Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 80153 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 401(@200wpm)___ 321(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80153 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 401(@200wpm)___ 321(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
“She has a great smile,” I say to him, but I’m looking at her.
And she’s looking back at me. For a moment, our gazes hold, and I swear something flickers between us that wasn’t there before. She’s lingering longer, looking deeper, keeping her eyes on me more than she has in the past.
I’ll take that, even though I shouldn’t want it at all.
But I can’t unwant it, not now, not even in front of her dad.
He ushers me down the hall, giving me the tour of each school photo hanging on the wall, from her first-grade shot with a bowl haircut, to her second-grade one with two missing teeth, to a seventh-grade image when she wore braces with light blue rubber bands.
In every single shot, she flashes a bright, cheerful grin. “I sometimes wonder where that smile came from. I wish I could take credit for it,” Aaron says, tapping a frame.
“I bet you can, sir. You’re a good father. You bring out that smile by giving her a home and loving your kid.”
“That’s always been easy, from the first day I met her.”
He waves me along, showing me some high school shots of her skiing, winning a medal for taking first place in a race, then her graduation shot, with Jillian wearing a cap and gown. “Valedictorian,” he says, pride rich in his tone.
Jillian follows behind, and when I catch her gaze, she mouths to me, He’s such a dad.
But she’s not making fun of the guy. She’s simply acknowledging that he’s doing what he’s supposed to do—show off his kid. Near the end of the row of pictures is one last shot that looks to be from her senior year of high school. Her long black hair falls straight over her shoulders, her eyes sparkle, and there’s a confidence in her smile that says she knows she’s going places in life.
Her father heads to the living room, where the dog has migrated, now snoozing on the couch. “Down, Merlot. Make room for the people.”
The dog obliges, sliding off the couch and resuming his nap on the floor as her dad grabs a photo album from a shelf under the coffee table. He pats the couch, and I sit next to him, with Jillian on the other side. She peers at the album then groans. “Cue the embarrassment soundtrack now, please,” she says as he flips open to her baby pictures.
I laugh instantly as I check out the shots of her dressed like a Michelin Man toddler for the winter, complete with rosy red cheeks. “When we were in Jingzhou for the adoption, we learned from the translators and adoption agency representatives that, in China, they tend to worry about children catching colds,” he explains. “They dress them warmly year-round. When we were there adopting her, it was September, and Chinese women would stop us on the street to say ‘lucky baby’ and ‘baby is cold.’”
He flips through the album, showing me pictures of the now twenty-eight-year-old woman when she was a tiny thing. My eyes land on one in particular—a shot of Aaron next to his wife, holding their baby. Emotion floods their expressions. I can see tears in their eyes, in the set of their mouths. “This was her gotcha day,” Aaron says softly, reverently. “This was at the hotel in Jingzhou. There were about eight other American families. All had traveled to China at the same time after they’d been matched with girls from the orphanage. They brought the girls into this meeting room at the hotel, called out our last names, followed by each baby’s Chinese name, and then we held her for the first time. We fell deeply in love with her right away. It was instant.”
As I stare at the photo of the newly minted family, all I see is that love. It’s present in every single pixel. A lump rises dangerously in my throat, but I tamp it down. “This is beautiful, sir. She was a lucky girl to be matched with you and your wife, and I’m sure you feel you were just as lucky.”
“I did. I still do.”
I raise my gaze and meet Jillian’s eyes once more. In them, I see a hint of a tear. She looks away, wiping a finger over her cheek as she purses her lips.
Aaron wraps his arm around his daughter, tugs her close, and plants a quick kiss on her cheek. She doesn’t flinch, she doesn’t say, no, Dad. She lets him, and it’s one of the sweetest moments I’ve ever seen.
After we say goodbye, the door clicks shut behind us and we head down the stone path to the car. “Thank you so much for helping him. I can’t tell you how much it means to me. He tries hard to be independent, but he really did rely on my mom for a lot of things.”