Page 79 of The Intruder

“You look great,” she assures me. “He’s going to love you.”

My mother told me my father disappeared after getting out of prison, so I assumed going to live with him was not an option. But when child services told him what happened and that I needed a home, he was apparently extremely eager to take me in. He told Amara that he came to my mother years ago, after first being released, wanting to have a relationship with me, and she refused to let him. She told him he was no good and she didn’t want a jailbird to be part of our family.

Really, she was probably just scared he would make her get rid of all her junk.

And now I’m supposed to go live with this man who I have never met before but who is apparently my father. And also, he went to prison for assault, although he has apparently been an upstanding citizen since the time of his release. To say I’m terrified is an understatement.

“He has a nice apartment,” Amara says. “Very clean. It’s only one bedroom, but he said he’ll sleep on the couch and you can have the bedroom. He’s going to be looking for a two-bedroom.”

“Okay,” I agree. I like the clean part best of all.

We climb out of the car and enter my father’s apartment building. He’s on the third floor, so we take the elevator upstairs. I’ve got a little suitcase with me full of clothing that Amara helped me buy. This is everything I own in the world—I don’t have very much since it all burned down in the fire. I don’t mind losing all my stuff though. It all smelled like rotten pumpkin anyway.

I am starting to panic by the time we get to the door of the apartment. My hands won’t stop shaking, and a billion thoughts are running through my head. After all this time, I’m finally going to meet my father. He’s really my father—they even did a test where they swabbed the inside of my cheek to make absolutely sure. But really, he’s a complete stranger. What if I don’t like him? What if he doesn’t like me? What if we like each other fine, but he snores really loudly and keeps me awake all night? What if we like each other, he doesn’t snore, but he likes terrible music and wants to play it all the time?

When I get in my head like this, it seems almost impossible that everything will go well.

A second later, the door swings open. A man of about forty stands there, a nervous smile on his lips. My father, I guess. I’ve been so scared about meeting this stranger, but now that I am looking at him, he looks super familiar to me. I don’t know why though.

“Hi, Elizabeth…Ella,” my father says.

“Hello,” I say softly.

We just stand there in silence for a few seconds until Amara bursts out, “You two look so much alike!”

Now it finally hits me. The reason my father looks so familiar is because he looks a lot like I do. His face is similar to the one I see looking back at me in the mirror—he has the same blue eyes, the same red-tinged brown hair, the same nose with the slight bump on the bridge, the same shape of his chin. And when Amara says that, he beams like she’s paid him the highest compliment.

“I’ve wanted to meet you for a long time, Ella,” my father tells me, speaking quickly like he’s excited or nervous, the way I sometimes do. “I called your mom a dozen times, and she wouldn’t let me talk to you. I even showed up at the door, but she said she would call the cops if I did it again, and since I was still on parole, I was worried I’d go back to prison. She even tried to convince me you weren’t mine, but I never believed that for a second. You’re a dead ringer for my mother, God rest her soul.”

A fresh wave of resentment toward my mother washes over me. There are days when I feel regret over what I did, but that vanishes in an instant—I should have done it sooner.

“We have a lot of catching up to do.” His smile widens. “Please, won’t you come in?”

Amara and I enter his apartment. The first thing I am struck by is how neat it is. The sofa is spotless, the carpet looks like it has been recently vacuumed, and there isn’t a speck of dirty laundry in sight. It’s the diametric opposite of the house where I used to live, and I love it. So much.

Amara leans in to whisper in my ear, “What do you think?”

I can only nod happily.

Before we drove out here, Amara swore to me that if I did not feel up to it, I would not have to stay this first night—that she would take me with her on her way out. When she is ready to leave, my father looks at me. “What do you think, Ella? Do you want to stay here with me?”

The answer is obvious. I couldn’t imagine going back to the group home when I have a chance to stay here. “Yes.”

“Good.” His eyes crinkle when he smiles in a way that I have already come to love. “Because I want you to stay here with me. There’s nothing more important than family.”

I agree. And I finally feel like I am with family who cares about me, here with my father.

“Do you know what an infinity promise is?” he asks me.

I shake my head.

“It’s the strongest kind of promise,” he says. “Sometimes people promise things and don’t mean it, but when you make an infinity promise, you have to keep it forever.” He looks me in the eyes. “And I want you to know that I infinity promise I will always be around to take care of you.”

“What happens if you break an infinity promise?”

“Well,” he says, “you get dysentery.”

Everything is different after that. My father isn’t perfect—he’s an ex-con and recovering alcoholic—but he tries his best to give me a good home. There’s always food in the refrigerator, and we do end up moving to a two-bedroom apartment where I get my own space, and he never once tries to lock me in a closet.