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It was storming when I woke up this morning, but now, early evening, barely a trickle falls. The rain has slowed enough for Maddie to splash around in the mud puddles in my father’s front yard, while I sit in a chair on the porch. My father is beside me, steadily rocking.
“You look lost again,” he says. “Like you don’t know whether you’re coming or going.”
I glance his way. “I’m getting a déjà vu vibe here, Dad.”
“You and me both, kiddo,” he says. “Seems like every few months we go through this. He shows up, and then he leaves, and you’re left behind to grieve.”
“It’s different this time.”
“Is it?”
“He’s coming back.”
“Didn’t he always?”
“Yeah, but…”
“But it’s different,” he says. “Yet, it’s not.”
I sigh, exasperated, which only serves to make him laugh.
“He wanted us to go with him."
My father looks surprised. “So why are you sitting here?”
I blink at him. “Are you not the same man who went ballistic last time I left with him?”
“And are you not the same girl who didn’t care what anybody thought, you were going?”
“I was only seventeen. I didn’t know what I was doing.”
“Which is why I went ballistic.”
I turn away, looking at Maddie. She’s covered in mud and smiling. She doesn’t look lost at all. She looks like she knows exactly where she belongs.
I wish I had her resilience.
I wish Jonathan’s words alone were enough to calm my fears.
He’s been gone for two weeks.
We’re halfway through the month already. Two more weeks and he’s supposed to be done. They’re in Europe now, and the time difference makes it difficult. The calls are sporadic, thirty-second voicemails telling Maddie goodnight or saying ‘I love you’. I wake up to texts, and by the time I answer, he’s too busy to read them.
“I can’t live my life on his terms,” I say.
“And he can’t live his life on yours,” my father says. “That’s why there’s such a thing as compromise. Your mother and I, we rarely agreed on anything. It was a matter of give and take. You win some, you lose some, and you keep on playing.”
Maddie runs over to us, shoving her hair from her face. She jumps up onto the porch, trailing mud behind her, and instantly, without a single second thought, she flings herself at me. I gasp. She’s drenched, the hug getting me muddy.
Giggling, she runs off again, yelling, “Got you!”
“You little…” I jump up, and she squeals as I chase her back off of the porch. She expects me to stop there, but I run out into the yard. The ground's slick, and I slip, and… “Ah!”
My feet come out from under me, and I go down, but not before I get my hands on Maddie, taking her along. We both land flat in the grass, stunned, covered in mud.
My father laughs from the porch.
“Got you,” I say, sitting up, poking Maddie in the side when she gets to her feet. She jumps on me, trying to tackle me, as my pocket vibrates. I’m confused until I hear the muffled ringing. “Oh, hold on, truce!”
I hold a hand up to stop Maddie as I grab my phone. She gives me barely five seconds to look at the screen before she tries to take me down, just enough time to see his name on FaceTime. Jonathan.
“Wait! It’s your daddy!” I say, but I’m too late, because the girl slams into me so hard the phone goes flying, landing on the wet grass.
Maddie grabs the phone as it goes silent. Eyes wide, she shoves it at me. “Fix it, Mommy.”
“Is it broken?” I ask, pressing buttons, grateful it still works. Opening FaceTime, I call him back. It rings and rings and rings and my heart sings when he picks up.
He’s in a bed in a dim room, looking like he’s half-asleep. His brow furrows. “What are you doing? Mud wrestling?”
“I, uh… yep.”
He laughs, a sleepy kind of laugh.
The sound does things to my insides.
“Hey, Daddy!” Maddie says, jumping on my back, choking me as she wraps her arms around my neck. “Are you napping?”
“Something like that,” he says. “Kind of sad I’m missing all the fun.”
“Is Breezeo not being fun?” Maddie asks, snatching the phone from my hand to take over.
“It’s a lot of work,” he says. “Not nearly as much fun as you seem to be having.”
“Don’t worry, we can have fun when you come home,” Maddie says. “We can play in the rain, and you and Mommy can wrestle!”
“Promise?”
“Yep.”
“Good,” he says. “Can you put your mom back on? I can’t talk long.”
“Okay,” she says, handing the phone to me, yelling, “Bye!”
She’s off, running up onto the porch, as I look at Jonathan.
“I’d ask how you’re doing,” he says, “but I think the sight of you right now probably sums it up.”
“What, I’m a mess?”
