The Goldfinch

Chapter 6 | Part 5

THE GOOD THING: I was pleased at how nice my dad was being. He'd been taking me out to dinners—nice dinners, at white-tablecloth restaurants, just

the two of us—at least once a week. Sometimes he invited Boris to come, invitations Boris always jumped to accept—the lure of a good meal was powerful enough to override even the gravitational tug of Kotku—but strangely, I found myself enjoying it more when it was just my dad and me.
"You know," he said, at one of these dinners when we were lingering late over dessert—talking about school, about all sorts of things (this new, involved dad! where had he come from?)—"you know, I really have enjoyed getting to know you since you've been out here, Theo."
"Well, uh, yeah, me too," I said, embarrassed but also meaning it.
"I mean—" my dad ran a hand through his hair—"thanks for giving me a second chance, kiddo. Because I made a huge mistake. I never should have let my relationship with your mother get in the way of my relationship with you. No, no," he said, raising his hand, "I'm not blaming anything on your mom, I'm way past that. It's just that she loved you so much, I always felt like kind of an interloper with you guys. Stranger-in-my-own-house kind of thing. You two were so close—" he laughed, sadly—"there wasn't much room for three."
"Well—" My mother and I tiptoeing around the apartment, whispering, trying to avoid him. Secrets, laughter. "I mean, I just—"
"No, no, I'm not asking you to apologize. I'm the dad, I'm the one who should have known better. It's just that it got to be a kind of vicious circle if you know what I mean. Me feeling alienated, bummed-out, drinking a lot. And I never should have let that happen. I missed, like, some really important years in your life. I'm the one that has to live with that."
"Um—" I felt so bad I didn't know what to say.
"Not trying to put you on the spot, pal. Just saying I'm glad that we're friends now."
"Well yeah," I said, staring into my scraped-clean crème brûlée plate, "me too."
"And, I mean—I want to make it up to you. See, I'm doing so well on the sports book this year—" my dad took a sip of his coffee—"I want to open you a savings account. You know, just put a little something aside. Because, you know, I really didn't do right by you as far as your mom, you know, and all those months that I was gone."
"Dad," I said, disconcerted. "You don't have to do that."
"Oh, but I want to! You have a Social Security number, don't you?"

"Sure."
"Well, I've already got ten thousand set aside. That's a good start. If you think about it when we get home, give me your Social and next time I drop by the bank, I'll open an account in your name, okay?"