Page 61 of Fly with Me

Olive groaned. “It wasn’t Mickey Mouse.”

“Papi.” Stella began pacing and picked up his mug, which had an accessibility lid and spout, along with a plate that still had half a sandwich on it. She’d known Hector for only a few minutes but Olive bet that getting Hector to use that accessible cup had been a battle. “I’m going to clean up.” And she took it through a door in the back that Olive assumed led to a kitchen.

“I was still eating that.” Hector shook his head and extended his arm, bending despite the shaking. “You see, I can move everything.”

Olive felt from his shoulder all the way down his arm. She was right about the muscle wasting. “I won’t check your hip. I’ll take it as a given that it’s not broken since you were standing when we arrived.”

His voice lowered. “Probably won’t be standing too much longer. But I still can for short periods of time. I know it makes her feel better. Makes me feel better too.”

Olive nodded. “That makes sense.”

“Life.” He shrugged, lifting his hands as if to say there’s good and bad. “So, tell me, how is my daughter as a fake girlfriend?”

“Wha-what?” Olive’s ears were on fire. “She’s—she’s… Well, we’re friends. And she’s a really great friend.”

“Perfect answer.”

“I didn’t realize she would’ve told you.”

“We made a pact a long time ago not to ever lie to each other. And while I can’t say I exactly approve of the way she’s doing things, I understand. I had that kind of drive once too.”

“You’re a good dad.”

“Bring me that book over there if you will.” He pointed to a leather-bound scrapbook on a bookshelf in the corner.

Stella popped her head in from the kitchen. “Do you want coffee?”

“Yes,” he called back. He made a hurry-up movement.

“Olive, what about you?” Stella asked.

“I’m okay, thank you.”

As soon as Stella went back into the kitchen, Olive grabbed the book. It took him a couple of tries but he got it open to the first page. “That’s me and Stella’s father.”

“You’re—”

“I know what it’s like to keep secrets from parents, and they can drive a permanent wedge in the relationship like they did for my ex-partner and his parents and to a lesser degree between me and my father. I didn’t want that for me and her.”

“She said her grandmother lived with you. Helped raise her.”

“She did.” He shifted his weight. “Her other father left when Stella was very young. He was from a very conservative family. She doesn’t remember him. She knows nothing but openness in all of the relationships that matter. She’s never lied to me about anything important. Not that she tells me everything.” He arched an eyebrow pointedly. “But she’s never lied. We’ve always been a team.”

“Why are you telling me all this?”

“Because I want you to know that Stella’s never been ashamed of who she is. And she’s not ashamed now. She has a lot of guilt over the way her previous relationships played out… always so hard on herself. So, this fake girlfriend situation…” He turned a page, the edges worn from years of loving perusal. Photos of baby Stella covered pages, turning to toddler Stella. Stella in a Girl Scout uniform. Stella on a trip to Mexico based on the neat notation beneath it, beside a group of ten other kids who must be her cousins. Stella in a marching band uniform with braces. Stella with a soccer ball. The same beaming smile in every single one. “I suspect you know by now that Stella can be single-minded about a goal. And even though I miss her sometimes when she works a lot, I know what becoming a captain means to her. So please don’t judge her based on this. With everything that’s happening with me, she’s—”

“Papi, no.” Stella came into the room with a gallon-sized cup for herself and another for her father. “Not the photo album.”

“It’s my job to show your friends where you come from.”

“It’s mortifying.” A blush covered every visible inch of her neck and face.

Olive grinned and pointed to a photo of Stella holding what looked to be a box turtle, wearing a tie-dyed camp T-shirt. Braces with neon rubber bands on display. Wire glasses perched on her nose. “You’re so cute.”

Stella rolled her eyes and sipped her coffee, walking around the room muttering something about headgear and stirrup pants and whether Polaroid photos created toxic gases when they were lit on fire.

“I still need to check your knee, Hector.”