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“In a minute, Sadie,” Isla says, tears now streaming down her face.
“You have a kid?” I’m… well, shocked really. Stunned, as a million questions fly at me at once. The one most clear is who did she have a baby with?
The door opens a little further and a face appears at Isla’s hip. Sadie is the spitting image of her mother, right down to the freckled nose that scrunches up when she’s deep in thought.
“I know you,” she says.
“Do you?” I squat down to get closer to her level. “Did you see me on television?”
“I don’t think so,” she says as she taps a finger to the tip of her chin. “Oh! Oh! Oh!”
She disappears behind the door again, and I train my eyes back to Isla who is now covering her face as she sobs.
“Well, fuck,” Willa says. “You should probably bring this conversation inside now.” She holds the door open for me, but Isla doesn’t move an inch. I don’t know what the hell is happening, though I know I don’t like Isla being such a mess. I wrap an arm around her and pull her inside with me. As soon as the door shuts behind us, she steps away and resumes wiping the silent streams along her cheeks.
“What’s going on, Isla?” She doesn’t answer and tiny footsteps come running our way.
“You’re him,” Sadie says in awe, her eyes big as she holds up a framed picture. It’s me from the year I played for her dad, and we won the Memorial Cup.
“I am,” I say, again squatting down to look the girl in the eye.
“I thought you knew,” Isla says, but Sadie interrupts.
“You’re my daddy,” she whispers.
Holy shit.
My initial reaction is to tell her no. No, I am most certainly not your daddy, kid. Because of course I’m not. Why would she even think that? Isla wouldn’t lie to her, but since I haven’t been with her in almost five years now…
“How old are you, Sadie?”
“I thought you knew,” Isla says again through hiccupping cries.
Fuck no, I didn’t.
I can’t concentrate on that now though, because this little human is staring at me like I’m a fairy princess come to life or something. She’s grasping my photo to her chest. I get the feeling this isn’t the first time she’s done it.
Sadie holds up her hand, first dropping two fingers and yeah… three would mean I’m not her dad. But then she corrects herself and only leaves her thumb down in her palm.
“Four.”
I drop to my ass on the cold, hard floor. Stunned, once again. I feel the truth of it all as it mixes with other things. Anger because Isla didn’t tell me. Guilt because of the reasons she wouldn’t have. Longing for so many things I must have missed.
Sadie matches my position, sitting on the floor in front of me. She scoots close enough for her bare toes to touch my shoes. I take in every detail of her. Pale complexion like her auntie, silver-blue eyes like her dad, but a wide bright smile that is all her mother.
I don’t know how this happened, or why I wasn’t told, but looking at this little sprite in front of me; it’s clear as day she belongs to me and Isla.
“Why is your hair wet?” The absent-minded question pops out while I study her small features.
“I just had a bath,” she says with a crooked smile that I feel in my chest. I have a daughter and somehow, I make her smile. Fuck me, if that’s not the most amazing feeling in the entire damned world. “I’m Sadie.”
“It’s fantastic to meet you, Sadie.” My voice breaks, sending Isla into another fit of sobs. Sadie looks up at her with concern.
“It’s gonna be okay, Mommy. I think he’s nice.”
Isla kneels next to her daughter. Our daughter. She smooths Sadie’s hair back and kisses her on the forehead. “It is going to be okay, baby. I promise.”
“You are nice, right,” she asks me as Isla moves further inside. She sits with Willa, wrapping their arms around each other not too far away and not out of sight. Both train their eyes on the interactions between me and my daughter.
