Chapter 5: The Father Who Wanted the Picture
By the following Friday, Amy had learned that excitement could be exhausting.
Every time her phone lit up, she hoped it would be her father asking something ordinary.
What color were her shoes?
Did she need him to bring anything?
Was she nervous about the dance?
Instead, his messages were mostly instructions.
Be ready at six.
Don't wear your hair too big. It'll mess up the pictures.
Make sure your shoes match.
The first two messages bothered her.
The third made her laugh, mostly because she had spent an entire afternoon choosing silver heels that matched the dress perfectly.
She showed Marcus the message while he was repairing a loose cabinet handle.
“Apparently, my shoes are now a matter of national importance.””
Marcus tightened the screw.
“Tell him the government has approved them.””
“Marcus.””
“What? I'm trying to help.””
She leaned against the counter.
“Do you think he's nervous?””
Marcus set down the screwdriver.
“Maybe.””
“About seeing me?””
“Maybe.””
“Or about taking pictures?””
Marcus studied her face.
“What do you think?””
Amy looked at her phone.
“I don't know anymore.””
He wiped his hands with a rag.
“Then don't force yourself to know before the night happens.””
She nodded, though she didn't look convinced.
On Saturday morning, Tiana came over to help Amy practice her makeup. The two girls spread brushes, palettes, and hair accessories across the bathroom counter while Marcus stood in the hallway holding a package that had arrived in the mail.
“Is this yours?”” he asked.
Amy glanced at the label.
“Yes!””
She hurried over and took the package.
Inside was a small silver clutch she had ordered to match her shoes. She held it against her dress and turned toward the mirror.
Tiana clasped her hands.
“Girl, you're going to look amazing.””
Amy smiled.
“You think so?””
“I know so. Your date better appreciate the effort.””
“I'm not going with a date.””
Tiana raised an eyebrow.
“Your dad is picking you up, right?””
Amy nodded.
“Yeah.””
“Then he better appreciate the effort.””
Amy laughed.
Marcus stood in the doorway, watching the girls fuss over the clutch.
“You two need anything from the store?””
“Lip gloss,” Tiana said immediately.
“Snacks,” Amy added.
Marcus pulled out his phone.
“Make a list. If I come home with twenty kinds of candy, I'm blaming both of you.””
Tiana grinned.
“Deal.””
As Marcus walked away, she leaned closer to Amy.
“Your stepdad is actually so sweet.””
Amy's smile softened.
“He is.””
“Does he always help you with everything?””
Amy looked down at the clutch.
“Pretty much.””
Tiana studied her.
“Then why do you look like you're waiting for something bad to happen?””
Amy hesitated.
She hadn't told Tiana everything about the messages. She had mentioned her father's rejection, but not the conversation with Aunt Denise or the question about Marcus.
“I think I'm scared he's going to ruin the night,” Amy admitted.
“Your dad?””
She nodded.
Tiana put down the makeup brush.
“Then don't let him.””
Amy laughed without humor.
“It's not that easy.””
“I know. But you can have a good night even if he acts weird.””
Amy looked at her friend.
“What if he says something about Marcus?””
“Like what?””
“I don't know. Something about how he's my real father.””
Tiana frowned.
“Marcus is the one who shows up.””
Amy felt a lump form in her throat.
“Yeah.””
“Then you don't have to defend that.””
For a moment, Amy could only stare at the mirror.
The words sounded so simple coming from someone who hadn't spent years trying to keep two different versions of fatherhood from colliding.
But they stayed with her.
That afternoon, Marcus drove Amy and Tiana to the mall to pick up the last few things they needed. He bought them pretzels and waited outside a makeup store while they argued over lipstick shades.
When Amy came back, she found him sitting on a bench, scrolling through photographs on his phone.
“What are you looking at?””
He turned the screen toward her.
It was a picture from her tenth birthday. Amy sat at the kitchen table wearing a paper crown, her face covered in frosting. Marcus was beside her, grinning, with a streak of icing across his cheek.
Amy burst out laughing.
“Oh my God. I forgot about that!””
“You put cake on my face.””
“You put cake on your own face!””
“I was framed.””
