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Our eyes meet. I smile. “Yes, you know that well.”
“I do.”
I touch his cheek softly. The beard is in need of a trim. But I don’t mind it. “I felt like my mother had gone long before she actually left. Does that make sense?”
He nods. “That must have been so hard.”
My eyes pinch with tears.Not again… “It was. It was so h-hard.”
I’ve done way more weeping today than I’ve done probably my entire adult life. If this is a sign of times to come, I am going to need to invest in Kleenex stock.
Drew takes my hand and kisses my fingertips as I cry. Such an intimate, close gesture. I want him to kiss every part of my body and I don’t mean it sexually (although that wouldn’t be so bad either). I want him to appreciate every tender part of me. To loveallof me despite the ugliness.
“You didn’t deserve that, Dana.”
“I know, but it’s my t-trauma. I have to live with it. And be good despite it.”
“You never have to be anything but what you are with me.”
“God, why do you always say the right things?” I say through a laugh that’s also sort of a sob.
Drew wipes my tears away. “I had a very good teacher.” Gingerly, he kisses my lips, then presses his forehead to mine.
My tears abate, finally. I am grounded again. Here with Drew. Father of my baby. The man I love.
“I love you,” I whisper.
“I love you too,” he says back without hesitation.
It is not a dramatic declaration. No boomboxes held overhead or tearful explanations in the rain. It is simple. It is easy.
It’sus.
He pulls the ring out of his pocket and holds it up. “Not a proposal. Not yet. I know you said you don’t want things to move too fast just because we did everything backwards, but…”
I resist the urge to say that I would accept a proposal right here on the spot. Old Dana didn’t know what she was talking about. New Dana wants to be Drew Young’s forever and ever.
“I want you to have this. As a promise. That I’ll always be here for you. For our baby.”
I smile.
“My father walked out on me without explanation. I’ve never been able to talk about it with you. With anyone, really. But I still remember the last time I saw him. The last time we talked. I was eight years old.”
His eyes take on a faraway look.
“We had been building a model submarine for a few hours. Just the two of us. It was our thing. Suddenly, Dad said, ‘I think we’re out, kid,’ squeezing the glue bottle with all his might. It wheezed angrily, glue sputtering across our cardboard workstation.
“’Oh, that’s okay. We can stop for today,’ I said. I was always a particularly understanding child. I had to be when my dad kept leaving and waltzing back into my life, looking for forgiveness.
“Dad looked at me, his eyes reflecting my own. And a look passed over his face that I’ll never forget. A frown and then a half-smile and then… ‘No, I’ll go get some now,’ he said getting to his feet and starting toward the door. I scrambled after him. ‘Wait, don’t go!’ I pleaded.
“’I’m just going to the store, Drew. I’ll be right back.’” His eyes are on the floor.
“Any time Dad left, I assumed it would be for the last time. It didn’t matter how many promises he made to Mom and me. He’d left so many times, even when she was pregnant. God. I begged him to stay. To let me go with him, but he wouldn’t let me. He just grabbed his leather jacket off the hall tree and slid it on, ignoring my plea. ‘Tell your mother I’ll be back, alright?’
“I stopped dead in my tracks. I’d heard that before. That meant he wouldn’t be back. At least not for a while.” He closes his eyes. Pain clear on his face. My heart breaks for the man he is and the little boy he was.
“His reasons for leaving were never clear. I could never determine his patterns. Sometimes, it would be fights that would drive him away. Other times it was only a decision.”
