A brisk trot through reviews on Amazon told me that I wasn’t alone in being confused by the ending. And like several of those reviewers, I ended up resorting to Wikipedia to work out precisely who the father was. (Not that this is new for me.)
I don’t write that to put the book down; I liked it a lot. The characters are engaging, the plot’s clever, and there are a couple of moments that made me laugh so hard I cried. But 300 pages seems an awful lot for what is, in effect, a pleasant little love story. When did books get so L-O-N-G? (Films too, for that matter.) When did everything turn into an EVENT?