Chapter 51
Erica
I quickly pick up my clothes from my bedroom floor, tossing them into the closet and closing the door.
Out of sight, out of mind. I don’t even know why I’m cleaning my bedroom right now.
It’s not like Marco will be coming in here.
I walk out to the living room, Josie trailing behind me, and begin straightening up.
I fluff the couch cushions and fold my knit throw blanket before organizing Josie’s toys, which is useless because anything I put in the basket, she immediately takes out to play with.
Giving up, I get to my feet and put my hands on my hips.
I do a slow circle as I look around the apartment.
This is as good as it’s going to get. It’s no high-rise penthouse, but it’s home, and it’s about to open its doors to Marco.
I don’t know why I’m so nervous. Maybe it’s because he’s never been here before, or maybe it’s because he’s coming over to try his hand at co-parenting.
My heart skips just thinking about it, and I wonder if I’m making the right choice in letting him in like I promised I would.
Josie and I have been on our own for so long now, besides having my best friends.
Introducing someone else into the mix feels scary.
I don’t want our world to get more complicated, but I know keeping her away from Marco would only make things more complicated in the long run.
I remind myself of that as I hear a soft knock at the door.
I take a deep breath and look at Josie, who is looking at the door curiously.
“I have a little surprise, lovebug…” I say warily as I walk to the door and open it to find Marco standing there holding a bottle of wine and a children’s book with penguins on the cover.
He’s wearing a pair of dark wash jeans and a white t-shirt that hugs his tan arms tightly.
I’m starting to like seeing him like this, out of a suit and dressed down.
“Hi,” I say, finally, remembering to speak.
“Hey.” He smiles and I wonder if he can see the way it settles over me like a warm bath.
I open the door wider and nod for him to come inside.
I watch as he steps into the small entry hallway, following his gaze as he takes in my modest apartment.
I don’t know why I’m suddenly insecure. Maybe it’s because he’s a billionaire and I’ve seen the inside of his place.
Up until now, I’ve always thought my place was cozy, but now it feels cramped.
“I love your place,” he says, turning to look at me and I can see he is genuine. “It’s very you.”
I wonder what he means by that, but I don’t have a chance to ask because Josie is practically speed-crawling toward him.
“Mah-cooooo!” she squeals in delight.
“Hey, Josie girl,” he says, his voice warm as a smile spreads across his face.
He kneels to the floor and she immediately pulls herself up to face him, a little unsteady on her feet.
She grabs his cheeks and I stand in awe at the way they look at each other.
It’s only for a few seconds, but I can see their bond as clear as day.
I can see the love he has for her. I know this was the right choice.
“I got you something,” he says, showing her the book with dancing penguins on the cover.
She claps with delight and plops down on his thighs, almost knocking him over. He laughs and looks up at me as if wondering if it’s okay. I smile, hoping that says it all.
“Let me help you with that,” I say, taking the bottle of wine from his hand as he settles into a seated position right there in the hallway.
I walk to the kitchen and listen as he begins to read the book out loud.
I peek over the counter to see them. It’s the picture-perfect moment and I resist the urge to take a photo on my phone.
Instead, I memorize it because it’s something I don’t want to forget.
I open the oven to check on the casserole that’s been baking since I prepared it after getting home from work.
The smell of broccoli and cheese waft toward me, making my stomach grumble.
It’s just about done. I reach up and pull two wine glasses from a nearby cabinet and uncork the wine that Marco brought.
It’s vintage, and probably costs more than my rent.
“Thanks for the wine,” I call out from the kitchen.
“Of course. Do you need any help in there?” he calls back.
“No, I’ve got it. You two just hang. Dinner’s almost done.”
“It smells delicious!”
I smile to myself. It feels so weird to be talking to him like this, so casually about dinner as he plays with our daughter.
It’s almost like it’s always been this way, but the flutter in my stomach reminds me this is new.
Exciting. For Josie, I remind myself. He’s here for Josie. That’s how it should be.
I take a long sip of wine before taking both glasses to the dining room table that’s already set with plates and silverware. Marco has Josie in his arms and walks toward me.
“How was the book, Josie girl?” I ask.
“Pe-gin,” she says.
“That’s right,” says Marco proudly.
I realize every word she says is new for him.
A little milestone he gets to witness. I suddenly feel guilty about the milestones he’s missed.
Rolling over. Sitting up. Crawling. Eating solids.
Saying her first word. I resented him for it, but now I resent myself for it. I’m the reason he missed them.
“Can you get her in her highchair?” I ask.
“Sure, I can give it a whirl,” he says.
I hold back a laugh as he looks at the high chair like it’s some sort of torture device.
I head into the kitchen and pull the casserole from the oven.
