“Dad, seriously, we talked about you touching my guitars,” I groaned as I walked into my high school dorm room Friday after my last class. “You can’t play, remember?” I kept a careful eye on him as he quickly put down my beloved Stratocaster. My father, Howard Dorough (or Howie D, as his fans preferred calling him), was very excitable and tended to drop things when surprised. He was NOT going to damage my newest toy.

At least he had the decency to look sheepish. “Sorry son. I thought you were still at class,” he apologized and smiled. “How was your day? I’ve missed you.”

I sidestepped his excited hug and rushed to my guitar. “Did you mess with it? I just tuned it this morning, Papito.” I strummed out a few notes and felt reassured, somewhat.

Dad shook his head. “Mi hijo, don’t worry. I heard you the first time you cried over me trying to play the guitar.” He put his hands on his hips. “Come on, Jamie. Can I at least get a hug? I haven’t seen you in a month.”

I had to concede. Although I was used to not seeing my father for extended periods of time, it was also my first term at Julliard. Living away from home, being the youngest freshman in school and without my parents around, the whole situation weighed heavily on my self-esteem.

Dad pulled me into a tight embrace and I responded in kind, trying not to tear up, acknowledging that in spite of all the Skype calls, tweets, texts and care packages, nothing beat this real life connection.

He pulled away and brushed my hair away from my forehead. “I’m sorry I couldn’t visit sooner, hijo.  This world tour with the Boys has been insane, schedule-wise.”  He smiled. “But I’ve missed you like crazy.”

I nodded. As the son of one-fourth of the Backstreet Boys, it meant understanding that in the Dorough household, Dad was on tour or recording for at least the better part of half a year. That’s how it had always been. I never resented him for that because he was always there when I needed him the most: all my school performances, my audition at Julliard on my 11th birthday, my first day of Julliard (and high school) just two months shy of my 12th birthday.

He pulled me to my bed and sat down. “So tell me, how’s school? Are you putting some time in for studying, not just guitar rehearsals?” He touched my face. “And you’re getting thinner. Are you eating?”

I had to laugh. “Dad, you sound worse than Mom. I’m fine. I’m just growing. I put on a few inches since you last saw me, you know.”

“I noticed, kiddo. Pretty soon, you’ll be taller than me. Oh my God, if you take after your mom’s side of the family, you could have a career as a pro-ball player.”

I laughed. “Well, someone has to defend the Dorough honor, especially since Uncle Brian and Uncle Nick have been beating you at basketball for twenty-eight years straight.”

Dad shook his head and laughed. “You know what I always say, son. I’m a…”

“Lover, not a player, I know, Dad,” I cringed even as I laughed. Dad was just a cheeseball sometimes.

“Hey so I have some news. Well, Mom and I have some news.”  He put his hands over mine.

I rolled my eyes. “Dad, if it’s about the new kitchen, I heard all about it from Mom yesterday. I’m not sure why she thinks I’d find it important but…”

Dad shook his head. “No, no. It’s not about the kitchen.” He paused. “Well it IS kind of related to the kitchen. Not so much but close enough…”

I sighed. Dad was going off tangent again. “Dad. Focus. What news?”

Dad gave me his signature high voltage smile. “You’re getting a new brother. Or sister. Mom’s pregnant.”

I blinked and leaned back in surprise. “What?”

“Mom’s having a baby. In about seven months or so.” He pulled me in for another hug. “Isn’t that exciting? I know you’ve always wanted a sibling.”

I was still in shock. It wasn’t that I didn’t want a new sibling. It was more the sinking feeling of my family growing with all of them still living in California and me in New York…I started feeling lonelier than I’ve ever felt.

“Hey,” Dad’s look quickly became concerned. “What’s wrong?”

I shook my head and tried to hide my disappointment. “Nothing’s wrong. How is Mom? Is she okay? Statistically, women having babies in their late thirties…”

Dad frowned. “Mom’s fine. Don’t change the subject. What’s wrong? Are you upset?”

I shook my head again. “No. I’m happy for us. What’s this got to do with the kitchen?” I recoiled in horror when I thought of the possible reason. “Oh God, you didn’t conceive this baby in the kitchen, did you? Because, Pops, there is no scenario where you tell your son this. No scenario at all.”

