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Ada purses her lips in thought. “You’re much more self-aware than I gave you credit for,” she says at last, “but sharing your past hurts with someone who cares doesn’t mean you’re complaining.”
I don’t deserve to be sitting here with this woman.
“Hayden?” She looks hesitant.
“You told me not to hold back,” I remind her. “I won’t if you won’t.”
She squeezes my hand again. “Your parents might not love you the way you want to be loved, but they do love you.”
Her words don’t penetrate at first. When they do, I sit there for a moment, thinking about it . . . I’m not sure what to say. She couldn’t have said anything that would surprise me more.
“Your father believed in you enough to put more money on the line than most people see in ten lifetimes. And your mother . . . you told me she bought the house in Lugano to be closer to you.”
“After I tricked her into it.”
When Ada looks at me, I decide she’d have made a fine schoolteacher. I have the instant urge to squirm in my seat.
“Do you honestly believe your mother doesn’t know the difference between a life-threatening ailment and her eleven-year-old son crying out for help?”
I’ve got her on this one. “That’s exactly what I believe, because I fessed up to her a few years ago.”
“And what did she say?”
“She said, ‘Well, it’s a nice place to have a house anyway.’”
Ada rolls her eyes. “Like I said, she already knew. And maybe it’s not the way you wanted her to show you love, but it washerway. I’m not trying to tell you it doesn’t suck. It must have been awful to go through life thinking your parents didn’t care about you. But the fact that they didn’t want kids after you doesn’t mean they didn’t want you. I’m just saying, as an outsider, that I think your perception might be skewed.”
I’m about to shut down this conversation, but it occurs to me that Nanny Mary has tried to tell me the same thing—and so has Enzo, who has met my parents on numerous occasions. But I have so many other memories that indicate I’m right. If my parents love me, it’s because they think they have no choice.
“I know one thing, when I have kids they’re not going to question for even a second how I feel about them.”
We exchange a look, one much more meaningful than should be shared on a second date, or whatever date this is.
“So you want children?”
“Yes and no,” I answer. “I’ve always gravitated to kids for some reason. But I never really saw myself in a committed relationship long enough to seriously consider it.”
This is a much deeper conversation than I was prepared for.
“Do you?”
Ada nods. “I do.”
Everyone has disembarked from the ferry now, and it begins to glide away. Beyond it, the lake glistens as the sun peeks out again through a break in the clouds.
I take a deep breath. “I can honestly say I’ve never had a discussion like this with another human being in my life.”
And as we sit there together, side by side, I know this is it. That I’ll never meet another woman like her. That she’s the only woman who will ever make me feel like this.
How I can be so sure, so quickly, I have no clue. It was like some unknown force prompted me to ask her that outrageous question in the bar the other night—and her to take a leap after we’d just decided to close the door. But I did, and she did, and here we are.
A fluffy puppy escapes from its owner and runs up to my feet.
Apologizing, the owner leads the puppy away. Ada grins at me and feigns swooning.
“Kids and a dog. Got it,” she jokes. “Don’t forget about the white picket fence.”
“For which house? Number one, two, or three?”