When I bring it back to the dining table, Marco is buckling Josie in, and she’s not putting up a fight like she sometimes does with me.
I’m annoyed and impressed at the same time.
I set the casserole on the large hot pad in the center of the table. Marco settles in the seat next to Josie and looks at the steaming dish.
“Wow. That looks delicious,” he says.
I wonder if he’s just being nice. This man dines at the finest restaurants in the city—the world.
I doubt my casserole holds a candle to the five-course meals he’s used to.
I grab a serving spoon and scoop a pile onto his plate.
I then serve Josie’s in a plastic bowl, setting it aside to let it cool, followed by my own plate.
“Hot,” I say, pointing to Josie’s bowl when I see she’s looking at me impatiently. I blow on her food to cool it down.
“It’s safe for her to eat?” asks Marco curiously.
“Mhmm.” I nod. “The noodles are soft, and I cut the broccoli and chicken really small.”
“Right. I keep forgetting she’s not an infant…”
I smile. He has so much to discover about his daughter.
I pick up my wine glass and hold it up, not saying anything.
I hope this moment speaks for itself. He clinks his glass to mine, our eyes not leaving each other’s.
It is bad luck not to, but now I’m having a hard time looking away.
I clear my throat nervously and take a sip, looking to Josie, glad to have an excuse to look away.
We spend most of dinner watching Josie, laughing at how messy she eats and the silly faces she’s making at Marco. Afterward, Marco pats his stomach with a satisfied smile on his face.
“That was so good. I’d have thirds if I didn’t think I would burst.”
“I’m glad you liked it,” I say, starting to clear the table.
“It’s been a while since I’ve had a home-cooked meal.”
“You don’t have someone to do that for you?” I ask.
“Like a chef?” he asks with a laugh.
“Yeah.” I shrug.
“Nah. I live on takeout or dining out. This is really a treat for me, so thank you. Really.”
I bite back a smile. “You’re welcome.”
Marco offers to wash the dishes, but I wave him off, telling him to spend time with Josie. As I clean the kitchen, I watch as she proudly shows him all her toys, and each one he gets more and more excited about. He really is good at this.
After I’m done, he helps me with Josie’s bedtime routine.
Bottle, bath, book, bed—the four Bs. He’s careful about everything, as if he might break her, which is really the sweetest thing.
I have to admit it’s nice having someone to do this with.
It’s not about the help really, though that’s a bonus, but it’s more about having someone here with me. It doesn’t feel so lonely.
Once Josie is settled in her crib, I walk out of the room, but notice Marco isn’t behind me.
I turn and see him looking at her from the doorway, like he can’t get enough.
I smile to myself and let him have his moment as I walk to the living room.
A few moments later he joins me, awkwardly standing in the space between the living room and the hallway toward the door.
He rocks on his heels before eventually looking at me.
“Thank you,” he says softly.
“Thank you for helping with bedtime.”
He nods, looking down at the floor. It’s rare to see him this nervous. This unsure. It’s humbling, and it’s reeling in my heart like a damn fish.
“Do you think…”
I look at him expectantly.
“I could come over again tomorrow night?” he finally asks, his eyes looking up and searching mine. I swallow hard, trying not to get lost in them because if I do, I’d be the one inviting him to come over every night for forever.
“Sure,” I say.
I can tell he’s holding back a smile, but his dancing eyes give him away. He doesn’t have to say thank you because it’s written all over his face. And it doesn’t fade with each night he comes over, which is every night this week.
We fall into a little routine and I find myself growing more and more excited each time 6:30 p.m. rolls around.
Even Josie anticipates the knock on the door.
Every night is the same. He shows up with a bottle of wine and a new little gift for Josie.
I cook dinner and we ooh and aww over our daughter, before cleaning up and getting her ready for bed.
I find myself growing more and more comfortable with him being there, but somehow more nervous just the same.
Every accidental brush of a hand sends the hairs on the back of my neck standing straight up.
It’s like my body is begging for more, but my brain is cautious.
But even my caution is starting to wind down.
Marco begins to stay longer, even after Josie is asleep.
We enjoy the rest of our wine on the couch over conversation that has started to stray away from our usual topic of Josie.
Our eyes meet more often and they hold, making it harder and harder to look away.
It’s almost impossible to not imagine what it would feel like to kiss him again when his gaze strays to my lips.
There’s no denying this feeling I have when I’m with him.
This spark that’s been there from the beginning, though I’ve tried desperately to put it out.
When he leaves, I find myself lying in bed thinking about him and how different things could have been if we both had made different choices.
But we didn’t. After everything that’s happened, I feel foolish to think we can be anything other than co-parents.
We’ve never been able to make it work. I can’t risk us ruining what we have going on for Josie’s sake.