Sierra's sitting across from me, her hot chocolate mostly untouched, a small smile playing at her lips as Ruby launches into a story about the time she tried to give their neighbor's dog a bath and ended up soaking herself instead. Ruby's animated, using her hands to demonstrate, and Sierra's eyes are docile with that particular brand of affection that only comes from years of loving someone completely.
They're beautiful together. A unit. A family that's existed for seven years without me.
The thought should hurt more than it does, but right now, in this moment, with chocolate-scented air and Ruby's laughter filling the space between us, I'm just... grateful. Grateful that I get to see this, to be part of it, even if I'm seven years late.
"And then Mr. Henderson had to help me catch Chester because he ran away with soap all over him and Mom was laughing so hard she couldn't breathe," Ruby finishes, grinning at the memory.
"I was not laughing," Sierra protests weakly. "I was concerned."
"You were laughing," Ruby insists. "You were crying you were laughing so hard."
"Okay, maybe a little." Sierra's smile widens, and for a second, she looks exactly like she did eight years ago, before I left. Before everything got complicated. "But I was also concerned. Chester's owner was very understanding, considering."
"She gave me cookies," Ruby adds. "So, she couldn't have been that mad."
I find myself smiling in a way I haven't in years. "Sounds like you keep life interesting."
"Mom says I'm a force of nature." Ruby takes another sip of her hot chocolate, leaving a whipped cream mustache. "I'm not totally sure what that means, but it sounds cool."
"It means you're unstoppable," I say, and catch Sierra's eye. "Like a hurricane."
"A small, very determined hurricane," Sierra agrees.
Ruby beams at this assessment, clearly taking it as a compliment.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, probably one of the guys checking in, making sure I haven't completely lost my mind. I ignore it. Whatever they want can wait. This, sitting here with my daughter, learning about her life, watching the way her nose scrunches when she concentrates on fishing marshmallows out of her mug, this can't.
"Can I ask you something?" Ruby's voice pulls me back, and there's a seriousness in her expression that wasn't there a moment ago.
"Anything," I say, and mean it.
"Are you going to leave again?"
Sierra goes still across the table, her eyes wide, and I realize this is what she's been afraid of. Not that I'd reject Ruby, but that I'd do what I did before, decide things are too hard and walk away.
"No." The word comes out firm, certain. "No, Ruby. I'm not going to leave."
"Promise?" Her blue eyes search my face, looking for truth.
"I promise." I lean forward, making sure she can see how serious I am. "I know I wasn't there before. I didn't know about you,and I can't change that. But now that I do know? I'm not going anywhere. You're stuck with me."
"Good." Ruby relaxes, her shoulders dropping. "Because I just met you and I don't want to lose you already."
My throat tightens. "You're not going to lose me."
"Okay." She nods, satisfied, and goes back to her hot chocolate like she didn't just ask the question that's been hanging over all of us since Sierra walked into the station.
But Sierra's still frozen, staring at me with something raw and vulnerable in her expression. I hold her gaze, trying to communicate without words: I mean it. I'm not running. Not this time.
She nods slightly, and I see relief flood through her.
We stay at Melt for another hour. Ruby talks almost nonstop, filling me in on seven years of life in scattered, enthusiastic bursts. I learn that she loves strawberries but hates strawberry-flavored things ("They don't taste like real strawberries, Dad"), that she's afraid of the dark but pretends she's not, that her favorite subject is science because they get to do experiments.
Every time she calls me "Dad," something in my chest tightens and loosens at the same time. Like a knot I didn't know I had slowly coming undone.
Sierra contributes details Ruby forgets or glosses over: the time Ruby broke her arm falling out of a tree (fearless, just like Sierra said), her first day of kindergarten when she cried for ten minutes and then decided school was actually great, the elaborate fairy garden she built in the backyard last summer.
I soak it all in, trying to piece together the picture of who my daughter is, what her life looks like. And the more I learn, the more I can't stop thinking about what could be.
