Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 87538 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 438(@200wpm)___ 350(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87538 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 438(@200wpm)___ 350(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
He’s right. Nothing will be enough for Guinevere as far as I’m concerned. There are plenty of women in my family I’m sure would be more than happy to talk to Guinevere about boys or periods or anything she doesn’t want to talk to me about. But it won’t be enough.
“I’m pretty sure we’re going to feel like that for the rest of our lives,” Jacob says.
“Like we’re not enough?” I ask. “How depressing.”
Vincent nudges me with his shoulder in a way that tells me he’s here for me. “I read somewhere—code for, I saw something when scrolling on Instagram—about how you can only ever be a good enough parent. I’m taking comfort from that. There’s no ‘perfect’ as far as raising humans is concerned.”
“The idea of being comfortable with imperfection is Dax’s idea of hell.” Jacob tips his head backs and laughs like a villain in a movie who’s just exacted the perfect revenge on the hero.
Fact is, we’re not at the end of this film.
“I’m sure some other men in your position would have just found themselves a stepmother for Guinevere,” Vincent says. “They’d feel a need to fit into this mold society has created for us.”
“I don’t want a wife just so I can have a wife. The woman I marry will be a woman I can’t not marry.” All I can think about is Eira as I say the words. I’m standing here, about to move into our new house, wishing she was here. I’m trying to give her space, give her time to figure out what she wants and who she is, but it’s torture. I’m sick of waiting. I’m tired of being patient. I want her. I want her to want me. And Guinevere.
“Wow, that’s pretty poetic for a man of science like yourself,” Vincent says. “You’ll be taking up the violin next.”
“Maybe,” I say, really considering what he’s saying. “It’s not a terrible idea for Guinevere to see her father learn an instrument. To be bad at something and practice and get better—not overnight but bit by bit, because of the time investment I’d make.”
“Who are you?” Jacob says. “You’ve always had such a black-and-white worldview. Now you’re thinking about modeling failure?”
“I only ever needed to see the world one way,” I reply. “Things are different now. Guinevere needs me to see things in shades of gray. Someone recently challenged me to live with ambiguity. I’m…doing my best.”
There’s a beat of silence before Jacob says, “If you tell anyone I’ll deny it, but…I’m proud of you.”
I nod. I get it. A lot can change in a few months. And I’m proud of the man and the father I’m becoming.
THIRTY-FOUR
Eira
We all sit side-by-side, facing the front, our canvasses propped on easels in front of us. Everyone seems to know what they’re doing. Even Eddie.
“Did she say wet the paper before putting the color on?” I ask. “I’m totally confused.”
“You can do either,” Eddie replies. “It depends what effect you’re going for.”
“And what effect am I going for?”
Eddie laughs. “I don’t know. I’m doing an abstract, blocky thing. So definitely paint on dry paper for me.”
I guess I’ll never know until I try. I dunk my clean paintbrush into water and start painting.
Next, I spray my paints with water, just like the instructor told us to. I’m hoping to mix a blue-green color reminiscent of the water of the Caribbean. “I always thought I’d end up going back to Antigua.”
“You might still,” Eddie says.
“It was nearly ten years ago. I thought I would have gone back before now.” When I started my first position straight out of Portland, I went on holiday with the family to Antigua. Of course, it wasn’t much of a holiday for me. I was focused on a baby who didn’t like the heat, had diarrhea, and wasn’t eating or drinking. It was a hellish ten days. My only saving grace was Callie, who I spoke to three times a day. She reassured me I wasn’t the worst nanny in the history of nannies and kept me sane for the duration of the trip.
I vowed that one day I’d go back, not as a nanny. When the day comes, I’ll enjoy the sunsets and white beaches, the cocktails and clear blue-green water. I don’t think I’ve thought about Antigua more than three or four times since that first trip. Other priorities always cropped up, and I focused on insuring against the bad times instead of looking forward to the good.
But here? Now? Trying an art class to see what it is I enjoy in life, it’s the only thing I can think about. I want to bring those waters to life. I want to paint them, hang them on my wall and wake up to them every morning until I can take myself back to Antigua to enjoy them in real life.