She sat beside him and scrolled through more pictures.
There was one of her first day of middle school, standing in front of the front door with a backpack nearly as large as her torso. Another showed her holding a science fair ribbon. Another captured Marcus kneeling beside her bicycle after she had finally learned to ride without training wheels.
Amy grew quiet.
“You have everything,” she murmured.
“Not everything.””
“Almost.””
Marcus slipped his phone into his pocket.
“I take pictures because I don't want to forget.””
Amy looked at him.
“What if I forget?””
He frowned.
“Forget what?””
“All of this.””
Marcus considered the question.
“You might forget what day we went shopping or what we ate for dinner. That's normal.””
He touched her shoulder.
“But you won't have to remember every detail to know you were loved.””
Amy's eyes filled.
She leaned against him, resting her head briefly on his shoulder.
Then her phone buzzed.
A message from her father.
Can you send me a picture of the dress?
Amy straightened.
She took a photograph from the dressing-room mirror and sent it.
His response came a minute later.
Good. Wear your hair down. I want us to look good together.
Amy read the message twice.
Us.
It was such a small word, but she held onto it.
Maybe he was thinking about them as a pair. Maybe he wanted to feel connected to her. Maybe the pictures were his awkward way of trying to create a memory.
She showed Marcus.
He read the message without changing his expression.
“He wants you to wear your hair down,” he said.
“That's all you're going to say?””
Marcus handed the phone back.
“What would you like me to say?””
“I don't know.””
He nodded.
“Then let's not turn one message into a promise it hasn't made.””
Amy looked away.
The words stung because they were reasonable.
She wanted to be excited without feeling foolish.
She wanted to trust her father without having to measure every sentence for hidden conditions.
And she wanted Marcus to stop being right about the things she most wished he were wrong about.
When they returned home, Amy spent an hour getting ready. She showered, styled her curls, and carefully applied the makeup Tiana had helped her choose.
She put on the lavender dress and silver heels.
Then she stood in front of the mirror.
For a moment, she barely recognized herself.
She looked older.
Not just because of the dress, but because she could see the person she was becoming—someone who wanted to be loved without having to beg for it.
She took a deep breath.
Downstairs, Marcus was waiting in a clean navy shirt and charcoal trousers. He had shaved carefully and polished his shoes.
Amy descended the staircase.
Marcus turned toward her.
His expression changed immediately.
“Oh, sweetheart.””
She smiled nervously.
“What?””
He shook his head.
“Nothing. I'm just trying to figure out how you got so grown.””
Amy looked down, blushing.
“Stop.””
“I'm serious. Yesterday, you were asking me to cut the crusts off your sandwiches.””
“That was years ago!””
“Seems like yesterday.””
She walked toward him and hugged him.
“Thank you for everything.””
Marcus wrapped his arms around her.
“You don't have to thank me for loving you.””
The doorbell rang.
Amy pulled away so quickly that Marcus almost laughed.
She smoothed her dress and hurried to the front door.
Her father stood on the porch wearing a dark suit and a white shirt. He held a small bouquet of pink roses in one hand and a phone in the other.
For a second, Amy forgot every doubt she'd had.
“Dad!””
He smiled.
“Hey, beautiful.””
He handed her the flowers.
“Got these for you.””
Amy took them carefully.
“Thank you.””
He stepped back and looked her up and down.
“Wow. You look good.””
Her smile widened.
“Really?””
“Yeah. Turn around a little.””
She turned.
He lifted his phone.
“Hold the flowers higher.””
Amy obeyed.
He took several pictures, checking the screen after each one.
“Good,” he said.
“Now look over here.””
She smiled again.
The phone clicked.
Then he looked toward Marcus, who had remained near the living-room doorway.
“Marcus.””
“Hey,” Marcus replied.
Her father extended his hand.
Marcus shook it.
For a moment, the two men stood facing each other in the entryway. One had been part of Amy's daily life for eleven years. The other had given her life and remained an unanswered question in the middle of it.
Amy watched them, hoping the evening might be peaceful.
Her father turned to her.
“We should get going. I want to stop somewhere before the dance.””
Amy glanced at Marcus.
“Can I take a picture with him first?””
