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I’d been here plenty of times over the years, but this time, the sprawling ranch intimidated me in a way I hadn’t expected. Inside of that house was my child. When I waked through that door, I’d be somebody’s daddy.
With that terrifying thought, I pulled to a stop in front of the house. Closed my eyes. Steadied my breath. Found the still, quiet place in the center of my chest.
And when I opened my eyes, Presley and Priscilla were already there, standing on the porch.
My throat slammed shut. I reached for the handle and opened the door with my eyes on the little girl by Presley’s side. When she bounced on the toes of sparkly flats, her dress opened and closed like a jellyfish.
“He’s here, Mama!” she practically screamed.
A laugh found its way out of me as numb legs carried me toward them.
Presley smiled and held her hand, watching me with a strange mixture of relief and fear on her face. Priscilla tried to bolt in my direction, but Presley hung onto her hand to give me that one last second I didn’t know I needed. When I reached the steps to the patio, Priscilla’s excitement melted into shyness, her cheeks flushing as she scooted closer to Presley, her chin down. She laid her cheek against her mother’s hip.
I crouched on shaky knees to get eye-level with her.
Priscilla didn’t say anything.
“Cilla, this is Sebastian,” Presley said, kneeling. She cast me an encouraging look.
I stuck out my hand, not knowing what else to do. “Hi, Priscilla.”
She glanced at my hand, then met my eyes. “You’re my daddy?”
The kick in my chest stole my breath. But I kept on my smile and nodded. “You’re my daughter.”
“I’m your Cilla.”
I chuckled, and my chest that’d just been empty simmered with warmth. I took my hand back. “You are.”
“Mama said I have another Nonnie.”
“You do, but I think she’ll want you to call her Abuela.”
“Abuela.” She tested the word. “Mama said you make tacos.”
Presley and I shared a smile. “That’s true. See, my abuela has a restaurant, so she makes all kinds of things.”
“I like tacos.”
“Me too. Crispy or soft?”
Her nose wrinkled. “Crunchy ones break, and I get mad.”
“Good point.”
“Can we go get tacos?”
“Maybe another day, bug,” Presley answered. “Want to go inside? You can get your book you wanted to show Sebastian.”
Priscilla beamed and took off for the front door. “Pete the Cat! Pete the Caaaat!” She paused in the threshold with the screen door against her hand. “Come on, Daddy!”
I didn’t quite understand how I could feel both like I’d been punched in the stomach and shown some sort of secret to the universe. I swallowed. Smiled. Nodded, even though she was already gone.
Presley watched me as we stood, and I climbed the steps. When I reached the patio, she took my hand and looked up at me with concern and curiosity on her face.
“Are you okay?”
“I have no idea.”
“Welcome to parenting,” she joked. But her smile faded. “Do you … do you want to be alone with her?”
“God, no. I need a spotter, Pres. Don’t ditch me now.”
When she laughed, I made the mistake of looking down at her. I stopped myself from kissing her at the last second. Because this was going to be confusing enough for Priscilla without her catching us kissing.
“Mooooommy,” her voice sang through the screen door as she approached. “Daaaaaaddy!”
I wondered briefly how many times I’d have to hear that before it quit knocking the wind out of me.
“Coming,” Presley said, letting go of my hand to make for the door.
Priscilla met us halfway with a book in her hand featuring a blue cat in a pair of Converse.
“Here.” She shoved the book at me, then took my hand in one of hers and Presley’s in the other, and dragged us toward the courtyard in the middle of the house.
Her hand was nearly as sweaty as mine, a small, soft, chubby appendage with a considerable grip. Again, Presley and I shared a look.
All of a sudden, I understood the friends with benefits directive in a new way.
It wasn’t just my heart and hers at stake. It was the well-being and world view of a little girl. My feelings weren’t as important as Priscilla’s.
And that meant we had to be very, very careful.
When we’d made it outside, we sat on a bench under the trees, surrounded by squatty palms and birds of paradise with Priscilla squiggled between us.
“It’s time to read,” she commanded, handing me the book.
“Pete The Cat: I Love My White Shoes,” I said before opening it up. Before I knew what was happening, she clamored into my lap.
She nestled against me, her back to my chest and her little head at the hollow of my throat, right where my heart had taken up residence. When I circled her with my arms, she put her tiny hand on my forearm.
