Jefferson would have carried her all the way home.
"Let me down, Papa, or you'll get tired," she says after a while, so he does, but she takes his hand and walks alongside him.
"I'm not tired," he grouses. "You don't weigh anything. You got taller, though."
Grace smiles up at him, her dimples showing as much as they did when she was a laughing toddler who used to dance around their hovel on top of his feet. "You look just the same, Papa."
Papa. Nobody has called him that for a long time. Hearing her say it feels like both a relief and an accusation. He still feels the weight of his choices.
"Do you—want to go home—to your other family?" he asks softly. In his haze of emotion, he realizes he hasn't even asked her what she wants.
Suddenly, her face clouds. "Do you—want me to go back to them?"
Realizing his mistake, Jefferson stops and kneels down in front of her again, cupping the side of her face with his hand. "That's—not what I meant, baby. I just—didn't want to force you to come with me. I don't deserve that."
Grace wraps her arms around his neck again, as if she's clinging on for dear life. Please don't leave me again, Papa. They're nice people, but they're not you."
Grace doesn't resist being picked up again, and this time, she hangs on and doesn't ask to be put down. By the time they reach Jefferson's part of town, his arms are about to fall off, but he doesn't even mind.
"We're home, Grace," he says, finally letting her down gently right in front of his home. Once again, she takes his hand and holds on tightly.
Jefferson watches his daughter's eyes widen as he leads her into the house. "This is beautiful, Papa," she says excitedly. "It's everything we didn't have in the Enchanted Forest!" He has often thought the same thing, finding bitter irony in the fact that he has everything he'd ever wanted, but without the love and happiness that had made his old life worth living. Now, through Grace's eyes, the bitterness begins to fade.
"It's all yours, Grace," he says. "We can redo your room, put anything in it that you want." He opens the door to the room, which already has a bed, dresser, and small desk in it, but is devoid of wallpaper or decoration.
"You're going to spoil me," Grace says, giggling. "In the forest, you were a little strict about working and playing and doing the right things at the right times."
"Give me time," he says, smiling. "I'm so happy to have my girl back that right now you could ask for the moon, and I would find a way to get it."
Just then, Jefferson's phone rings. He sees an unfamiliar number, but he picks it up. As soon as he hears the other voice, his stomach drops. It's Grace's foster mother, and he's suddenly very afraid he's going to get locked into a custody battle over his own daughter.
"And we'd be happy to bring over Paige's things." His brain finally registers what he's actually hearing. "We're just so happy for her to finally be back where she belongs."
Jefferson hangs up and takes a few deep breaths. "They're going to bring your clothes and other things over later tonight," he says. "But Grace, are you sure this is what you want? I'm just me, just Papa."
His little girl turns back to him from looking around her room, and she steps back out into the main part of the house. "Papa, all I ever wanted was to find you. Don't you want me?"
"Of course I do," he reassures her again, hugging her close. "But this is going to be a big change. I don't want you to miss them and regret staying with me."
Grace looks up into his eyes. "They don't belong to me, and I don't belong to them. That's the difference."
Jefferson nods, then tries to get his head back on straight. "Are you hungry, baby? Do you usually eat something after school?"
Grace cocks her head to the side, half smiling so her dimple pops out. "You still owe me a tea party."
The words feel like a knife to Jefferson's heart, but he forces himself to nod. "I'll—show you the kitchen."
He can't help remembering the years of pretend tea parties, of drinking pretend tea with his daughter's stuffed animals, of patiently listening while she told him what each fake pastry was supposed to taste like.
Grace follows him to the kitchen, still holding tightly to his had. He opens the pantry and points to a box. "Tea's in there," he says.
Grace opens the wooden box to find all kinds of tea, a myriad of flavors and types. "We never had the real thing in the forest!" she exclaims. Then, she turns to him. "Papa, why do you have so much tea? It's not like you had parties without me."
Jefferson nods. "No, baby, I—kept buying it because—I thought you might come home and want it some day." Grace's hug around his middle practically knocks the wind out of him. She turns back to the tea and selects a traditional black tea with strawberry. She'd always loved strawberries as a child.
"This one," she says, and he opens a cabinet across the room and takes down his ceramic teapot and two teacups.
"The real thing this time, for my baby," he says softly. "You don't have to pretend any more."
Grace looks up from measuring out the tea. "I didn't mind pretending, because I had you to make it feel real," she says. "I never played tea party with anybody else after you left." Jefferson masks his sudden emotion by putting water into the electric kettle and turning it on.
Jefferson watches as Grace carefully pours the hot water into the pot and stirs the tea leaves, as meticulous as ever about everything she does. "Are you okay, Papa?" she finally asks. "You're so quiet."
He doesn't know how to say that he feels too much to say much, that he's afraid if he talks, he'll weep. "Just so happy to have my girl back," he says, forcing himself to smile. Even as a very little girl, she'd been deeply empathetic and able to see straight through him. She looks like she thinks there's something more, but she doesn't press the issue.
After a couple of minutes, Grace sets the pot and cups on top of Jefferson's wooden table. "It's almost ready," she says, grinning. "I just wish the white rabbit was here."
"Baby, I'll get—I'll get you a new white rabbit," Jefferson says. "You can have a pet rabbit—a real one—if you want."