Her father's smile tightened.
“Why?””
Amy blinked.
“Because I want one.””
He glanced at Marcus, then back at her.
“We're already taking pictures.””
“I know. I just want one with both of you.””
For a moment, nobody moved.
Then her father lowered his phone.
“Let's not make this complicated, Amy.””
The words struck harder than she expected.
Marcus took a small step backward.
“It's okay,” he said quietly.
“You two go ahead.””
Amy looked at him.
“Marcus—”
“Have a good time, sweetheart.””
He smiled, but she could see the hurt he was trying not to place on her shoulders.
Her father opened the door.
“Come on. We're going to be late.””
Amy followed him outside, holding the flowers against her dress.
She looked back once.
Marcus stood in the doorway, hands at his sides, watching her leave.
He didn't look angry.
He looked like he was trying to make peace with the possibility that the girl he loved might need to learn something the hard way.
The car ride began pleasantly enough.
Her father asked about school, and Amy told him about an upcoming history presentation. He nodded while driving, occasionally glancing at his phone at red lights.
When they reached a small restaurant near the school, he parked and told her to wait.
“Where are we going?”” Amy asked.
“Just somewhere we can get a few more pictures before the dance.””
She followed him inside.
The restaurant had a brick wall decorated with framed photographs and warm hanging lights. Her father asked a server to take pictures of them near the entrance.
Amy smiled beside him.
He put an arm around her shoulders.
The server took three pictures.
Her father examined them carefully.
“That's good,” he said.
“One more.””
Amy adjusted her flowers.
“Can we get one where I'm holding your arm?””
He hesitated, then nodded.
“Sure.””
The server took another photograph.
Her father looked at the screen and smiled.
“Perfect.””
Amy felt a small, hopeful warmth in her chest.
Maybe the evening was going to be okay after all.
Then her father sat across from her at the table and placed his phone beside his water glass.
“I need you to do something for me tonight,” he said.
Amy's stomach tightened.
“What?””
He leaned forward.
“If anybody asks, I want you to say I came to pick you up and took you shopping for the dress.””
Amy stared at him.
“But Marcus took me shopping.””
Her father waved a hand.
“You know what I mean. I want people to understand that I'm involved in your life.””
Amy's fingers curled around the stems of the roses.
“But you didn't take me shopping.””
He sighed.
“Don't make this difficult.””
“I'm not. I'm just telling the truth.””
His expression hardened.
“You know how this looks, right? Everybody acts like Marcus is the one who raised you. I'm your biological father, Amy. I should be part of these moments.””
She felt the room tilt around her.
“You could have been,” she whispered.
Her father went still.
Amy looked down at the flowers.
“You could have taken me shopping. I asked you.””
He stared at her.
Then he picked up his phone and slid it into his jacket pocket.
“I'm trying to make tonight special,” he said.
“Can you at least meet me halfway?””
Amy swallowed the words gathering in her throat.
She had spent years meeting him halfway.
She had crossed the distance between them with birthday invitations, unanswered messages, second chances, and excuses she made on his behalf.
Now he was asking her to rewrite the afternoon so he could appear to have been there all along.
She looked at him, searching for some sign that he understood what he was asking.
But he only checked the time.
“We should get going,” he said.
“And remember, no drama tonight.””
Amy followed him out of the restaurant.
The roses were beginning to wilt at the edges.
As they drove toward the school, her phone vibrated.
A message from Marcus appeared on the screen.
You look beautiful, sweetheart. Have a wonderful night. I'll be here whenever you need me.
Amy read it once.
Then again.
Her eyes filled, and she turned toward the window before her father could notice.
But when they pulled into the school parking lot, he glanced at her and frowned.
“Don't cry,” he said.
“You're going to ruin your makeup.””
Amy quickly wiped her cheeks.
“I'm not crying.””
“Good. Let's get those pictures before we go inside.””
He stepped out of the car, straightened his jacket, and held out his arm.
Amy looked at it.
Then she looked through the windshield toward the school entrance, where other families were gathering for photographs.
For the first time that evening, she understood exactly what frightened her about the night.
May you like
Her father had shown up.
But she still wasn't sure he had come to see her.