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“Well, why don’t you go and deal with your disbelief somewhere else. I gotta check on my daughter.”
She keeps staring at me.
And when she keeps doing it for the next fifteen seconds, I’m about to explode on her but she speaks. “So something clearly happened between you two.” I open my mouth to deny it but she holds up her hand. “Don’t lie to me. You look ready to explode and well, she’s looked miserable the on and off that I’ve seen her these past few days. But I don’t know exactly what happened. I also don’t know why she said that. But she was lying. That girl makes you empanadas. Like clockwork, every Monday. She lights up every time you enter the room and dulls out every single time she knows you’re going on a date with one of your nameless, faceless girls. She loves you, period. Not only that, she loves your daughter. She loves Sophie. And not like a nanny or like it’s her job but like she dreams about Sophie being hers. Now you could argue that hey, she takes care of her siblings so maybe she just likes kids. But no, that’s not it. She genuinely loves Sophie like she were Meadow’s own daughter.
“Unfortunately for both of them, it’s not true, is it? Sophie’s the daughter of that puta, Rosie. Someone who abandoned her and moved on from herand you, by the way, like that.” She snaps her fingers. “But that’s not the problem. I’m glad she’s out of the picture. The problem is you won’t let her go. You won’t move on from her. You won’t let it lie. And while it’s great to learn from your mistakes, it’s not so great to teach what you’ve learned to someone else. So stop. Stop giving lessons to someone who’s done nothing to deserve it. Oh, and who, by the way, is nothing like your ex, and tell her that you love her.”
She finally takes her leave after her big speech and slowly I climb up the stairs and go check on Sophie. She’s sleeping soundly in her twin bed that she loves now but used to hate.
The transition period was brutal. She’d wake up crying, went into regression, got super clingy those first few weeks when we’d made the change. And it was especially brutal because I was swamped at practice. There were days when I’d barely get any rest, let alone any sleep.
I remember Cami staging an intervention one weekend, inviting herself overnight along with Lu so they could take care of Sophie while I caught up on some sleep. I also rememberherbeing there. Because we all knew that when Sophie cries and gets fussy and moody, she either wants her daddy orher.
Soshestayed overnight as well.
I remember going to sleep with the scent of honey in the air.
And sleeping so well.
Sleeping like I hadn’t, not in a long time. Not since I found out that Sophie would have a single parent and that that single parent was going to be me.
A skinny boy from the wrong side of the tracks who knows how to kick around a ball but not much else.
At least, that’s how I see myself still.
So wasthatwhy I slept so well?
Because I’m in love with her.
Is that why I haven’t moved on since that night? And that what she said that night hurt me and pissed me off and fucking annihilated me in the worst way?
Because if so, then I’ve never felt this before.
And I thought I had.
I thought Ihadbeen in love before. Whatever that was or whatever this is, they don’t feel the same.
Before, I wasn’t this crazy. I wasn’t this… unhinged and obsessed. To the point where I did the things that I did two weeks ago. I wasn’t this messed up inside. Where I thought I was coming apart at the seams if I didn’t get to see her for a day.
Where I hate Sundays, Thursdays and Fridays because those are her days off.
Where I wait for Mondays because I know I’ll see her, and I’ll search for her taste like a fucking junkie in the food she cooks for me.
Where I wait to get back home, even though I keep myself from going early, so I can catch a whiff of her scent and a glance of her pink cheeks, those rounded curves that I imagine kneading and biting into, as she leaves through the door, blowing kisses at Sophie while my baby girl blows kisses back.
So is that what love feels like?
CHAPTERNINE
He kept his promise.
The one that he made that night. Of showing me how perfect I am. Not only that but making me believe it too.
And I do believe it now.
Turns out I did the work to move on from all the bullying and judgement from other people, but I forgot to work on my own bullying self. I forgot to leave my own critical voices and judgement behind. And I called it being a realist. I called it being practical and setting expectations and whatnot. I called it ‘accepting’ myself, and maybe in a way it was. But what I wasn’t doing was ‘appreciating’ myself.
I didn’t appreciate everything that I am but rather accepted all that I am not.
