Oliver Ausman Lives Again

thirty

My sneakers clunk against the white steps of the porch before coming to a stop in front of the door. This is it. This is the end of the journey. He's either here, or he isn't.

I look back to the group, but bushes block the view of where we parked. I can't see them anymore. I'm on my own, the way I asked to be, but I'm not sure if it was the right choice. Kat and Charlie have been pushing me along this whole time, and now it's up to me to take the final steps.

My face is reflected against the glass window of the front door-- I fix my hair, buying time, wondering if I'll see the face I'm looking at now in Isaac at all.

It's like back at the hotel-- I've been waiting for this moment for what's felt like forever, and yet I can't seem to make myself face it. I've had days to prepare, way more time than I thought, and I'm still not ready. What if it's someone else again? If he isn't here, will I ever get to meet him? 

I force myself to take a deep breath, even though I know from the rest of this trip that deep breaths can only do so much. It isn't enough to stop my stomach from churning or my hands from shaking. 

I've made it this far; there's no going back now. I press a finger against the ornate doorbell and it chimes loudly inside, the soothing melody stirring my nerves even more. I rock on my heels, waiting for an answer. 

The beige curtains behind the door sway slightly and I freeze in place. My heart pounds faster, faster, faster. 

The handle turns and the door squeaks open, revealing a broad man in a plaid shirt and worn jeans. He offers me a smile and a tilt of his head, stepping out of the house. 

"Can I help you?" he asks. His voice is familiar-- he sounds like Peter. I want to see myself in him, but mostly I just see a younger Peter with darker hair and eyes.

There's no doubt in my mind that this is him. Isaac, standing right in front of me. After all those miles and setbacks I'm finally here, looking into the brown, smiling eyes of my father.

I realize I'm staring. "Um-- are you... You're Isaac Ausman, right?"

"I am. And you are...?" He leans against the doorframe, a picture of casual confidence, exactly the opposite of how I must look. It's really him. It's really him, and the first thing I've ever said to my father is officially "um."

Just like the house, he looks alarmingly normal. Again, I don't know what I was expecting. I guess Kat's theory about the guys and Peter's repeated warnings had me worried, wondering what kind of guy he might turn out to be. But Isaac is well-kept and polite, and there's something about him that radiates magnetic self-assurance. He looks like the definition of an ideal father.

"I'm Oliver." I feel stiff as I force myself to speak. "Carol's son."

His eyebrows raise, and he steps back, looking me over. "Oliver. I-- Wow. I haven't seen you since you were..."