Apparently Dad had the same idea. He finishes his lap, surfacing when he sees me and folding his arms at the edge of the pool. Water drips from his salt-and-pepper hair onto his tanned skin and he pushes his goggles onto his forehead before closing his eyes, tilting his face up to the sky. I would do anything to not have to see my father this worried.

I sit down, sliding my feet into the water next to him. We sit in easy silence while he catches his breath.

“Hey, Tulip.”

“Hey, dude.”

I slip the rest of the way into the pool, relishing the mild chill of the unheated water in September. When I break through the surface, I ask, “You hanging in there?”

He laughs without much humor, stripping his goggles off completely and tossing them onto his towel a few feet away. “Not really.” He’s still breathless. Dad is in unbelievable shape; he must have been swimming like a maniac. “You?”

I shrug. For some reason, I don’t feel like I have a right to be as shaken by all of this as Dad is. After all, he in particular has always been my most involved parent. Mom’s career exploded when I was only two and tapered just as I was entering college. Dad’s took off my sophomore year of high school, the first year he won an Oscar. He loves us with a ferocity that amazes me, but I know without question that Mom is his sun, moon, and stars.

“Did you go into the office this morning?” I ask.

He smiles, clearly noting my diversionary tactic. “Only for about an hour. Thinking about getting involved with Sal’s next project. It’d keep me home until April, at least.”

Salvatore Marìn is a producer/director who is Dad’s closest friend and most frequent work colleague. I know the question of work has to have been weighing on Dad: how to balance his career while still being there for Mom in every sense of the word. Dad’s never in one place for long, and so I’m sure the idea of having to leave right now, of missing anything with Mom, must be terrifying.

“That sounds ideal,” I say simply, going for light.

“I think you’d like this one.” His smile changes into one I haven’t seen for a while, genuine and mischievous. “It’s about a bunch of guys on a boat.”

“Very funny.” I splash him. I’ve missed his laughter and his easy smiles, so if letting him hassle me about Finn, or any other boy, makes them happen more often, he can do it as much as he wants.

“So what’d you end up doing last night?”

I dunk underwater quickly, slicking my hair back. “Went to Lola’s.”

I can feel him watching me, waiting. He’s used to getting every detail. “And? Was it fun?”

“It was okay,” I hedge and look at him, squinting into the sun. “Funny thing, actually . . . Finn was there.”

His eyebrows slowly inch up. “Finn, huh?”

I’ve always relied on Dad’s brain to help me sort through my day, my frustrations, my adventures. So of course he knows the PG-rated details of my Vegas trip: We met at a bar, got drunk and married. After a sharp cut-to-black in the version of the story he got, I told him about how we went together to get the marriage annulled the next afternoon.

But he also knows I flew up to visit Finn for less than a day. So when I mention that he was at the party last night, I’m pretty sure my dad puts two and two together.

“It was a good distraction . . .” I mumble, even more quietly admitting, “not that much happened.”

His eyes dance with restrained teasing. “He’s in town for the grand opening?”

I nod, leaving out the part where it seems Finn is staying for a couple weeks. I can’t decide if I’m excited about this news, or irritated. As if I don’t already have enough to think about, now I’m going to be forced into seeing him every time I want to socialize?

Dad watches me as I doodle in the dry concrete with a wet fingertip. I’ve never had to hide my interest in boys, my distress over girl-dramas, or my fears and anxiety about life from him. Growing up, our deal was that as long as I always came to him first with the big things, he would do his best not to lecture, judge, or go into what mom calls his Protective Latin Rage.

“Distractions are sometimes nice,” he says, watching me. The problem with being raised by such an amazing man is that it’s nearly impossible not to compare every boy I meet to him. Every single one falls short.

I shrug.

“With everything going on in your life, it’s too bad he lives so far away.”

I look over at him. “He’s here for a couple of weeks.”

Dad laughs at my grim expression and lifts himself out of the pool. Water pours off him into puddles at his feet, reflecting a hundred dots of sun on the ground.

“I adore you, my beautiful, fierce girl.” He bends for a towel and dries off his chest and arms as he says, “And I know you. I bet you’re thinking of all the reasons why you shouldn’t spend time with him.”

“Of course I shouldn’t—”

He cuts me off with a hand gently raised in the air. “I know you never let anything come before family; that’s how I raised you. But soon you’ll want to be at every appointment, sitting nearby for every possible second. You’ll be online, reading every detail you can find. You’ll be hovering, offering her food, a sweater, movies, gifts. I’ll be doing the same. And together we will drive your mother crazy.” Crouching down in front of me, he whispers, “Please, Tulip, let yourself be distracted when you can. Have some fun. I envy you.”

OLIVER’S HOUSE IS a tiny, single-story stucco cottage in Pacific Beach, with ocean-breeze-dulled blue paint and faded, chipped red windowsills. The sidewalk out front is cracked and uneven, and the lawn is a mottled calico of yellow, green, and brown. Unlike his glossy new store downtown, this place isn’t much to look at. But I know the area well enough to guess what it cost him and that being able to climb up to his roof at night and see the sunset over the ocean is part of the appeal.

After swimming for a while, I’d gone inside to find Mom and Dad in the living room, cuddled together on the couch and reading their books in easy silence.

I offered to make them lunch. They weren’t hungry. I offered to run some errands. They had nothing for me to do. So I stood, fidgeting at the perimeter of the room until Dad looked up at me and gave me a sad little smile.

Mom will need me, but she doesn’t need me today. She doesn’t need anyone but her guy, and what he needs is to be her entire world right now.