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"It's almost Emma's birthday," I said. My gaze was on the screen, but I wasn't really seeing anything. "I'm trying to plan her party."
"When is it?" she asked, scooting closer to me to get a look at the screen. I tried to ignore the sweet way she smelled, but fuck. It only made me focus on it more, and I felt my cock harden in my sweats.
"Two weeks," I rasped. Her head snapped to me.
"And you're just now planning?" Her mouth hung open in shock. "Oh my God, Eli! We don't have any time!"
"We?" I asked, forcing my tone to be light. "Are you helping me?"
"Of course!" she said, her eyes wide. "I can't believe you're waiting until the last second. Jesus. Let me see this—"
"No." I rested my hand on the laptop, stopping her from pulling it toward her. "I want your help—no, I need it. But I also need to do this myself, Rae." Her eyes searched mine and I knew she didn't understand. "Meredith always did this." I dropped my gaze to my lap. "She always planned everything. I just went along with whatever she said. But now it's just me, and I need to prove to myself that I can do it. I need to prove to myself that I'm a decent father, you know?"
"Eli," she breathed, her voice thick. "You're an amazing father." I shook my head. She was just saying that because what else could she say? She was too nice to tell me the brutal truth. "Elliot. Look at me."
I didn't want to, but my eyes lifted without my permission. "I don't know what I'm doing," I admitted. "I'm not good—I wasn't made to be a parent."
It wasn’t like I had any role models. My dad dipped as soon as he found out my mother was pregnant, and my mom was too busy trying to find her next husband that she didn’t have time for me. So, it was always just me. I figured everything out on my own, raised myself. I think I turned out alright, but the lingering fear that I was the same absent, mediocre parents as my mother haunted me.
"You're an incredible man," she said softly as she slid her hand onto mine. It was dangerously close to my crotch, but I didn't move it. "And an incredible father. You're doing your best, aren't you?"
"But I'm not doing enough—"
"That's not what I asked," she interrupted, and I blinked at her. I'd never heard her voice so firm before. "I asked if you're doing your best."
"Yes," I nodded.
"And you're not neglecting Em, right?" I gave her a horrified look as she lifted her brows expectantly.
"Of course not," I said. "Jesus. You think—"
"I don't think that," she said, her hand tightening around mine. "But you do. And it's a load of shit." I blinked at her.
"What?"
"It's total bullshit," she repeated. "You didn't think you'd have to do this on your own, but here you are. And there's no rule book, or instruction manual, or forum online that tells you how to navigate life as a single dad while you and your baby mourn. But here you are," she emphasized the words, "doing your best."
"My best isn't good enough," I said, and she shook her head.
"I wish you could see yourself through my eyes," she murmured, staring into my soul. I swallowed thickly. I didn't know what to say to that.
Instead of saying anything, I took a deep breath and turned my attention back to the laptop. I felt her eyes on me, stabbing into the side of my head. I felt the anticipation, the way she seemed to hold her breath as she waited for me to reply.
But nothing.
I said nothing.
Maybe I was a coward. Maybe I was just protecting my heart. Whatever the reason, I couldn't form any coherent words. Not that I tried.
"Which bouncy house do you like?" I asked, my voice thick and raw. She hesitated before removing her hand and turning toward the screen.
"The pink one," she muttered. "Em loves pink." I nodded my agreement. That had been my first choice, too. "Make a list of what you need and I'll do what I can." I nodded as she stood, still too cowardly to look at her.
Silently, she made her way back across the kitchen, dipping to gather her discarded shoes before grabbing her purse. She paused at the archway and looked back at me.
"You should give yourself more credit," she said, and finally, I lifted my gaze. She'd never looked so beautiful. "You're doing amazing, Eli. And whenever you need to hear it, I'm here to say it. I'll never stop reminding you how incredible you are."
With that, she left. Words still wouldn't come. What could I say? What could I think or feel? She'd made it clear—we both had—that we couldn't feel anything toward each other, but she made it so damn hard when she said shit like that. When she looked at me the way she had.
