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“Friend,” she repeats. She turns back to the box and starts again. “I sing… to the moon… and look like… your… friend. Four letters.”
“Hm…” Demyen strokes his chin in deep thought. “That’s a good riddle. I think I might be stumped.” His gaze flicks up to mine. “What do you think, Mom?”
I think I’ve entered an alternate universe—that’s what I think. I gape a bit and shake my head, flabbergasted. Just not by the crossword puzzle. “Shoot, I don’t know. Thatisa good one! What sings to the moon?”
“A wolf!” Willow suddenly exclaims. She holds her fingers up and carefully counts the letters as best she can. “Wolf. Wh… double-you… oh…” She looks to Demyen for help, who nods his encouragement but doesn’t say anything other than sounding the letters out with her.
“Ell… eff… It fits!”
Demyen high-fives her again and makes a little victory fist. “Got the pencil?”
Willow snaps her fingers—another surprising development;when did she learn how to do that?—and hops up to find the pencil they apparently use for the crossword.
While she digs through the utensil drawer, Demyen meets my stare with a slightly more heated gaze. Or maybe… maybe it’s not heated? It’s definitelydifferent. Kind of. No clue how, but it is.
He offers me a lopsided smile and is about to say something when Willow comes bouncing back. Immediately, the somewhat-heated gaze downshifts into something else as he refocuses back on her.
She hands him the pencil and watches him write each letter in the little squares.
“Double-you… oh… ell… eff!” they announce together.
My heart is no longer pinching. It’s straight-up weeping, overcome with overwhelming joy and pride and… and…love.
Love for Willow, of course. Obviously. But also for… Can I dare to think it? Is it too dangerous to entertain?
I didn’t think it could be possible, especially not after The Ordeal. Despite his explanations and apologies, it just all felt a little too little, a little too late.
And yet.And yet. Here we are. Heretheyare, sharing a bond and a rhythm I never in a million years expected Demyen to not only embrace, but encourage. He’s teaching her how to read, how to spell, how to overcome those little insecurities that naturally eat us up inside.
Above all, he so clearly, obviously loves her. Just as much as she loves him, if not more.
Demyen glances at the watch on his wrist and sighs. “Well, kiddo, it’s that time. Let’s get our teeth brushed and grab your backpack. Did you grab your lunchbox from Gloria?”
I pat the small bag on the table. “We got it.”
He smiles, then winks at me. “Did you ask Mommy if she’d like to come?”
Willow immediately spins around in her chair and folds her hands. “Pleeeaaaassseee, Mommy?”
“With coffee and cream?” Demyen adds.
“Yeah! Pleaasseee, Mommy? With coffee and cream?”
I can’t hold back the smile or the laugh that breaks free. “Okay! Okay, I’ll come. Want me to carry your lunchbox for you?”
Willow hugs me tight. “Yes, please. Just until we get to school. Then I can carry it by myself.”
Again, Demyen shrugs at my perplexed expression. “Kid’s independent. And strong.”
They both flex their muscles for me, then laugh and hold hands as he leads her to the bathroom to go brush her teeth. As I watch them stroll along the walkway between the two buildings, I can’t control the overwhelming and confusing mix of emotions that swarms my vision and stings my eyes.
No. I’m not going to cry. If I keep crying at every little thing, I’m going to die of dehydration.
But, maybe just this little bit, I can shed a tear of happiness over my daughter finally finding a father.
12
CLARA
