Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 129084 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 645(@200wpm)___ 516(@250wpm)___ 430(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 129084 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 645(@200wpm)___ 516(@250wpm)___ 430(@300wpm)
He asks, “Should we get going?”
“We probably should.” For many reasons. What do I want from him? I could lie here all day and still not understand our relationship. But asking anything feels like too much, especially based on the past week.
I’ve been leaving pieces of myself wherever he is in hopes of him finding them. It felt too good in his arms, and though he’s right about needing to go, I wouldn’t have minded a moment to collect myself. Not needing to drag this out.
Sure, we’ve had sex. We’ve kissed when it probably wasn’t in our best interest.
There is no us in this equation.
I push myself up and scoop Maxwell into my arms before leaving the room. It’s too comfortable in here—the colors, the fabrics, the large bed, but mostly Noah. He’s jostled the configuration of my chemistry and left me out of sorts for two years now.
The only thing I’m certain of is that I don’t have a right to stake a claim, so I must free him to be my son’s dad. It’s a lot to take on, but I’ll carry the burden of unrequited sentiments.
I set Maxwell in the stroller, rolling him back and forth until Noah arrives. He shoves a backpack in the bottom of the carrier and then opens the door for us. Our conversation has stilted, but I don’t mind the quiet time to think. We ride down the elevator, and when we cut through the lobby, I say, “Thank you for bringing us here.” I look around. “It’s good to see where you live.”
“Of course. I like having you here.”
“You do?”
“You and Max.” Walking into the sunshine, he stops on the sidewalk and slips his sunglasses on. Black Ray-Bans. I wouldn’t expect less. He’s the guy who makes old-school style look cool again. “It’s fun to share this side of my life with you.”
The tree-lined street reminds me more of Brooklyn than this part of the city. We stroll slowly, my guard still down around him. The bubble of trust we’ve created follows us down the street. “My father wanted a male heir to carry on his name and legacy. He never wanted a daughter.” We cross the street, and he asks if he can push Maxwell. He’s been nothing but one hundred percent committed to Maxwell since he found out. He’s a lucky little boy to have Noah.
Noah looks at me when I stop talking. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” I say, not realizing I had just been standing there. “I grew up in the shadows of his shattered dreams. Was he cruel to me? No, not in a sense that would stand out to anybody. I just knew I could never live up to his expectations.” A humorless laugh releases without permission. “The gall of him to treat me horrible is not something I’ve ever been able to wrap my head around.”
“Your job as his daughter isn’t to wrap your head around the ways he’s failed you. That’s on him.”
That hits a raw part of my heart, a stab wound my dad inflicted when I was born that’s never healed. I touch the scar above my eyebrow. It’s a small reminder of how hard I’ve tried for him. “I got this when I was fourteen. I was on a sailing crew. My father loves sailing, so I spent all summer working this massive sailboat that had once raced in the America’s Cup back when there was less technology involved. It lost, but it was a beautiful sailboat.” We stop at a light. I look both ways when the light changes, and we resume our journey.
I continue, “It was windy, which is great for sailing, but it got intense fast. Some kids lost control of their stations. The mast came fast and with no warning. It punted me right off that boat.”
“It hit you in the head?”
“It hit me so hard that I was knocked unconscious.”
“In the water?”
Not a story I like to revisit, but it did make me realize that I’m stronger than I thought. “I woke up gasping for air in the middle of the ocean. The captain had jumped in and reached me just after I came to. He put his life on the line for me and didn’t think twice about diving in. He didn’t even have time to put on a life jacket.” I lead the stroller to the inside of the sidewalk and stop. I haven’t thought about this in so long, but now it’s clear. “That man saved me, but all I remember is wondering if my dad would have done the same.”
I’m not crying. My heart doesn’t hurt anymore. As a mother, though, it makes me angry. No child should ever have a revelation like that regarding a parent. Bending down to hold Maxwell’s hand, I kiss his fingers, then his head.