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`/(V# E")(,#U&-)<&--)Y'#XU)",--5#N(&$$)"*#L/(#U%10#T&+)"3#O+&#D10$/(&%V#$$ $$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$a^$$ $ $$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$# * D+,$(&%#U)7&M#O+&#!",9)-)(5#(1#U1%*&(## C&,(+&%#Q@#C/"(&%Y'#XO%,7&-)"*#(+&#O11:P/<+:!".1%0,()1"#C)*+>,5V## E05#`)((0,"Y'#XO+&#!"(&%"&(#N()--#O+)"='#!Y0#`%&*","(V## # # # # ########bI########### # # D+,$(&%#N);M#J&<1""&<()1"# O%[#P)--&%#J13%c*/&dY'#XE#C/'9,"3#Q1'(8#E#R,/*+(&%#U1/"3V## Q1%)#E51(&&Y'#XE#D/-(/%&#e,$#O+&#N)d&#1.#E"#L<&,"8#T%)3*&3#T5#U,<&911=V## ######################^^# # # D1"<-/')1"## # # # # # # # # # ######################fF# # # T)9-)1*%,$+5## # # # # # # # # # ######################ff# 1 INTRODUCTION At a Café in Copenhagen There was nothing about Helene that was inherently strange, and it took me an embarrassingly long time to realize that my discomfort arose from the fact that there was initially nothing about her that reminded me of my mom—the only other person who has managed to mollify my dad through compassion and intimacy. Sitting across from her at Café Reuzberg, I smelled notes of amber and patchouli, brazen scents in comparison to my mother’s delicate rain oils, which I had come to recognize as my greatest comfort, lingering on my sheets for days after she had scratched my fevered back in bed. What my mom was in Easter pastels and blonde hair, painting my bedroom a ballerina gown blush, Helene was in juniper greens, her ring finger revealing a large jade stone as it raked through her dark hair. It was December 2016, and though we were meeting at a casual coffee shop within the Copenhagen city center, finally meeting Helene felt like a formal interview. I rushed home after class and put on mascara and dark maroon lipstick and even brushed my teeth. I walked laps around the block, trying to kill time and steady my breathing. I didn’t know what she looked like, but when I peered through the window of the coffee shop, I deduced that she was probably the only one in the café middle aged and unaccompanied. I took another lap around the block before I walked down the stairs of the entrance and opened the door. She stood up at the sight of me. Helene is my dad’s ex-fiancé. They met at a bar on Ios, Greece, in June 1986. At the time, he was restless and decided to escape the toxic fumes of LA’s entertainment industry and spend the summer exploring Europe. Helene describes the encounter as relatively unromantic as far as the first time we met stories go. “It was just a bar. I thought he was good-looking. And he was easy to talk to.” He was 23. She was 21. He grew up in the States. She, Copenhagen. He 2 proposed after five days. They spent all of June together and parted ways at the Athens port. He continued to travel across the continent in her absence until he took a ferry across the North Sea to stay with her parents in Copenhagen. Then, she traveled with him to the States. On December 20, 1986, my dad put all his stuff in storage and hopped on People’s Express Airline from LAX to JFK. He transferred planes, landed at London Heathrow, and took another ferry across the North Sea back to Denmark to live with Helene. We can’t choose our parents, but we can choose to try and understand their pasts, which is what I suppose I was attempting to do when I found myself in my dad’s old city, Copenhagen, and decided to message Helene on Facebook. Hi Helene, My name is Hannah, and I am Dan Conway’s daughter. I’m trying to get to know my Dad a little bit better, especially the life that he had here in Copenhagen, and I was hoping you could tell me what he was like when he was my age. I’m also just interested in learning about Danish culture and lifestyle. I’d love to meet you! —Hannah She agreed to meet me. My conversation with Helene fluctuated between moments of laughter and solemnity, but it was imbued with an overtone of uneasiness on my side. I asked her questions about him: What was he like? What did you love about him? What drove you crazy? She shuffled around in her purse and pulled out a gallon Ziploc bag, filled with prints from back then. She took them out, and one by one placed them on the table on the table in front of us. Dad sitting on the thick steps of a whitewashed house in Santorini. Dad sitting on a rooftop in Holte, Copenhagen. Dad sitting on a bench in Boston. Dad with his dad in Willamstown, Massachusetts. Dad wearing a fedora on Venice Beach, palm trees in the background. For the next two hours, every time I looked down, my own eyes were reflected back at me. He looked 3 young and happy. And he was. Partly, because he was in love with the woman whose glassy, green eyes were studying me each time I looked back up. We talked for two hours, and when it was time to go, I half-hugged her goodbye, thanking her for receptiveness—“I hope we’ll meet again one day”—and walked back to my apartment, thinking about the fact that whatever life my dad might’ve led with Helene probably would have been equally as interesting and beautiful as his life is now. That whoever their daughter was, whatever her name might have been, she would have her own memories—her own stories of picking out the Christmas tree with him, her legs dangling over his shoulders at basketball games. Maybe, I thought, she would have the same eyes, too. As far as I know now, there was no big falling out between my dad and Helene—no singular Machiavellian scheme committed by either of them. They both credit their eventual break-up to being too young and from vastly different places, though they tell different stories about their past selves.