Driving with Cameron on the way to San Jose (we did know the way!), I curled into the fetal position and began to sob uncontrollably. Like a true woman, the feeling came before the thinking. I was glad I had agreed to let Cameron drive me. A plane ride in this condition would have been an uncomfortable experience for all the other passengers.

We checked into the motel in Watsonville, and, although the room Cameron had reserved was not yet ready, I practically threw him and the bags out of the car.

“This is something I have to do by myself,” I told him. He agreed to stay at the hotel so I could drive to my father’s house alone, but I did feel a little guilty as I peeled out of the driveway while he watched with a bewildered look on his face.

On the way there I battled with disbelief.

“Where are you going, again?” I asked myself.

“To meet your father,” I answered.

I smarted back, in my best Russian accent, “Dunt be reedeeckyooluss!“

When I arrived at the house, he came outside to greet me. He gave me the longest, warmest hug I have ever received. I was ashamed and surprised at my reaction. You are hugging a total stranger in the middle of nowhere. WHAT IF HE’S DARTH VADER?!!!

Having my fantasies materialize into flesh and blood was a terrifying experience. It was like when I met Mickey Mouse at Disneyland when I was five. Instead letting him hug me like the rest of the kids, I hid behind my mother. The reality that I am this man’s daughter was starting to hit me. What responsibilities would come with this job? What were his expectations, and could I live up to them?

When The Longest Hug In The History of the World finally ended (which, I believe, was the following Tuesday), I asked to see his horses. We walked hand in hand up the hill to where they were grazing, and I tried to disguise the fact that I am actually terrified of horses, having had a bad experience when I was young. I patted a few of his pets and hoped I could learn to enjoy them.

Relieved to get that over with, we then headed over to his mom’s house. She lives in Richmond, which is about an hour and a half away. On the drive over we shared music. I played for him some of the songs I have written, although, after having read his blog and lyrics online, I feared he would think they were juvenile fluff, which they probably are. He listened intently to every line, every note, without interrupting or saying a word, which told me that he knew what these songs meant to me. To my surprise they seemed to mean something to him, too. He got all choked up and wiped tears from his eyes.

“Why are you crying?” I asked.

“You have no idea how it feels as a musician,” he responded, “to hear your offspring create music.”

“I love music,” I said. “But all my life I have felt this emptiness inside me that it couldn’t fill,” I told him. “I couldn’t figure out what it was. I have a husband who adores me, showers me with gifts, but no matter how much I had, I just couldn’t fill this hole inside.”

“I made some cds for you today,” he said. (How funny, I thought, I was going to do the same thing for him.) “I want to play you one of the songs.”

So he did. The song’s chorus was something like “I cannot make you happy… because there is a break in the cup that holds love.”

“How did you know that was how I felt?” I sobbed. He squeezed my arm, and I felt the break in the cup start to close.