Page 756 of The Tempted

Dear Daddy,

I have never been much for letters. I never kept a diary when I was younger and I can count on both hands how many times I wrote to Anthony when he went away. Yet, writing to you seems almost painless. In fact, it might be the best idea I’ve ever had.

The beauty of writing a letter is that I have the final say. You can’t interrupt me and put your two cents into my conversation, all you can do is listen. Well, not really listen but you know what I mean.

Before my words bleed onto these pages and I profess the truth of our relationship, I want you to do me a favor. I want you to think back; I want you to collect all the memories we’ve created but only the ones that made you smile. Go on, my words can wait, just do it. Go all the way back, to the day I was born, and you held me in your arms for the first time.

Knowing you, you’re skeptical, looking for the catch hidden within my request but I assure you Daddy, there is no catch, no gimmick, this is just a daughter trying to reconnect with her father one last time. I want to see if my memories match yours and I hope I can add to your list, reminding you of some of the great ones I’ll always cherish.

I was five years old; it was my first time riding my brand new bike, the one with the pretty pink basket on the front and the little bell I pretended was a horn. You remember the one, don’t you? It was my first bike without training wheels and you couldn’t wait to teach me how to ride it. With a steady hand, you guided me, balanced me until I got the hang of it and then, and only then, did you let go. I flew down the block, listening to your laughter fade behind me.

I did it! I rode a two-wheeler. All thanks to you.

The next day, I fell off my bike and broke my arm. You met me and Mom at the hospital just in time for the doctor to tell us it was broken and needed a cast for six weeks. I remember being scared, so scared but then you held my good hand as they fitted the cast and promised everything would be okay. You were the first person to sign my cast and I still remember the stick figures meant to resemble you and me that you drew.

I was eight years old, and it was my First Holy Communion. You and Mommy threw me this huge party, and it was the first time you and I ever danced to ‘Daddy’s Little Girl’. The dance started off with me standing on top of your loafers and ended with me in your arms.

Do you know how many times I’ve caught you playing that video over and over? Always rewinding the tape after the song is over to watch it again. I lost count how many times but it was many.

I was eleven years old, and we went to Saratoga for the summer. You took me to the track and showed me the racing form and let me pick the horse in the fourth race. Native Dancer came in first and you won a whole lot of money. I don’t remember how much but you gave me a cut and told me not to tell Mommy.

We went to the track a lot after that and I grew to love horse racing. I don’t know if it was the thrill of winning or the thrill of spending time with you.

I was thirteen when you took me on my first date. I didn’t know it was a date at the time. I thought it was just one of our typical father-daughter dinners. You remember those don’t you? The nights you would take me to Villa Pasquette restaurant and had the owners Gino and Maria serenade me at the table. Anyway, back to the date, I was thirteen and instead of going to dinner with my father I wanted to hang out with my friends. I didn’t want to go, but you insisted I did and promised it would be the last time.

After work you picked me up and handed me a bouquet of flowers. I looked at you like you were crazy but then you told me, “Remember, Adrianna, a good man will always try to remember the little details.”

That night you tried to teach me what I should expect from a boy. You told me to set my standards high and never allow a boy to disrespect me. “To some you’ll just be a girl, but to one you’ll be the world.”

I didn’t need for you to show me how a woman deserved to be treated because for thirteen years I watched you treat my mother with the utmost respect. And long before that last dinner we had at Villa Pasquette, I knew I wanted to walk in my mother’s shoes one day. I wanted the man I married to look at me, treat me and love me just the way you loved my mom.

Even now, at twenty-nine, married to the love of my life and two kids—you and Mom’s story is still my favorite one ever written. Thank you for loving my mom.

I was fifteen, almost sixteen and learning how to drive. I had taken lessons, but I was still nervous about failing my upcoming road test. You had a Lincoln at the time, a navy blue one to be exact, and you didn’t even let Mommy drive it. But you let me drive it. You took me out every Sunday morning for thirteen weeks, showed me how to parallel park, how to pop a U-turn and when I told you I was afraid of the highway, you tricked me into driving straight onto the Belt Parkway and over the Verrazano bridge. I passed my road test thanks to you. Thank you for teaching me to face my fears.

It was my sweet Sixteen, and we were on our way to the catering hall when you pulled out a tiny velvet box and gave me a pair of diamond hoop earrings. I had wanted them so badly and I remember you telling me in the limo “I never disappointed you yet and I’m not about to now.”

I cherished those earrings. Still do and when Victoria is sixteen, I will pass them down to her.

Even when things got tricky for us, and I started to date Anthony, the dynamic between us, that incredible bond a daughter only has with her father, well, it shined through, allowing us to still build great memories.

Like the subway series tickets, you surprised me with. You wore your Mets gear, and I wore my Yankee gear, we ate hotdogs and rooted for our separate teams, never truly allowing our differences outweigh the bond we created throughout the years.

And differences we had.

I wish we would’ve done things differently. I wish you would’ve talked to me about how you were feeling instead of acting out of fear. I wish you would’ve remembered that before everything, my first role in life was your daughter and I’d always be your girl.

The years Anthony served in jail, I wish I would’ve been courageous enough to tell you how much I missed you. I wish I would’ve found the strength to tell you how much I needed one more memory. Maybe a trip to the racetrack would’ve reminded us of all the memories we made and the ones we still had to make.

We lost three years of our bond to fear and resentment when all we needed to do was be honest with one another.

If you would’ve come to me, I would’ve told you all the things I am now about to say.

I will always be your little girl.

I took your advice and found a man who always remembers the little details.

A man who is a lot like you.

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