I hit send without letting myself think too much about it, knowing if I give myself time to second-guess this, I’ll never go through with it.
A response pops up within seconds.
Hey. Everything okay?
Is everything okay? No. Everything feels so out of control.
Just wondering if you’re busy tomorrow.
No, what’s up?
What’s up is I don’t know what the hell I’m doing, but I do it, whatever this is, while I still have the nerve.
Thought we could get together to tell Maddie the truth.
His response isn’t as quick this time, a minute, maybe two, before a message pops up.
The truth?
Is that a problem?
A few more minutes pass of nothing. I’m starting to wonder if I’m making a mistake when my phone rings, the California number flashing across the screen. He’s calling. My stomach churns. “Hello?”
There’s a moment of hesitation before he says, “I didn’t think you’d actually answer.”
“Yeah, well, I did,” I mumble, thinking I should’ve let it go to voicemail. “So, is there a problem?”
“No, I’m just wondering what the truth means to you.”
My brow furrows as I stare up at my ceiling. “What?”
“You said you want to tell her the truth,” he says. “All of it?”
I'm not sure how to answer. How much do I want to tell her? How much does he need to prepare for? I wonder how much he’s even faced himself.
“I don’t know,” I admit.
It grows eerily quiet, but I know he’s still on the line. I can sense him, faintly detecting his breathing. After a moment, he lets out a deep sigh. “What time?”
Noon.
The sun is shining outside, light streaming through the open apartment windows, warming the place with a soft glow. A breeze flows through the screens, ruffling the thin white curtains as some current pop boy band plays on the radio in the living room. Maddie dances around, wearing her Sunday best—meaning she’s dressed like some sort of rambunctious little superhero, with a tutu and rainbow-striped tights, a too-big black Breezeo t-shirt, complete with a fuzzy purple blanket flung around her like a cape. She’s all over the place, a ball of energy this morning, while I’m… well… I’m a mess.
My eyes burn. I didn’t get much sleep, staring at the ceiling in the darkness, conjuring up hypothetical conversations, playing out years worth of what if’s. This morning, my hands are shaking as I busy myself cleaning, trying to distract myself from reality, but it isn’t working. No matter how much I sweep and mop and scrub, I keep thinking about how big of a disaster this could become.
The song on the radio changes… a girl band this time… as a soft knock sounds from the apartment door.
“I got it!” Maddie shouts, heading for the door as I tense, in the middle of wiping down the kitchen counters for the third time.
“No, wait, hold on a second,” I say, but she isn’t paying me any attention. The clock on the wall reads 12:01. I told him to come by anytime in the afternoon, and it’s after noon now, which means…
“Breezeo!” she announces, flinging the door open, excitedly spinning around to look for me. “Mommy, look, it’s—”
“Jonathan,” I say, stepping out of the kitchen, nervously rubbing my palms on the thighs of my jeans.
“Jonathan,” she repeats, standing in the doorway in front of him.
He stares down at her, smiling. “Maddie.”
“Come in!” Maddie says, grabbing his arm—the injured one—to tug him into the apartment. He grimaces, not resisting, but his smile wavers when his eyes meet mine.
Sighing, I close the door behind them, my back pressing against it. Maddie’s rambling away—about what, I don’t know. I feel like I’m slipping underwater, my heart feverishly racing, but Jonathan seems to understand. He’s smiling at her again, listening, as she seems to give him a quick tour of the apartment.
He pauses near the small hallway that leads to the bedrooms, his gaze meeting mine again. I know what he’s thinking. I’m not sure how, or even why, but the moment our eyes connect, it’s like being shoved back in time—to another place, a different apartment, one somehow even smaller, but it was our home for a while.
“We can go play in my room!” Maddie says, trying to pull him that direction.
“Oh, whoa, whoa,” I say, coming out of my stupor as I shove away from the door. He comes around and stranger danger seriously goes right out the window. I know he’s her father and all, but she doesn’t know that. Not yet. “Slow your roll for a second, little girl. We need to have a conversation.”
Her eyes widen. I glance between her and Jonathan, their expressions nearly identical. Worried.
“I didn’t do nothing,” Maddie says, shaking her head.
“I know,” I say, pointing to the couch. “Sit.”
She sits, finally letting go of Jonathan. He carefully sits down on the edge of the couch beside her. I linger a moment before perching myself on the coffee table in front of her.
“I, uh…” I have no idea how to even begin. “I mean, we…”
“Maybe I should…” Jonathan starts, pausing before saying, “You know.”
“It’s fine,” I say. “I got it.”
“Got what, Mommy?” Maddie asks.
“We wanted to talk to you about something,” I tell her. “About why Jonathan is here.”
“To play with me?” she asks.
“No,” I say, shaking my head. “Well, I mean, maybe, but that’s not really it. You see, I’ve known him for a long time, since before you came into my life, sweetheart.”
“Oh.” She stares at me. “So he’s gonna play with you, then?”
“What? No.” I scoff, making a face. Ugh, I can feel my cheeks heating. “It’s nothing like that. It’s just… look, you know your friend Jenny that lived beside Grandpa? You remember how she went away, and I explained that her parents decided not to live together anymore, because some parents don’t live together, so she had to go stay at a different house?”