“Baby, your mom and I love you. Stop changing the subject. I know when you’re upset because your nose flares up.” He smiled. “Like mine does.”

I didn’t volunteer any information. I didn’t dare. While my brain was that of a twenty year old college student, my emotions were still stuck as a pre-teen and Dad knew that very well. And besides, our relationship didn’t have room for secrets. He made sure of it.

Dad was the one who figured out I had a genius level IQ at six years old. He was also the one who encouraged me to start playing guitar at seven, when he saw me trying to steal a peek at Uncle Nick’s guitar collection. He made sure I learned guitar from the best, and that I had the best tutors in the world while I was on tour with him from when I was eight.

Secrets didn’t happen in our family simply because we were so in tune with each other, I’m surprised Dad couldn’t read my thoughts from across the country.

Dad spoke up. “I know it’s lonely being away from family, Jamie. I can’t even tell you how much I miss you and your mom when I’m on tour.” He put his hand on my shoulder. “And your mom, your mom is a mess without you, baby. You know that.”

“I’m not a baby anymore, Dad.”

“What I mean is we don’t want to go through this without you. Your mom and I, more than anything, want you to be a part of this whole new adventure we’re having.”

I sighed. “But I can’t. I’m in New York. You both are in Malibu. No matter how much we Skype, call or exchange texts, it’s not going to be the same as me being there.” My voice caught in my throat. “I just…I miss you guys. When I’m here, it’s fun because I’m learning new things. But no one…”

Dad smiled and put an arm around me. “No one can replace family, I know, baby. And your mom gives the best hugs.”

I smiled at that. “I know. It’s like she has magic hugs, it cures everything.”

He pulled me closer and dropped a kiss on my forehead. I had to give it to my father, no matter how much I avoid it, he insists on kissing me all the time. No matter how hard I protest (I was almost twelve after all), he just goes and does it. He’s nothing if not persistent.

“This is why we’re moving to New York,” he announced with a smile. “Next month.”

My mouth dropped open. “What?”

Dad nodded and smiled. “Jamie, the minute we left you here last month, your mom and I have been talking about moving here. We thought we could handle being away from you, but…” His eyes shone with tears. “Anyway, Mom can’t travel until after next month but I’m here to look at townhouses this weekend. Mom is in charge of selling the house in Malibu, or at least, renting it out for the next few years, for when you’re done with Julliard.”

I blinked, not trusting the happy feeling floating to the surface. “But…but you hate New York, Dad. I can’t ask you to…”

He shook his head. “You’re not asking me to do anything. I’m pretty much miserable with you too far away so we’re moving here.” He shrugged. “And besides, New York will grow on me. I just want all of us together in the same city again. My tour will wrap up in a few weeks and by then, we’d be ready to move.”

 I couldn’t help it. I started crying. It took everything out of me to not blubber all over my dad’s shirt but it felt like a big weight was lifted off my shoulders. I didn’t have to pretend to be strong alone anymore. My dad was here. He always was.

“Hey, hey.” Dad’s soothing voice calmed me down somewhat. “Jamie, Daddy’s here. I’m not going anywhere.”

“I know,” I said in between sniffs. “I can’t believe I’m crying like a baby. Sorry, Dad.”

I felt him smile. “James Dorough, you can cry anytime you want. You’re still my baby. At least until you’re a teenager and refuse to have anything to do with me.”

I laughed. No matter how old I get, all of Dad’s lame jokes would make me laugh, every single time.

I pulled away and wiped my tears with my t-shirt. “Don’t tell mom.”

He shook his head and I was grateful. “I would never.”

With one last kiss on the top of my head, Dad let me go and said, “Okay, we need to celebrate like men now. How about you join your dad for dinner tonight and we can talk more about school. How does a big bad steak sound to you?”

I laughed. The world may know Howie Dorough as a popstar and ladies’ man, but to me, he was just Dad, a little weird, a little too protective but always there to make me feel like I’m the most important person in the world. It didn’t matter if I was twelve or thirty. I knew he would always be around to make me feel like myself again.

And certainly not for the first time in my life, I relished the feeling of being the luckiest kid in the world.