And he didn't waste any time. New state, new city, new job, new wife, new kids. I'm surprised he kept his name.

"You know, I reached out to you a lot-called you all the time," he said. "I sent you letters, presents on holidays and your birthday." Eyes on the road ahead, he continued. "I never heard back more than a cursory thanks, then those stopped, too. So years later I finally gave up and just figured you'd contact me when you were ready to."

How could my mom have let this happen? He turned left and headed up a steep San Francisco hill. Like the ones you see on postcards. "I'm so sorry," I said softly. "I just always thought..."

"I know. I'm sorry, too. But it's all behind us now." He took one hand off the steering wheel and held mine. "Right, Magsababy? Do you remember I used to call you that?"

I didn't. I wish I had.

He pulled into the driveway of a beautiful Victorian home. The kind pictured on the San Francisco postcards right next to the steep hills.

"Will you stay?" he asked.

The bigger question was would I ever want to leave?

Chapter 53.

DAY 11-LATE NIGHT.

My dad's wife, Ella, smelled like caramel. I couldn't tell if it was some lotion or cream or perfume she was wearing, or just her inner sweetness, as she enveloped me in a huge hug. I was taken aback by her greeting, having only met her once when I was ten and Dad just showed up at our apartment with her to see me and Cooper, who was three at the time. I was even more taken aback when two teenagers sauntered into the foyer.

"Hey, I'm Jimmy."

"Hey, I'm Roxanne."

"Hey, I'm Maggie."

I shook their hands, which felt totally goofy, but a hug was overkill and nothing felt like, well, too much of nothing.

"Nice to finally meet you guys," I said.

"I like your nails," Roxanne (who, though she looked to be my age, must have been around fifteen years old, I calculated) said, looking at what was left of my Sweet'N Low nails, which now read "Swe ' Lo." She had neon-orange-painted nails.

"Yours too."

We made some awkward small talk, but then eased into more comfortable conversation. I found out Roxanne was into soccer, movie musicals, weird hair accessories, and writing poetry. Jimmy played guitar, was the star of his school's basketball team, had a 3.8 grade point average, and had already broken a few hearts.

"Well," Ella said after a while, "it's a school night, so kids, time to go up to bed."

"Awww..." Roxanne and Jimmy both moaned.

They all kissed each other good-night. Then Ella said, "I'm heading up, too. You and your father have a lot of catching up to do." She kissed my dad, and gave me another caramel hug before leaving.

Dad brought me into the living room. "I think we need some espresso, don't you?" It was clear that we both wanted to stay up as long as possible.

"Make mine a double."

"Done."

He smiled and disappeared into the kitchen. I sat down on a cushy comfy couch by a roaring fire. Where did that description even come from? Fires don't roar. Maybe they crackle. Or if they roar, it's when a house is burning down or something tragic like that. Huge dark teak bookcases on all walls surrounded me, each filled with colorful books on art, design, music, and literature. Beautiful abstract paintings filled up the rest of the wall space, and sculptures and carvings were on tables and shelves. The ceiling had two large skylights with stars pouring in, making the house more celestial than it already was, if that was even possible. Was this Ella's taste? In the car Dad mentioned she worked in a museum. Or could it be Dad's? Thanks to Mom, I didn't even know what my dad's taste was. That killed me.

His kids seemed great-no concern or fear that I was going to step in and steal their father's affections away from them. Probably because it was clear he and their mom had plenty to go around. Like parents should.

Dad came in with a tray, cappuccinos steaming from blue glass cups. He handed me one then sat close next to me. We talked for hours. He asked a million questions-wanted to know everything about me. So opposite of Mom. I kept trying to bring it back to him.

"Why'd you stop playing piano?" I asked. "Wasn't music your art? Your life?"

"Well, the way I was doing it was probably going to end my life at a very early age."

"Don't you miss it?"

"I'm around it every day," he explained. "I've been teaching music to kids for years now. I love teaching."

"But is that creative enough for you?"

"The way I see it, I know how many kids I've inspired. I've sparked the love of music in them so they'll carry on creativity for me exponentially."

"That's very cool."

"And what about your art?" he asked. "I Google you all the time. I saw your collages. They're incredible."

"You do? You did? They are?"

"I've even left some comments on collageaweek.com. I'm PP. Stands for Proud Pop."

Achh... he was killin' me. "Well, you're not the only Google stalker. Check this out." I went to the computer sitting on a side table and navigated to my YouTube channel. I showed him the video montage I had made of him playing in bands.

Now he was crying. "Wow. That's really something." He stood up, wiping his eyes with a linen napkin he'd brought in with our coffees. "How about a refill before we both turn into blubbering idiots?"

"Excellent plan."

