“Did you pack your curling iron?”
Sadie nods, her arms elbow deep in her duffel bag resting atop floral print bedding. The ones that replaced her princess comforter right before she started junior high. “And I made sure to bring enough tampons,” she says.
“You got all of your toiletries too?” I ask, taking a quick peek into her bag, trying hard not to hover. “Toothpaste, toothbrush, shamp?—”
“Yes, Mom. I got it all.” She walks away to pack up the rest of her things, gingerly placing her acoustic guitar in its case and stuffing away a few pages of sheet music.
I peer at the digital clock at her bedside. “Your dad should be here any minute.”
Just then, we’re interrupted by the distant sound of a horn honking. Three short beeps, signaling Leo’s arrival outside.
I pull Sadie in for a long hug. “Call me whenever you want,” I mumble into her hair. “I don’t care if it’s two in the morning and you just want to say good night. Or good morning.”
“I will, Mom.”
“Have fun and learn loads,” I add.
She lets out a loose giggle. “I will!”
Another impatient honk interrupts our embrace, and I unwillingly let her go before reaching for her duffel bag. Sadie follows suit, slinging her guitar case over her shoulder. When Sadie walks out the front door and I follow close behind, I see Leo walk cautiously toward us. It’s so strange to see this man, the man who used to walk through this house in his tattered pajamas, walk the steps of the driveway now with so much heed.
“Hi, Sadie bug,” he calls as she lowers her guitar case and runs into his open arms.
“Daddy!” she squeals. It’s like she’s that little six-year-old girl again, obsessed with putting stickers on her dad’s face along with glitter lip balm and pink nail polish.
I see a small crack in Leo’s reserve when he holds Sadie in his arms. It’s the same soft spot that would make my heart weaken. Forget about those long nights in a cold bed or canceled dinner dates. And for the first week after I found out about his affair, it was the reason I considered working through this. For our family. Until the resentment lingered like rotting mold.
“Can we get some Starbucks on the way?” Sadie asks, handing off her guitar case to Leo. “I’m craving a caramel macchiato.”
“Is all that caffeine even good for you? Doesn’t it stunt your growth?”
Sadie rolls her eyes, sliding into the front seat and poking her fingers at the elaborate touch screen inside Leo’s shiny new Audi.
The slam of the trunk brings me back to Leo, his cautious eyes peering at me, gauging what’s allowed and what’s not. And I can’t believe this is the same man I used to spend weekends in his small studio apartment in nothing but bed sheets and day-old pizza.
“How are you, Teeny?” he asks. His monotone voice sounds so formal.
“I’m fine,” I tell him, responding in an uncomfortably stiff cadence.
He pushes the heel of his hand against the closed car door. Music thumps on the inside, and I get a quick peek of Sadie’s muffled voice drowning in the bass.
“I’ll pick her up in four weeks,” I let him know. “You don’t have to make the drive again.”
He takes a step closer to me. “Javi’s taking Sergio and Annie camping the first week of August,” he explains, referring to his brother and niece and nephew. “They got this big RV, and he’s driving all of them up to Big Bear for a week or two before school starts. I was thinking of joining them. Bring Sadie with me.”
“We have Josh’s wedding.”
“Right.”
“But…I guess you can take her after the wedding depending on when they go,” I tell him, the guilt making me offer more than I planned to.
A sad smile spreads across his face. “Thanks, Teen.”
I nod. “Have a safe trip.” I turn to leave at the same time I see him reach his hand up to touch me, but he stops himself.
“Actually, Teeny.” He shoves his hands in his pocket and rocks on the heels of his feet. He’s wearing a dark Lacoste shirt, probably something I bought him, with jeans and sneakers. A vast difference from the usual business attire he wears during the work week. Though he’s dressed down, I see the small details that show how different we both are from those twenty-somethings that didn’t mind buying clothes in bulk at Old Navy or whatever was on sale at Nordstrom Rack. Like the Piaget glinting off the sunlight on his wrist. Or the Tom Ford sunglasses folded and tucked into the collar of his shirt. But the bags under his eyes and his gritty five o’clock shadow can’t hide the stress dawdling between us. He can’t glitz that up with designer clothes or expensive accessories.
“Yes?” I ask after we’d been standing there for a few seconds too long.
