, when I typed his name into the Facebook search bar it was a joke, to myself, to pass the time
and then there he was. A tall man; it was obvious even in his picture. Lanky frame, tan skin, blonde hair, green eyes. A mustache. Just what my mom had always described. She never had any pictures of him, but I'd have never wanted to see them if she did; I was afraid. Afraid that I might recognize my face in his. Afraid that I might not see a stranger. Afraid that I might feel some sort of connection.
With a tre