Her eyes widen again. “Do I have to go away?”
“What? No! You don’t have to go anywhere.”
“You promise?”
“I promise. It’s not like that. I’m just saying, you know, sometimes parents don’t live together, and that’s okay, and it doesn’t make them any less of a family. Everyone has a mom and a dad.”
She shakes her head. “Not everyone.”
“Yes, sweetheart. Everyone.”
“Nuh-uh, Noah at my school doesn’t got a dad. He’s got two moms!”
“Oh, well… okay, but still, that’s what I mean. Everyone has two parents.”
“But Jenny doesn’t got two now. She’s got three, ‘cuz her dad got married, so she has another different kinda mommy, right?”
“Right.” Man, I’m screwing this all up. “But she still has her dad, too, so what I’m saying is—”
“I’m your dad.”
Jonathan’s voice is quiet as he cuts in, but it still packs enough of a punch to make me inhale sharply.
Maddie looks at him. “You wanna be my dad?”
“I do,” he says. “I already am.”
Her mouth falls open in shock. “Did you get married to Mommy?”
He blinks rapidly, caught off guard, while I choke on thin air, coughing at that question.
“Oh, no, we didn’t…” His eyes cut my way before he continues. “It’s not like that. I’ve always been your dad.”
“How?”
“How?” he repeats. “Well, I just am. Your mother, she’s your mom, and I’m your dad.”
“But how?” she asks again.
He looks to me for help, like he’s not sure what she’s even asking, so I chime in again before he takes that how literal and starts spilling about the birds and the bees.
“Moms and Dads aren’t always together, remember? So he’s still your dad even if he wasn’t around.”
r />
“But where was he at?”
She’s asking me, not him. I know it’s because she trusts me implicitly, and as much as she adores what she believes he is, she doesn’t yet know Jonathan. But I don’t know how to answer that, or if I even should. I don’t know if I should be the one to explain his absence, to make his excuses.
“I wasn’t where I should’ve been,” he chimes in. “I should’ve been with you, but I was…”
“Sick,” I say when he struggles for words.
“Sick,” he says.
“Did you have the tummy bug?” she asks, looking at him.
“No, it was worse than that,” he admits, “and I’m to blame, nobody else. I made some really bad choices. I—”
“Did you disappear?” she asks.
“I messed up,” he says. “I know I haven’t been here for you, but I want to be here now, if you’ll let me.”
She sits in silence for a moment, thinking that over, before shrugging. “Okay.”
He looks stunned. “Okay?”
“Okay,” she says again, standing up from the couch as she grabs his hand to pull him along with her again. “But you have to sleep in Mommy’s bed, ‘cuz mine can’t fit you.”
“Uh…” He laughs awkwardly as he follows her. “What?”
“He’s not going to live with us,” I say. “Remember Jenny’s parents?”
She nods, looking at me. “But can he play now, Mommy? Please?”
“Of course,” I say, giving her a smile. “He can stay and play as long as he wants.”
She drags him away before I say anything else.
I faintly hear her rambling about something from her bedroom as I try to busy myself again to keep from fixating on his presence. I clean some more. I listen to music. I watch a bit of television.
Hours pass.
Long, long hours, some of the longest hours of my life. I don’t know what they’re doing, not wanting to interrupt, but I can hear Maddie laughing, and I can hear him talking, the two of them playing.
It’s near dusk and I’m in the kitchen, cooking dinner, when things grow quiet. I hear footsteps behind me, restrained on the wooden floor, heading my direction.
Jonathan pauses right inside the doorway. “She fell asleep.”
“Not surprised,” I say. “She’s been wide open all day long.”
I glare at the food on the stove. She ate breakfast, and she ate lunch, but I know now dinner is a bust. Even when I wake her up, I doubt she’ll eat much.
“Yeah,” he says, leaning against the doorframe. “I wish I had even half of her energy. Bottle it up and take it with me for those late nights on set.”
“Guess it beats the coke, huh?”
His expression falls when I say that. Right away, I feel like crap. Ugh.
“Sorry,” I say. “I shouldn’t have said that.”
“It’s fine,” he says. “I deserve whatever you throw at me.”
“Maybe so, but I told myself long ago that I wouldn’t do that whole woman scorned thing.”
I finish dinner, putting everything together, turning off the stove as he stands there.
“Are you hungry?” I ask. “I can make you a plate.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I know, but I’m offering.”
“Well, uh... okay.” He strolls over to the table. “If you don’t mind.”
I fix two plates of food. Spaghetti and garlic bread—nothing fancy, but we get by. I’m not a good cook, frankly. The noodles are still sort of crunchy and the sauce came out of a jar. We sit at the table across from each other. He waits until I take a bite before he even touches his fork.
I pick at my food, not hungry, but once he starts eating, he doesn’t stop until the plate is empty. I wonder when he last ate a home-cooked meal. I wonder if he has a hired chef. I wonder if Serena cooks for him.
Serena. He told me they weren’t married, but beyond that, he’s avoided the subject.
“Does she know?”
