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“Oliver, slow down, please,” I said, watching my son nearly hit crust on his first taste. “You’re going to choke.”
His cheek puffed out with his bite, and he spoke on a mouthful. “It’s just really good, Mom.”
“It’s so good,” Olivia echoed, smacking her lips, then licking them. “Super yummy. Just like the ones we make at Uncle Brian’s.”
Syd had introduced my kids to make-your-own-pizza nights after she and my brother babysat a few times. Both Olivia and Oliver raved about the recipes. And because of that, we never ordered out pizza anymore.
“S’per yummy,” Marley echoed. She giggled around her bite while her eyes stayed glued to Oliver’s every move.
“Wash your hands before you grab your iPads, please,” I told the twins when they were finished up with their slices.
They nearly knocked each other over rushing to the bathroom on the other side of the family room, excited for iPads after going all day without them. I typically limited their screen time during the summer, but I’d been restricting it even more than usual and allowing it only during Marley’s naps. My kids had enough to occupy them here.
Nathan didn’t just have a beautiful, spacious home on the inside. The outside was equally amazing. His front yard had plenty of room to run, and he had a basketball hoop mounted above the garage and an air hockey table set up in there. On top of that, his house was beachfront. Stepping off his deck, you hit sand. And within a short walk between dunes, your toes dipped into the ocean.
Children were meant to spend summers outdoors in my opinion. Being on the fifth level at my apartment complex, we didn’t even have a blade of grass to call our own. My kids were loving every second of being here.
I pulled a baby wipe out of the pack I kept on the counter and walked over to Marley, who was still in her booster seat and currently occupying herself by smearing pizza sauce all over her hands.
“Okay, girlfriend. Are you ready for a nap?” I asked, pausing in my wipe-down of her. She looked seriously cute and so stinking happy right now, I wanted Nathan to see it. I tugged the phone out of my pocket and snapped a picture of Marley, prompting her to smile big and giggling at her when she delivered. I attached the picture to a text.
Your girl loves pizza!This wasn’t the first picture I’d sent Nathan. I hadn’t needed to text him with any questions or for any other reason yet, but I had sent him multiple candid shots of Marley and a few short videos. Sometimes he’d text back with a thank you. Sometimes he wouldn’t, and I’d assume he’d been too busy at work to reply. But even if he didn’t respond to any of the pictures I’d sent, I still knew how much he wanted me to send them.
His desire to know his daughter was written all over his face. And the way he’d look at her before he left for work and ask about her day when he got home…how he made an effort even though he appeared so unsure, which, God, was the most important thing he could ever do—Nathan was trying so hard. I could see it.
I slipped my phone away and reached for Marley’s messy hands. “Let’s get you ready for your nap.”
Marley squealed, “No, no nap!” But she didn’t fight me, and she yawned while I cleaned off her face. Halfway up the stairs, her head hit my shoulder.
The nursery was sweetly decorated in pinks and soft grays, adorned with alphabet artwork and snapshots of Marley growing up, and it always smelled like lavender. I was convinced the scent was infused in the paint. I loved being in here with her. She had one of those growth charts with penciled dashes, molds of her hand- and footprints, a quilt with her name stitched on it hanging on the wall, and toys, of course. Her room was filled with love. With memories. But there was one thing missing, and not just in Marley’s bedroom. It was missing throughout the entire house. I couldn’t find any pictures of her mother anywhere, and I didn’t understand why.
As I rocked Marley to sleep in the chair beside her crib, I looked at the clues around the room. The collage on the wall with a missing eight by ten and the empty spaces on the hutch.
Why weren’t there pictures? Did Nathan hate his wife? Did he not want Marley to remember her mother? The questions grew louder in my mind and became impossible to push aside. On day three, I told myself this wasn’t any of my business. On day four, I sang to Marley while I rocked so I wouldn’t hear myself think. Today, I did both and nothing worked. I knew I couldn’t ignore this anymore.
