His smile grew and I couldn’t help it, but I allowed myself to smile back at him, too, and for a moment, wallowed in the feeling of my father’s obvious love for me. I mean, I knew he loved me. And I loved him. And clearly things would never be the same between us again, and maybe that was okay on some level. Maybe we would need to find a new kind of father-daughter relationship, and that would take time. But maybe this was a small start.

“So, Paris,” he said, when my smile faded.

“Yes.”

“Are you nervous?” he asked.

“Yes. But excited too.”

“I love Paris,” he said.

“I didn’t know you went there.”

He laced his hands together as my mom walked into the kitchen and opened the fridge. “Your mother and I went there for our honeymoon,” he said in a softer voice.

I glanced at my mom to see if she’d heard that; she had.

“Remember that little patisserie on rue Madame?” my mom asked, walking toward the lounge.

My dad chuckled. “I put on three kilos just from eating those chocolate croissants every morning.”

My mom smiled now, as if she was remembering something pleasant. I looked from her to my father, shocked. They’d barely spoken to each other in years, and this—this was almost friendly.

“You’ll love the jazz café on Saint-Germain,” my dad added. “You have to visit.”

My mom nodded. “Do you remember that bench in the park where we used to feed the pigeons?”

My dad sat up. “And the one flew into your hair.”

“My hair was a lot bigger in those days.” She looked at me and smiled. “A lot bigger. If your dad hadn’t gotten it out, I’m sure it would have nested there.”

We all burst out laughing, and for a second, I swear it was just like the old days. But it wasn’t, and when the laughter stopped, a strange silence closed in on us. My mom and dad shared a brief look before my mom turned to walk out of the room.

“Well, I’m off to bed,” she said.

“Good night, Mom,” I called after her.

“Good night,” my dad said. My mom stopped momentarily, as if she was about to answer back, but didn’t.

As I watched her disappear, it dawned on me. In that slow walk she took up the stairs to her bedroom it all became so crystal clear. She didn’t need to say a word, but I could see—for the first time ever, maybe—the depth of loneliness and aloneness she felt going to an empty bed.