Relatives encouraged him to meet someone.
Friends invited him to dinners where a single woman always happened to be seated nearby.
Dad declined every invitation.
Once, about four years after Mom was gone, I told him she would not have wanted him to spend the rest of his life alone.
He looked at me with an expression I never forgot.
“I am not alone, Maya.”
He squeezed my hand.
“I have you.”
The answer broke my heart more than I allowed him to see.
I loved my father.
But I was his daughter.
I could not be his entire future.
Then, almost overnight, something changed.
The Dating Profile
I first noticed on a Saturday afternoon.
Dad sat at the kitchen table in the fictional town of Briar Glen, holding his telephone with both hands.
His reading glasses rested low on his nose.
He was smiling at the screen.
Not politely.
Not because someone had sent him a joke.
It was the nervous, hopeful smile of a man remembering that someone might still find him interesting.
“What are you looking at?”
Dad locked the screen immediately.
“Nothing.”
I raised one eyebrow.
He lasted fewer than ten seconds.
“I made a profile.”
“A dating profile?”
He nodded, suddenly looking embarrassed.
“I can delete it.”
“Why would you delete it?”
“I don’t know. Maybe this is ridiculous at my age.”
I crossed the kitchen and hugged him.
Dad remained stiff for a moment.
Then he wrapped his arms around me.
“I think Mom would approve,” I said.
“I hope so.”
His voice was quiet.
Soon, he began meeting women.
He told me about each one before the date.
The first was a librarian named Ruth who loved old detective novels.
The second owned a small pie shop.
The third volunteered at an animal rescue center.
A fourth taught music lessons.
A fifth worked as an office manager.
The sixth was a retired physical therapist who enjoyed hiking.
Dad sounded hopeful every time.
He cleaned his car.
Ironed his shirt.
Asked whether his shoes looked too formal.
He never acted like a man hunting for someone younger or more glamorous.