The question flies from my lips before I even give asking it much thought.
His expression is guarded. “Does who know what?”
“Serena,” I say. “Does she know about our daughter?”
He hesitates, like he has to think about it. “Pretty sure she does.”
“Pretty sure.”
“I vaguely remember telling her,” he says. “But we were both high at the time, so who knows if she believed me or if she even cared.”
“Wow,” I say. “That’s nice to know.”
“We’re not…” he starts, scrubbing his hand over his face. “Look, about that…”
“It’s not my business,” I say. “Not anymore. Whatever you do and whoever you do it with, that’s on you. But if it starts affecting Maddie—”
“It won’t,” he says. “It’s not serious.”
“Looks serious.”
“Looks are deceiving. We’re just friends.”
“Friends,” I say. “So you’re telling me you’ve never had sex with her?”
He hesitates.
“That’s what I thought,” I mutter, twirling the uneaten spaghetti around on my plate.
“It wasn’t serious,” he says. “It was just a thing that happened.”
“How long ago?”
“I don’t know,” he says. “It was on and off.”
“When was the first time?”
I know I’m asking a lot of questions for someone whose business this isn’t, but the door is wide open, and I can’t stop myself from peeking inside for answers.
He hesitates again.
“Forget I asked,” I say as I give up on eating, shoving out of my chair. Conversation over. I busy myself with putting the leftovers away and start cleaning up while he sits there.
“Can I help with that?” he asks when I fill the sink with hot water.
“What, you’re gonna wash dishes one-handed?”
“Uh, I guess,” he says. “Don’t you have a dishwasher?”
“Nope,” I say, glancing at the dishwasher. “Well, I do, but it doesn’t work.”
“What’s wrong with it?”
“Who knows? Maintenance was supposed to fix it, but well, like my dad always says, they’re about as useful as Congress. They never fixed my washer and dryer, either.”
“What’s wrong with your washer and dryer?”
“One leaks, the other doesn’t heat.”
He grows eerily quiet as I start washing dishes. When I glance at him, I see he’s looking around, his brow furrowed. “Why do you live here?”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
“It’s not much.”
“It’s enough,” I say, “for us, anyway. I work in a grocery store, you know. This is what it pays for.”
“Why?”
“Maybe because I never went to college like I was supposed to, so I do whatever I have to do.”
“But… why?”
Turning, I look at him again.
He’s staring at me with confusion.
“I send money,” he says. “It should be enough.”
“I don’t want your money.”
“Why?”
“Why, Jonathan? You’re seriously asking me why?”
“Look, I’m just saying—”
“I know what you’re saying, but we do just fine without your money.”
“Come on, don’t be that way, K.”
“What way?”
“That way. I want to help.”
“So be a father, not a paycheck.”
He’s quiet, as I continue washing dishes. When I finish and start draining the water, he stands up to go. He takes a few steps before hesitating, saying, “I never cheated on you.”
Drying my hands, I turn to him, leaning back against the counter.
“I’m serious,” he says. “The past few years are a blur, so I can’t tell you what I don’t remember, but I know we were over before anything ever happened with her.”
I nod, lookin
g down at my hands. “I wasn’t accusing you of cheating. I just wanted to know how long it took you to move on.”
“Oh, well, that’s an easy one,” he says. “It hasn’t happened.”
Chapter 12
JONATHAN
Dim church basements aren’t my favorite places, nor are they my idea of a good time. I tend to think of them as necessary evils, although Jack would flip out if he heard me say that. They’re where we go to spill our souls, confessionals for the alcoholics of the world.
Meetings. I fucking hate them.
They’re supposed to be safe, anonymous, but that isn’t always the case. People tend to recognize my face, and well… next thing you know, pictures leak and it turns into a clusterfuck.
Metal folding chairs fill the basement of Hatfield Episcopal. I slip into a seat in the back, grateful that they’re not arranged in a circle so I can keep to myself. New place, new faces, which means they’ll want to hear my story, but I’m not planning to talk. I just need a reminder tonight.
People filter in, about a dozen of them, men and women, nobody I recognize until him.
Son of a bitch.
Michael Garfield.
He heads straight for the front. I avert my gaze, keeping my head down, my hat on, but it’s pointless. He pauses in front of everyone, eyes landing on me as he calls the meeting to order.
Shit.
“Welcome,. My name’s Michael and I’m an alcoholic.”
“Hello, Michael.”
The chorus of voices echoes through the room, but I don’t say a word, sitting in silence and staring down at my lap as he continues.
“I’ve been sober now for over twenty years,” he says before going into the usual spiel. I’ve been through so many of these meetings and they always start the same way—a rambling introduction before the floor is opened up to sharing. Nobody seems to be feeling chatty so he suggests, “Why don’t we talk about forgiveness?”
I laugh under my breath. I can feel his gaze.
They talk. I listen.
The meeting lasts ninety minutes.
It feels longer than those ninety days I spent in rehab.
After it’s over, I linger in my seat, letting everyone else filter out of the basement. Michael strolls toward the exit, his footsteps stalling beside my chair. He stares at me for a moment, his expression hard, before he walks away without saying anything.