37. Monroe
THIRTY-SEVEN
MONROE
I LOVE ALL THREE OF THEM.
The house was dark when I walked back in, arms weighed down with grocery bags.
“Girls, I’m home.”
The words flowed as if I called out that phrase every time I stepped through the door.
The ache of how I wanted that to be true settled behind my sternum and didn’t move as I set the bags down on the island, taking out the thirty million items Graciella sent me to get.
Every one of them was “essential”, including the pint of chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream.
Giggling came from the living room, but cut off fast, like someone had clapped a hand over a mouth.
I’d been so busy putting things away, I hadn’t noticed that the place looked like a bomb had hit the linen closet until I walked into the room on soft feet.
The couch was stripped bare. Blankets draped over the backs of chairs, connecting high on the media cabinet so the TV was inside the fort.
The giggling started again.
“Shh,” Graciella whispered from somewhere under the mountain of blankets and sheets. “That him?”
“Yeah, I fink so.” Goldie was absolutely not quiet at all.
“Okay.” Graciella paused. “Stay quiet.”
“Should we pretend to be asleep?”
“That’s a great idea, Golds. I’m sure he will be very scared if he comes to find us.”
Graciella said the last part a little louder, and I shook my head, standing there, waiting for the rustling of blankets and giggles to go silent.
“Gracie,” Goldie whispered. “Daddy will always come to find us, because he’s a real good daddy. Daddies don’t leave you behind.”
Her little words were spoken with such confidence that they nearly knocked me damn well on my ass. She was right. I’d always go find them—both of them.
There was a beat of silence.
“Yeah.” Graciella’s voice sounded choked. “He really is, sweetheart.”
“He likes you,” Goldie said, unprompted.
“Does he? Why do you say that?” Graciella’s voice was careful.
Another rustle of blankets. “Nana says he only gives me his happy face, but that’s not true. He gives you his happy face, too. Do you like him?”
My lids fell closed. Of course my kid had no filter when it came to these things. I’d barely convinced Graciella to let me in, and now I had her in my house with my sick daughter, asking her about her feelings.
I didn’t move. I wasn’t sure I could—had to breathe out slow through my nose, waiting for Graciella’s response.
“Yeah, Golden Girl, I like him too.”
The weight sitting on my chest lifted hearing those words. I couldn’t take it any longer. I crouched down in front of the fort, finding a gap between two couch cushions, half-covered by a blanket. The pale glow of the TV cast everything in blue-gray light.
Goldie was curled up in her lap, her head tucked under Graciella’s chin, and Jingle Bells Bunny clutched under her little arm.
Every blanket that hadn’t been used for construction was piled on top of them.
Pillows were strewn all around the inside of the fort.
I hadn’t even realized we owned that many.
Goldie looked up, and her whole face split open.
“Daddy,” she said, the scaring portion of their plan completely forgotten.
Graciella’s head lifted from where she’d rested it on Goldie’s. The corner of her mouth pulled up.
“Told you he’d find us,” Goldie said, scrambling to untangle herself from the blankets.
“Hey, Golds.” I scooped her up. Her small arms locked around my neck, forehead pressing into the side of my jaw. “How are you feeling?”
“Better,” she said, cheeks still slightly flushed. “Gracie made us a fort.”
“I can see that.”
“Hope that’s okay,” Graciella said.
She sat there, cross-legged in the middle of the wreckage, hands folded loosely in her lap. Blankets pooled around her where Goldie had climbed out, and she looked at me with an almost shy expression. Which wasn’t a word I’d ever thought I’d use with her.
“Baby.” I held her gaze. “You can do whatever you want in this house.”
I left out the second part of my statement.
It will be yours one day, too.