This time Dad came back with chocolate biscotti. He put two on the cup's saucer for me.

"Dad?" I said, then stopped myself. "Well, first off, can I call you that?"

"Of course you can. I'd love nothing more."

I got serious. Down to business. "Did you think Mom was THE ONE when you met her?"

He smiled. "Yeah, I did. But luckily I found out that there doesn't have to be just one ONE."

"Hmm... good point."

"Why? Is there someone special in your life?" he asked.

I choked a little on my biscotti. "Oh, that's too long of a twisted tale to tell."

"I've got all night if you're game," he said. "I want to know you, Maggie."

How could I deny my dad that when I wanted the exact same thing from him?

"Well, then for starters, call me Mags. Or Magsababy is fine, too."

I told him everything. From my five-year-old love affair with Boo through every middle school and high school boyfriend and after, through to Jason. I even included Mark, all leading up to Mr. WTF.

When I finished that whole story, Dad just said, "Wow, how magical."

"Magical? It's been disastrous!"

"That's the beauty of life," he said, in a tone he probably used with his students. "There's always going to be both-magic and disaster-and we get to decide which to put our focus on."

He sounded exactly like Liza. Maybe she was really his daughter and some ABC Family Switched at Birth incident had occurred.

"That's easier said than done," I spouted. "I just want to meet my soul mate. I want this," I said, motioning around to everything that was my dad's life now. "But it's clearly not gonna happen with this mystery guy."

"And why not?" my dad asked.

"S.H.A.R.I. and Whitney are the type most men in L.A. want, not me."

"Well, if that's the case, wouldn't this guy have just gone for that in the first place rather than plan this elaborate hunt? He's obviously looking for more. What kind of person would even follow the hunt to begin with?"

"I guess someone adventurous, who appreciates creativity."

"You. And?"

"Um... someone who has to use their smarts and wits to figure things out."

"You. And?"

"Someone who believes in destiny?"

"You?"

I wasn't sure of the answer. I just shrugged. Maybe it was time to lower the gloves from my stance of protection and really believe. After all, the curse was broken. Or was never even there to begin with.

He moved in closer to me on the couch. He even smelled like I always thought a father should smell, like pipe tobacco and musk. "I can tell you have a spark, Maggie. Mags. You're a light bulb. Even when things around you may seem dim. Who wouldn't want a girl like that?"

"Oh, dads are supposed to say that." I think I was blushing. "Especially ones that have been estranged for years."

"I'm not just saying it. Don't let your roommate or the model get to you. Be stronger. Be brighter."

Here I was giving in to bullshitty, patriarchal values where a woman's worth is based solely on her looks. I could fight those values to the death, supporting any other girl or woman who felt degraded or less than. But when it came to myself? Not so much.

I felt like I had just woken up from a deep, unconscious slumber.

"You're right."

And I always have given up on things before seeing them through. Maybe to keep myself from inevitable hurt or failure, ultimately harming myself more by quitting, I thought. "So you think I should finish the hunt?"

"If you don't, won't you always be wondering?"

Dad was totally right again. After all, look at how many years I had been wondering about him.

Chapter 54.

DAY 12-MORNING.

Dad and I stayed up talking until 6:00 a.m. and I woke up at 8:00 a.m. feeling like a queen in a king's bed. Well, a king bed-for the first time ever in my whole, I might add! And the fluffiest down comforter and pillows in the history of man AND womankind. If Dad and Ella had known I was coming, for sure there would have been freesias and tulips arranged just so on my nightstand.

I could hear excited chatter downstairs, so despite only getting two hours of sleep, I hoisted my weary body out of the magic bed. I took what was, of course, the best shower I had ever taken in my entire life-with citron, honey and coriander body scrub and hibiscus shampoo. And it didn't matter that I hadn't brought a toothbrush. I opened a drawer and there were several unopened new ones, presumably for guests like me. Now I wondered if they had a fresh supply of underwear for overnight visitors. But a little water, scrub, and a blow-dryer did the trick and were all I needed to feel like a new girl.

I could smell pancakes and bacon cooking, and like some cartoon-where the fumes drift under the door and go right into your nostrils and then carry you down the stairs by the nose to the kitchen-I was suddenly there.

"Roxanne, no texting at the table. Phone down," Ella called out. "Good morning, Maggie," she said, as she handed me a glass of fresh-squeezed orange juice. "Did you sleep well?" She hugged me again. Today she smelled like mocha.

"Amazing. That bed..."

"I know. I'm surprised you were able to even get up! Sit there," she said, pointing to an empty chair.

"Hey."

"Hey."

"Hey."

My half- sibs and I greeted each other.

"Pass me the pancakes," Jimmy said to his mother.

"Please," she added.

"Please what?"