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I can tell that he doesn't want to say the next part, and I can see the thought process playing out on his face: he agreed to tell me everything, including—no,especially—the bad and the ugly. "I did offer to facilitate some kind of communication between you two. She declined, so I requested that she terminate her rights. Do you remember a week in first grade when you stayed with Audrey's family?"
"Yes," I say, because it's one of my most vivid memories. I was homesick for about ten minutes after Dad dropped me off; then the chaotic nature of Audrey's household drew me in, distracted me, and the next four days were constant noise and activity. It was an absolute blast.
"I was in Kansas City that week, meeting with her and getting all the paperwork sorted. Maybe it wasn't the right thing to do, but I didn't want to leave the door open for her to change her mind. I didn't think that would be good for you."
“Did she ask about me?” My voice is small. “Or ask to see pictures or—or anything?”
The look he gives me is so full of sorrow and regret, I know the answer before he speaks. “No,” he says. “No, we didn’t talk much beyond legalities.”
He pushes himself out of the recliner and comes to sit beside me on the couch. I’m still angry at him—for what he did back then, for keeping all of this from me until now—and I keep my distance, drawing my knees up between us. “Listen,” he says. “This part is important. Of course, it wasn’t safe or acceptable for her to leave you in the apartment all alone. But honey, she was in a bad state of mind, and even on that last day, she took care of you the best way she knew how. She put you in the closet where there was a lightbulb, and she emptied it so there was nothing for you to pull down on yourself and no way for you to get hurt. There were a couple of books in there and a sippy cup of juice. I talked to some neighbors who saw her outside and figured out that she didn’t leave until it was almost time for me to get home.” Dad lowers his head and forces me to meet his eyes. “She loved you. She couldn’t stay, but I’ve never doubted that she loved you.”
I try to picture my two-year-old self stuck in a closet, surrounded by the things my mother thought I would need, sobbing because what I really needed was her. The longer I think about it, the angrier I get. I’mfurious, and there’s only one person here to absorb that fury. “You could have helped her,” I tell my dad. “Everything could have been different.”
Dad shakes his head slowly back and forth. “I know. I regret it all every day. Every damn day.”
I clench my eyes shut and try to transport myself back in time to when I believed that this man could do no wrong. Instead, my mind is caught on the fact that my so-called superhero let a woman crash and burn until she had no option but to leave her daughter behind.
“I’m so ashamed,” he says. “That’s the real reason I never wanted to tell you any of this. I was ashamed that I let it happen. It was selfish, and I’m sorry.”
I look down at myself, curled up on the couch, newly pregnant and feeling so very, very defeated.
“Did you love her?” I ask.
He cracks a knuckle. “Yes,” he says after a moment of thought. “At the time. But even if I’d been a better partner, I’m not sure we were really meant to last.” Hesitantly, he wraps his arm around my shoulder, and even though I’m so angry and conflicted and sad, I go willingly into his familiar embrace. “I love you more than anything, Azalea. There are a lot of things I wish I’d done differently, but I would never go back and change anything that led to me being your dad.”
The words are like a soothing balm on my gaping emotional wounds. I let myself relax into him, my heavy head finding much-needed solace on his shoulder. Despite all his mistakes and shortcomings, heisthe parent who stayed. He has devoted everything to me for over twenty years. His secrets and lies are a setback in our relationship, but not a permanent wedge.
“I’m sorry for making a scene in front of Jess,” I say softly.
Dad rubs my shoulder. “Don’t worry about it. I deserved it. That’s another tough conversation I have ahead of me.”
I sit up enough to look at him. “What do you mean?”
“She and Heath stayed for dinner but left pretty soon after.” He pushes his glasses up his nose, not looking directly at me. “It didn’t sit well with her that I hid so much from you.”
As much as I hate the thought of my dad cleaning up the dining room all alone on Thanksgiving, I also feel an odd sort of solidarity with Jess. For the first time since she came into Dad’s life, I’m not harboring a secret, shameful hope that they’ll break up. The opposite, actually—I hope she sticks around.
“She seemed really happy to be with you for Thanksgiving,” I tell him. “I bet she’ll hear you out.”
Dad forces a smile. “I hope she does.”
I watch the streetlamps flicker on through the front window. “I don’t know what to do, Daddy,” I murmur. “What should I do?”
“I’m sorry, honey,” he says softly. “That’s a decision you and Maverick are going to have to make together.”
A possible future plays out in my mind: never getting to go to pharmacy school, losing my identity outside of motherhood, watching Maverick come and go from work, hardly getting to spend any time with him. Just like my parents. I’ve somehow managed to replicate the exact circumstances that made Marie feel so suffocated, the only thing she could do was run away.
Inside my shoes, my toes curl.
If anyone’s getting trapped here, it’s you.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Maverick
Ihadplannedtospend the rest of Thanksgiving weekend with my family, but by Saturday night, it’s clear that something is going on with Azalea. I’ve tried to call her, and it goes to voicemail. Through text, she keeps telling me that she’s tired or has homework to do and that she'll call me back. She never does.
I figure she’s still upset about what happened with her dad and maybe a little upset with me for staying home instead of coming to her, so I decide to surprise her. It’s nine o’clock and pitch-black outside by the time I show up at her apartment armed with a bouquet of flowers and a giant cupcake from a specialty bakery I know she likes. My hands are full, so I tap the door with the toe of my shoe and wait for someone to answer.
