Chapter Thirty-Six
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
OUR DAUGHTER
PRESENT
I s time supposed to dull passion?
Fragmented pieces of our time together play in the recesses of my mind as I hold him, content to connect with him in this way.
We’d each missed so much, and it hurts. It hurts knowing he’s missed so much of Penny’s life.
“If you ever send me a fucking check again?—”
I’ve pulled back to spit the stern words out, but he presses his palm over my lips, leaning close to look me in my eyes.
“I didn’t know what else to do. I need you to know that I wanted to be here, but I thought it was best to leave you alone and let you be happy with a good man taking care of her.”
I pull away from him, a question on the tip of my tongue.
“You understand that Peter is still her father, right?”
“I won’t ever try to take that from him. I just want to love her. Both of the girls. And you.”
He presses his forehead to mine, and I close my eyes, wondering where we go from here. How could my past, present, and future all collide like this ?
After a moment, he speaks words that pierce me.
“I really, really want to meet our daughter.”
Our daughter.
It’s the first time he’s acknowledged her in this way and I smile, my eyes filling. I’ve cried so much today for so many different reasons. But I don’t mind these ones.
How do I describe Penelope to someone who’s never met her?
“She’s surly like you,” I start, stepping away from him to grab one of our photo albums in the living room. It was always Peter who bothered printing and arranging them, something I’d have to remember to do now.
“I’m not surly,” he calls after me, following me into my home. I turn to watch him scanning the area and I wonder what he thinks of it.
“I recently watched a video compilation of all the times you argued with interviewers,” I point out, opening the album and smiling at the first set of pictures I see.
He lets out his next breath in a hiss. “You saw that?”
“I did,” I confirm. “And she’ll see things like that, too.”
His nod is resolute, as if he understands that he can’t act like this anymore with little eyes on him.
I beckon him over to the couch and we both stare at the photos I show him, silent as I turn the pages. I give him enough time with each picture before I move on, explaining each milestone, each smile.
“She’s always had your nose,” I start, running my finger over her baby picture. “Always had your dark hair.”
Abraham is wordless, watching as I flip each page, absorbing the years as best he can.
“Her sister looks like a little blonde you,” he whispers, awe in his voice. “What are their names?”
“You never found out?” I ask, turning to look him in his eyes. He shakes his head and I pat his hand. “Penelope and Jillian. ”
He nods, blinking a few times. And then I share my last secret I’ve kept from him. One he could’ve easily found out on his own. But I’m happy to tell him for myself.
“I gave her the middle name Abigail. It was the closest I could get to Abraham,” I explain with a slight shrug.
The album slides to the floor as he pulls me in his arms, squeezing me so tightly, I can hardly breathe.
“Thank you,” he whispers in my ear, his gratitude filling my eyes with tears. “ Grazie mille, mia Stellina .”
Abraham Pugliesi is in my home, sitting on my beige couch, looking larger than life. When I informed him that I had to go grocery shopping today as well as get an oil change, he instructed me to get my things together so we could go.
I’ve been at the top of the steps watching him sit there silently, his gaze roving about the house. Outside of that, he doesn’t move. It’s an odd feeling, seeing him here, wondering if he could see himself here.
Truth be told, I’m still very much married as we await the final court dates and eventual dissolution status.
And it’s been so long since we were last together that I wonder…will this even be viable? We never had the chance to try.
With my purse in hand, I trek down the steps, earning his attention as he peers over at me, his arm outstretched on the back of the couch.
“Ready?” We both as at the same time, earning mutual grins. He pats his legs before he stands and I can’t help myself with ideas of him fitting into my life here.
“I never thought I’d ever experience something as mundane as grocery shopping with you,” I say as I grin, leading us out of my front door. We head toward the driveway and I’m grateful he didn’t pull in behind me to block my car in.
“Alas, we must all eat,” he muses as he leans into my car to press the button to send the passenger seat back. “I have no plans today so there is no rush.”
I can text Peter and see if he’d like the girls tonight, but they aren’t due back to me until around dinner time anyway. This is a reminder that Abraham doesn’t know this version of me: the one who can’t drop everything and join him wherever he is anymore.
“Before anything,” I begin from across the hood of the car, “I—dating me isn’t like it was before. I have a business now and two kids who require most of my time.”
He leans an elbow on the top of the car as he absorbs what I’m saying, waiting for me to continue.
“I would rather get this conversation out of the way before you get in my car and I fall back into whatever this is.”
He lifts his brows at the few words I say and when I tilt my chin, his lips part. He pauses a beat, lips still parted as he stares at me.
“I’ve decreased my workload significantly the moment I heard you filed for divorce. I still have some projects on the horizon, ones that I signed on for years ago. I fully intend to be here for my daughter—as well as you, whether in a romantic capacity or simply as coparents.” He swallows as he blinks a few times before continuing, “I made the mistake of not wanting to disrupt what I thought was a happy home here for her. And while I am sure it’s been happy, I’d like to find a place in her world.”
There’s an ache in my chest at the idea of lost time and consequences. There are things I’ll never know, never fully understand, but all I can do is slowly offer this man another chance to be a father.
I care far less about my own heart, opting to move forward in a way that keeps my child’s sacred heart safe.
“We’re going to move slowly and you’ll have to prove yourself as a responsible person,” I respond, fiddling with my keys as I look past him at the tops of the surrounding houses. “No more sabotaging, no more withholding, no more doing what you think is best without communicating.”
“Deal.” One resolute answer and he’s jerked my car door open again to slide inside.
All while we’re out running errands, he asks what things the girls like to eat, paying for everything I put in the cart and extra that he tosses in, determined to feel involved.
After we leave the post office, he opens the driver’s side for me, planting a kiss on my cheek before closing my door.
When he opens the passenger door and sits beside me, I reach for his hand. He offers it without hesitation, squeezing mine.
“I remember you did not like things like this,” he murmurs, eyes on our joined hands as I think back on that time. On the uncertainty and fear.
“I didn’t want to get hurt,” I tell him, squeezing his hand in return. “You scared me.”
He lifts our hands and presses a kiss to the back of mine.
“You still scare me.”
“Why?”
“Because it was much easier for you to live without me than it was for me to live without you,” he confesses, sadness marring his beautiful features. When I open my mouth to speak, he shakes his head. “I’m not sad that you’ve loved and known another. It was as a result of my cowardice.”
We sit there a moment and I’m aware we have to leave soon so I can be home for the girls but I offer him silence before I share something I’ve never told anyone before.
“When Penny was a baby,” I start, stroking the back of his hand, “I used to sit her in her little bouncy chair and we’d watch your movies together.”
Thinking back on that time brings me such heartache. I worried it was the only connection she’d have to him.
“There was a time where so many movies had your name attached to it in one way or another,” I joke.
“I drowned myself in work after you left me in that hotel room. I wanted to find you, to make you hear reason, but I wanted to respect your justified anger.”
We fill in each other’s blanks, longing letters of love that were never sent. Feelings that were never acknowledge and perspectives that were never given the chance to be explained.
“I’m so sorry,” he whispers as he continues to stare at our hands, our fingers entwined much like our lives have continued to be.
“Me too.”