“Now open them!”
“Put it on!”
“For breakfast?”
“For forever!”
I clipped it to the shirt.
She studied me, then nodded.
“Perfect!”
Then she turned serious.
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“Daddy, when I get married, you have to wear this.”
“This exact tie?”
She nodded.
“Put it on!”
“Promise?”
I kissed her forehead.
“I promise.”
I kept that tie for 26 years.
Through scraped knees, braces I could barely afford, her first school dance, and college move-in day.
I still had it even on the night Ashley called after her first heartbreak.
“Dad?” she whispered.
“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” I asked, alarmed.
I kept that tie for 26 years.
“Can I come home?”
“You never have to ask.”
My daughter drove three hours that night.
I stayed awake until I heard her key turn in the lock.
Ashley was 32 when she got engaged to Antonio.
I liked him immediately.
“You never have to ask.”
He listened when my daughter spoke and never treated her dreams as if they were silly.