Grace giggles, and her laugh sounds to him like music. "You're spoiling me again."
She pours the tea and adds sugar, a little for him and a lot for her—some things haven't changed. "Here, Papa."
Jefferson takes his cup but doesn't drink right away. Instead, he watches across the table as Grace takes her first sip, his mind casting back to the days and years before, of watching her across the tiny table when she'd been smaller and the tea had been pretend.
Without even realizing it, Jefferson starts to cry. The tears that have been threatening to spill over all day finally push their way to the surface. He puts his head in his hands.
"Papa?"
"Baby, I'm just—so sorry I ever left you. You were right about everything, and I should have stayed." His shoulders heave. As much as he doesn't want to upset Grace, he's not getting out of this one. His long-unshed tears can't be suppressed any longer.
Grace gets up and comes around the table. Gently, she pushes Jefferson until she can come closer, and instinctively, he responds to what she wants, lifting her to sit on his lap. Even though she's grown taller, she still fits, curling into him with her arms around his neck and her head on his shoulder.
This is what she had always done during the long days when Jefferson's memory of his wife had been too much, when he'd cried for Alice. He can't even remember the first time; Grace had been so small he could hold her in the crook of one arm. Now she fills his lap, but the feeling is the same.
"I love you, Papa," she says softly. "I forgive you for leaving me."
Jefferson holds her very gently but very tightly. "I promise to be good to you," he says. "I'll—be a better father."
Grace takes his face in both of her small hands. "I just want my papa," she says. "I just want to be your Grace."
Your grace. It's the most apt thing in the world, because the definition of grace is "unmerited favor." Jefferson feels like the least deserving man in the world, but Grace''s love surrounds him like a healing balm.
He holds her for a long time while the tea goes cold, making up for the time apart with its loneliness and missed hugs. He rubs her back lightly, remembering how she'd used to like that, how it had soothed her and helped her go to bed when they'd first been alone.
"I'm going to fall asleep if you keep doing that," Grace finally says, her voice calm and soft. He likes the idea of tucking her into bed, one more mark of regained normalcy, but not at four o'clock in the afternoon.
Jefferson stands up with Grace still in his arms and sets her down lightly. "Let's get your room ready, so you can put your things in it when they get here." Father and daughter work side by side, putting sheets and pillows on Grace's bed and dusting off the unused furniture. This part isn't entirely unlike when they'd used to clean together in the old days, and Jefferson finds his equilibrium returning.
They're almost finished when Jefferson hears a knock at the door. He's apprehensive as he goes to answer it. What if Grace decides that she wants to go back after all? What if his fairy tale is actually a nightmare?
"Jefferson." Both the man and wife who had once been his neighbors shake his hand, setting down a suitcase and a trunk in the entryway of the house.
"Thank you for taking care of Grace," he says. They certainly deserve that much. "I never—intended for it to be so long."
Grace hangs back a little. "Sweetheart," says the woman, "will you come and give us a hug?" The little girl does, and Jefferson watches intently for signs of regret or evidence that she might be doubting her choice.
"We'll always be there if you need us," says the man, letting Grace go after a brief embrace. "But we always knew we were taking care of you for somebody else."
"Thank you," Grace says, but she walks the few steps back to Jefferson and takes his hand. "You were always kind to me, and you kept me safe for my papa."
The woman wipes away a tear, but she motions to her husband. "Let's go, honey. They're all right now." Jefferson has every intention of inviting these people to be a continuing part of Grace's life, but now is not that time. She's too fragile, and she needs to security of knowing where she belongs.
"Papa," she says after a moment, "please don't leave me again."
It hurts, but it's a deserved hurt. "I promise, baby," he says.
The two of them go to work unpacking Grace's things, and Jefferson smiles to himself at how pink and bright and joyful her clothes and shoes and books are. She may have grown a little older, but she's still the same little girl who'd loved butterflies and cakes and sitting on his knee. Finally, after an hour has passed, Grace's room looks a little more like somewhere a little girl might live, and her clothes fill the closet.
"Do you have homework?" Jefferson is enough of a father to have the thought occur to him.
"A little," Grace says.
"You should—do that before dinner." He's out of practice of giving directives, and it sounds strange to him coming out of his mouth.
"Do I have to?" Grace asks, but she's smiling, and he can't help feeling like it's a little bit of a test.
"Yes," he answers, "but—we can have a dance first." Grace's eyes light up as he takes his phone and finds music, something slow and sweet, like his wife had loved.
Jefferson leads Grace into the living room and then bows theatrically. "Madam, may I have this dance?"
"Of course, Papa!" Grace laughs and takes his hand. She no longer needs to stand on his feet, but she lets him lead her through the steps. Maybe it's a little awkward and a little unsure, just like everything else, but if it's uncertain, it's also precious.
"I'll get better," Grace laughs, accidentally stepping on her father's toes.
"No doubt," Jefferson agrees, dipping her dramatically before reaching over and turning off the music. "But now, homework."
Grace groans. "You'll have to help me with pre-Algebra. I hate it."
"It's worse than a curse," he agrees, putting a comforting arm around her, "but we'll get through it together."
Jefferson sits beside her on the sofa as she opens her textbooks, unwilling to let her out of his sight. There will be time to establish routines and figure out their life together. For now, he's content to be next to her, to know that she's his, and she's right where she belongs.