After he hung up, Nathan sat for a long time thinking about what Marcus had said. Then he got in his car and started driving. He arrived at the farm at eleven o’clock at night, three hours after leaving Chicago. The lights were off except for a single lamp in Alicia’s room. Nathan stood in the driveway for a moment, gathering his courage, then walked up to the porch and knocked softly.
Marcus answered the door in his bathrobe, unsurprised. “Thought you might be coming.” “Is she awake?” “She is. Go on up.” Nathan climbed the stairs and knocked on Alicia’s door. “Can we talk?” There was a long pause, then “It’s open.” Alicia was sitting on her bed surrounded by textbooks and college information packets. She looked exhausted, and Nathan realized with a pang that she’d probably been losing sleep over this for weeks.
“Hi,” he said from the doorway. “Hi.” “Can I come in?” She nodded, and Nathan sat in the desk chair, keeping a respectful distance. “Your dad told me you’ve been worried about us, about what happens when you leave.” Alicia looked down at her hands. “It’s stupid.” “It’s not stupid. Talk to me, please.”
She was quiet for a long moment, and then it all came pouring out. “You lost your mom, your family fell apart, and then you came here and found us, and we were broken, too, but still together. And I just—I’m scared that I’m just convenient for you, that you’re only being nice to me because I’m filling some hole left by your mother, and once I’m gone to college and I’m not around all the time, you’ll realize you don’t actually care about me. You just cared about having someone to be a daughter figure, and then you’ll disappear, and Dad will be hurt, and everything will be ruined.” She was crying now, the words tumbling out in a rush.
Nathan felt his own throat tighten. “Alicia, look at me.” She raised her eyes, and they were red and frightened and so young. “I’m going to tell you something true,” Nathan said. “You’re not a replacement. You’re not filling a hole or being convenient or any of that. You’re just you, smart and funny and kind and more mature than I was at your age. I care about you because you’re remarkable, not because you remind me of anyone else.”
“My mother was—” He paused, choosing his words carefully. “She was a good person who had a hard life and didn’t always handle it well. We loved each other, but our relationship was complicated, painful sometimes.” He leaned forward, needing her to understand. “But with you, there’s no complication, there’s no pain, there’s just you being yourself, being brilliant and working hard and planning to change the world.
And yes, being part of your family has helped heal something in me, but not because you’re replacing someone, because you’re showing me what family can be when it’s healthy and real and built on actually caring about each other. But when I leave, when you leave, I’m still going to come back here every other weekend to check on your dad and help with the farm and probably burn dinner more often than not. I’m still going to call you every Sunday to hear about your classes and your research and whatever adventure you’re having in New York. And I’m going to be there for Thanksgiving and Christmas and spring break, if you want me there, because that’s what family does. They don’t stop being family just because someone goes to college.”