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“Watcha got there?”
“It’s for Skylar.”
“You’re getting to be a great artist, Libs.”
Pointing to each figure she says, “That’s me and that’s Skylar.”
I’m focused on the sun taking up a prominent amount of space on the front of the card and the tiny hearts she drew all around the figure that is obviously Sky.
“This is nice. I think she’ll be really happy when you give it to her.”
“I’m gonna give it to Sky on Mudder Day.”
I smile to myself listening to that one last remnant of baby talk she’s still struggling with. She sounds out thethfine in some words, but mother and father always trip her up. She sounds so cute that it takes me a second to process what she said.
“On Mother’s Day?”
Should I remind her again that Sky isn’t her mother? That this isn’t appropriate? I just don’t have it in me.
“Libs, we’re going to be in Florida with Grammy and Grampy on Mother’s Day. Remember? We get to ride on the big plane this Wednesday.”
Her eyes light up. “I forgot!” Wiggling off my lap and heading back upstairs she says, “I gotta make Grammy a card, too!”
“Good idea. And you just reminded me I have to buy Grammy a card and shop for something special.”
She stops in her tracks and then turns. “And I’ll give Sky her card on Special Person Day.”
“When is that?”
“Today!”
“Uh, no Libs. Sky doesn’t come here today.”
“Tomorrow?”
“No, and she has a test the day after tomorrow.” Her smile drops and my heart sinks along with it because I know that seeing Skylar before we leave means…I’m going to have to see Skylar before we leave. Fuck me. “She’s coming here on Tuesday and that’s the day before we go to Florida. Is that good?”
“Yes!” And then she rattles off her crazy list of things to do as she takes the stairs one by one. “I make Sky a cake. A present. I make a Happy Grammy Day card…”
I’ve got a pit in my stomach the size of a boulder. I look to where my phone sits on the table.You’re eventually going to have to talk to her so just do it. I reach for it and then put it back down again.This isn’t going to get any easierso stop being a pussy.
I’m praying it goes to voicemail when she picks up. I can hear her take in a deep breath before she says hello, which tells me she’s not exactly jazzed that it’s me on the other end of the line.
Now I’m thinking I should have planned this out a little better because I don’t have a clue right now. I don’t know what to say and she obviously doesn’t either. An uncomfortable moment passes before I say, “I got your text.” I clear my throat because I’m really fucking nervous right now. “I’m the one who’s sorry.”
“I feel awful.”
“You shouldn’t,” I tell her. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“I shouldn’t have spoken to you that way.”
“Sky…I just…I never knew it was you. I’m sure you know that…I mean, I hope you do. And I’m beyond ashamed of myself that I laid a hand on you last night...That I ever laid a hand on you.” It suddenly occurs to me to ask, “This whole time, did you know it was me? That I was the guy you danced with that night?”
The guy you danced with. I go with that instead ofthe guy who groped you like a perv.
“No, not at first. One night when you were washing the dishes you pushed your sleeves up and I saw the tattoos on your left arm. That’s when I knew.”
“Oh.”
