The rest of the story

He didn’t realize it at the time, but Grant simultaneously backed me into a corner and gave me an opening the other day with his funny statistic about my dad’s music.

I’ve known almost since the moment I met him that I was going to have to tell him who I am and where I came from, but I put it off for a long time.

I’m not sure why I’m so reluctant to tell people who my dad is. I’m certainly not ashamed of him. I love him. I miss him. I’m proud of him — professionally because he was phenomenally talented, and personally because he had the courage to right a wrong that was entirely of his own making.

So why don’t I mention his name? I’m not sure. Habit, maybe — I never talked about him in front of Mom, because it was just too painful for her (and for both of us, really), and then after I lost Mom, and Dad came back into my life, I frequently found myself lost in his shadow, with people either giving or requesting favors because I was a celebrity’s daughter. I never could get used to that. Too much time spent in anonymity, I guess.

Whatever the reason, I knew that if I was going to get in very deep with Grant, I owed him some background information, but I wasn’t sure when or how to break it to him.

Mention it too soon, and you sound arrogant, like, “Oh, look at me, my daddy is famous.” Mention it too late, and he wonders what else you’ve been keeping from him. And I was scared of his reaction. Would he be impressed? Intimidated? Starstruck? Or would he think I was just making it up to impress him? Every one of those responses would be wrong. Every one of those responses had ended a relationship somewhere in my past. And coming from Grant, any one of those responses would be disappointing beyond words.

“He’s my dad,” I said, searching Grant’s face for a reaction.

“Really?”

“Really.”

Grant looked at me intently for a long moment, brushing a lock of hair away from my face. “You have his eyes,” he said.

You have his eyes. We could have been talking about any woman, any father, any ordinary family.

I stood up, leaned over the back of the couch, and wrapped my arms around Grant’s shoulders. “God, I love you,” I whispered, and I kissed his cheek, choking back tears as I realized just how happy Dad would be to know his little girl had found a man who got it.

— Sierra

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