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Olive’s eyes flick to me and back to her mother. “What?”
“Max isn’t just my friend.” Emily takes a deep breath, and my heart stops. “Max is your dad.”
Olive doesn’t react for what feels like eternity. She sits there, playing with a tassel on her bedspread. I exhale, but my body is still on edge. When she looks up, she looks at me, and then her mom.
“He is?” Olive asks, and then she looks at me. Really looks at me.
I’m not sure if she can see my shame or the deep regret I have, but it’s there, gnawing at my heart.
Olive must sense it. She’s so, so smart.
She still stares at me, like she’s seeing me for the first time. The absentee dad. The guy who left her mother pregnant. A piece of shit, here to make amends.
Olive’s eyes narrow. “Where were you? Why weren’t you here?”
I swallow and my throat closes and I sniffle. We decided on vague, but what I really want to say is I would’ve been here the second I knew, sweetheart. I can’t throw her mother under the bus, that she didn’t return my emails, that she didn’t take my calls. Now is not the right time to change Olive’s view of her mother. I can’t make Emily the villain here, so I can be the hero.
All that comes out is “I’m so sorry.”
I stand still, and Emily’s face turns. Her eyebrows crinkle as she studies me.
Olive crosses her arms and settles into the pillows on her bed, and her gaze focuses past Emily.
“I would like to be alone,” Olive says.
“Sure, honey. We’ll be downstairs.”
“Okay,” she says. We close the door and look at each other. Emily just walks past me and continues down the stairs.
15
Emily
“We deserve a drink,” I say, walking into the kitchen. I grab for a bottle of wine and open the cabinet for two glasses. When I turn, Max stares at my kitchen table, his hands in his pockets. Showing him the glasses, I ask, “Do you want one?”
“Absolutely,” he says, sitting down. I pour us two hefty glasses, and when I turn around, his elbows are on the table, his hands in his hair.
“Are you okay?” I set a glass in front of him. When the rich oak and berry taste hit my throat, it calms my nerves.
Max takes his glass. “That was rough. I didn’t know what I expected, but…”
“Well, let’s hope this wine helps.” I hold up my glass and he raises his as well, clinking it.
“Will she ever warm up to the idea?”
“Give her some time.” Another sip, and I say, “She likes to process things by herself.”
“She does?” Max asks. He tilts his head. “She gets that from me.”
“Me too.” I take another drink. “When she was littler, she did ask about you.”
“What did you tell her about me?”
“That I loved you. Not much else.” The wine must be getting to me already because my tongue is loose, and heat floods my cheeks. I trace the base of my wine glass.
“You did?” he asks.
“Yes, but it was silly. Who falls in love with someone after only a week? An inexperienced girl, that’s who.”
