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He’s silent as my bare feet pad against the wooden hallway floors, toward the top of the steps. When I see my daughters staring at me, their father standing in the doorway, I’m more than a little confused.
“They wanted to come back,” he tells me with a shrug. I nod and gesture for him to come in. He shakes his head and jerks his thumb toward the car.
“I made dinner plans,” he tells me before closing the front door, leaving me with two girls looking up at me expectantly.
“Mommy’s on a work call. I’ll be down in a sec. Penny, get a snack together and Jilly,” I point at her, “remember what we talked about this morning.
“Just because it fits in your mouth doesn’t mean it should go in there,” we say in unison, and I swear I hear Abraham chuckle in my ear. I’d almost forgotten he was on the phone. I steal away, rushing back to the privacy of my office before I can give him a further peek into my life.
“What are they like?” he asks, and his casual curiosity is the perfect thing to keep me from wanting to continue this conversation. They aren’t up for discussion. Not with him and not right now.
“Please,” I start, taking a beat before I continue. “Don’t ask me about my kids.”
They’re far too sacred to be included in our awkward conversation.
I’ve never loved anyone as much as I love my daughters. Never known anything as pure as the admiration and sorrow I feel when they achieve new things.
I’m tempted to ask Abraham if he ever ended up having children, but the question is stuck in my throat. I don’t want to take it there, either.
He clears his throat and presses on.
“We should continue this conversation in person.”
I roll my eyes to the ceiling, wishing that a simple phone call would’ve been enough to satisfy his curiosity so we could both move forward, continuing to pretend the other didn’t shape our lives in such a dramatic fashion.
“This is all I’m comfortable with,” I murmur, finally looking down at my bare feet as my toes press into the plush carpet. I hear the girls arguing downstairs and I press my fingertips into my forehead. “I have to get the girls some dinner.”
“Of course,” he tells me, his voice quiet. “Call me when you have time again.”
I don’t say anything else, ending the call before I promise to do anything else.
I’ve already done far too much for him.
