Page 105 of Eye of the Beholder
We wait in the receiving line until there’s only one person between us and my dad. The nerves in my stomach are multiplying, and I keep fiddling with my tie, even though Mina just straightened it minutes ago.
“Leave it alone,” she whispers, pulling my hand away. She intertwines her fingers with mine. “It will be fine.” Her hand is like fire in mine.
I look at her, and I see her swallow nervously as she looks at our hands.
“Sorry,” she says, pulling her hand away.
I’m about to tell her that it’s okay, that I like holding her hand, when suddenly the person in front of us moves forward.
And there my dad is, and here I am, standing in front of him.
I was right to give up rehearsing conversations; suddenly my mind is blank. I just stare at him.
Mina clearly picks up on my loss of brain function, because she quickly fills the awkward silence. “Congratulations, Mr. Alexander.” Her voice is warm, sincere. “The ceremony was beautiful. I’m so happy for you.”
My dad looks surprised to see her, but he smiles at her, shaking her hand. “Thank you, Mina. It’s good to see you.”
“You, too. I’m glad I was able to come with Cohen.”
Then, to my utter surprise, she wraps one arm around my waist. I have no idea what she means by it, but it does reunite me with my brain.
“Hi,” I say to my dad. My voice cracks as I say, “Congratulations.”
My dad just looks at me, his face cautious. “Thank you,” he says softly. He holds his hand out tentatively.
I stare at it for a second. Our hands look alike. I never noticed it before, but they do. We both have very square fingernails and prominent knuckles.
I take a deep breath. Then I shake his hand.
A firm, manly handshake—except he doesn’t let go. Instead he steps toward me and puts his arms around me.
I freeze for a second before returning his hug. I feel his shoulders shake, and I realize with incredulity that he’s crying.
My father, the apparently happily married grown man, is crying into my shoulder.
And it hits me all at once. He’s my dad, and I love him, and I choose to forgive him.
Because he’s trying. He’s trying to be a good father. Heisa good father. I don’t pretend to understand what happened between him and my mom. But whatever went wrong, he still loves me, and he’s still trying to be a good dad. It was okay for me to be upset.
But I think it’s okay to forgive him, too.
I tighten my arms around him for a second, trying to tell him what I don’t know how to verbalize.
Then he releases me, stepping back slightly, his hands on my shoulders. “Thank you for coming,” he says, his voice cracking.
All I can do is nod. I reach one hand behind me, feeling blindly for Mina, and her small hand finds mine. I feel better—more stable, more secure—with her next to me.
I pull on her hand gently, and she steps forward to my side. She smiles at my dad’s wife, who has stepped back just like Mina did, giving my dad and I privacy.
“I’m Mina,” she says to my new stepmother. “Your dress is beautiful, and you look lovely.”
I listen in amused amazement as Mina converses effortlessly with a woman she’s never met before. Her presence and distraction give me a minute to collect myself, to will my heartrate back to a reasonable pace. When I finally feel like I can jump into the conversation, I introduce myself to Linda. I have to admit that she’s as kind as my father could hope, and she seems genuinely thrilled to meet me. What’s more, she and my dad are clearly crazy about each other; it’s in the way they look at each other.
I’m going to try to wish them well.
When Mina and I finally move away and let the next person in line speak with my dad and Linda, I let out a deep breath. It’s done; I did it.
We weave around the tables, my hand resting lightly on Mina’s back as she walks in front of me. We find our table and sit again, and Mina smiles at me.
