34. Colt
34
colt
“Sloane! We’re going to be late.” She bounds down the stairs.
“Chill, man. It’s all good. Mellow out. Everything in its own time.”
“Tell me you didn’t watch the Woodstock documentary again.” She pushes up her little round glasses.
“I could tell you that if you don’t want to hear the truth.” I pull her into a side hug. She’s wearing a floppy hat she found at a local thrift store, and it looks very Janis Joplin on her.
“Fine. But take the messages of the music, not their lifestyles, understand? And where did you get those glasses?” I pull the hat down a little over her eyes.
“Chiara had them at the trattoria, but Matteo, the guy with the store where we buy batteries, found them for me. I was walking by with a bunch of school kids when we went on the stupid castle field trip and she had them for me.” She tosses up two fingers in a peace sign and I laugh. “Daddy, I promise I won’t get on a bus with Timothy Leary.”
I pull the edges of my hair. “How do you know these names?”
“Deep dive, man. I’ve been doing a deep dive on music and counterculture. And whoa, does it speak to me? Make love not war.”
“Please don’t talk about making love.”
“It’s a metaphor for spreading peace and good vibes.” Of course it is. I will not be able to get away with that next year. I feel like nine will be her threshold to the world but eight, still kind of na?ve.
“Let’s go. You’re not so pacifist. Your sister’s pasta demo awaits.”
We’re in the car and she’s cranked up some Mamas and Papas. She’s seriously in a Laurel Canyon moment.
She lets me hold her hand still, and I suck up all the dad perks I can. I don’t regret marrying Gemma. How could I? Not when I have this. I kiss the top of her hand, and she giggles a little. No clue what the next act of my life will look like, but I’ll miss this part of the first.
When I sat with Gemma toward the end, I realized no one was planning our lives. That’s why I cried at her bedside. For all the moments, we didn’t get to plan our own lives.
Cooking is planning and taking care of people but it’s also creative, selfish and unpredictable. There’s always a moment where you have to improvise with a flavor or tweak a sauce, test the readiness of something. It’s always been my salvation from feeling sorry for myself but lately I see it more like a path forward.
Daisy towers in the room, with her shoulders back and beaming a smile at her demo station with everything all laid out. I’m so proud of who she’s becoming. There are two barstools at the edge of her counter. Sloane lets me go and my eyes fall to the woman standing next to my daughter. The one holding my Daisy’s hand. My life bottoms out as my heart fills. She’s a vision, an illusion or wish fulfillment and I’m not fucking sure what’s happening.
My blood skitters through my body like it’s being chased by the police, careening through alleyways and drifting tight corners. I’m rooted to the spot as I mutter, “Magic.”
I gasp a bit as her eyes turn to me while my daughter greets her sister. And now her eyes are wide as anything, and it’s as if the world went into portrait mode and everything else in the room gets soft and fuzzy except my sharp focus on the most beautiful woman I’ve ever known. We stare for what seems like forever and then she smiles.
I’m across the room in a nanosecond to get to that smile. I take her in my arms without asking or talking and she greedily wraps around me. We’re holding on to each other as if we’ve just erased a decade of space between us. Her smell, of sweet sugar and something of lemon, curls around us and forms a barrier against history.
I whisper, “Meerkat,” against her soft skin.
“Dad. What the hell?” And we snap apart in our reality, letting it push us away from each other again.
“Watch your language, Daisy.”
“This is freaky,” Maggie says as she waves her arms around, trying not to tear up. I know this move of hers. I laugh.
Sloane moves to my side, and I put my arm around her. I can barely speak because she’s stolen my breath. “Sloane, and Daisy, you clearly already know her, but this is my friend, Maggie.”
A zing of that feeling that might be love hits me hard as I say her name. Can it really be love considering we’ve been apart for 14 and were only together for the equivalent of youth soccer season? I don’t know but I’m not sure I’ve ever been happier to see anyone in my life.
Sloane shakes her outstretched hand, and Daisy folds her arms over her chest. This is not a good look on my older daughter.
“Nice to meet you. How do you know my daddy?” Sloane asks.
Daisy pushes out her lip as if she’s pouting, as if I stole something from her. “Yeah. How do you know Margaretfield?”
“My God. Margaret Westfield. Maggie Curran.” She grins at me.
She blurts in all one breath. “Hi. Hey. I don’t know what to say other than, hi. I’m so sorry. I’m so so sorry about your mom and your wife. I mean I’ve told you this before, Daisy, but I didn’t realize I knew your dad. That I never put together that you were that Daisy. Or that I knew who your mom was. I saw you and Sloane but didn’t meet you a year ago at the wedding. Sloane, Daisy, your mom said you were tired and took you back to the hotel and we never met. I didn’t get to say hello to you then. But your mother, I met her. And she was very beautiful like you. I see it now. I’m so dense. Daisy, you look so much like her. And that’s a good thing but I don’t know if she was a good cook, but you’re a great one. So intuitive with your dad’s eyes. Those are your dad’s eyes, and I’m a fool who didn’t see it.”
I light up inside as she babbles and utter softly, “Focus, my Meerkat.”
She snaps her head to me and puts her chin up in the air. There’s a small grin, an exhale, and an overwhelming feeling that I still know her. She’s the same Maggie that was once mine.
She shakes out her honeyed ponytail and it swishes with life. “I met your dad when we were in high school. You know back in the Middle Ages. That dark time before TikTok existed.” Sloane laughs and scrambles up to one of the bar stools. My mind flips through all the conversations Daisy has had about her friend Margaret and I realize I have very pertinent information. She is single.
I stare at her and blurt, “You’re divorced.”
She gives me a crooked smile and looks up a bit off to the side. If my children weren’t two feet from me, I’d kiss that crooked cute expression right off of her face. Oh. My. Fucking. God. I could have her. I feel the same spark I always do when I’m near her.
Gemma never knew about the texting after Vegas, but that’s when I crafted my exit plan. I had lawyers shoring up my assets. I was divorcing her just after my father’s Vice-Presidential campaign. I was going to leave and sue for full custody, and we could be apart forever. I’d show up at Maggie’s doorstep and demand we figure it out. But cancer took over and cleaved my marriage before I could. Sometimes I wish Gemma would’ve survived so she could find a different ending too.
Daisy speaks and breaks the spell. “Dad, sit down. We have work to do and stop staring. It’s creepy.” I raise an eyebrow.
“You’re creepy,” I say and Daisy laughs whenever I toss something stupid like that at her.
I won’t let this moment pass. I don’t have to. It’s why I’m here in Italy, to make choices that are best for me and them. Not the world. And there’s nothing on this earth that will keep me from Maggie if she wants me.
I lean in and kiss her perfect powdery cheek and her fresh, light floral scent almost brings me to my knees. It’s everything I’ve ever dreamed about since Paris. I whisper to her, “You have plans tonight.”
She glances at me from under those long eyelashes with her eyes sparkling with mischief. “I mean it is Meerkat Monday.”
“My favorite day,” I whisper then back away from her and round the counter before my dick lets everyone in here know how excited we both are to see her. Excited to see her, mind, body and soul.
She grins and takes her place next to my daughter and says, “Mine too.”
Daisy points between us and says, “What’s happening here?”
Maggie breaks our gaze and claps at Daisy. “Cooking, woman. Time to cook. What can I do?”
Daisy wipes her hands on her apron and grins down at Maggie. Daisy is almost 5’9” and my Mags is forever 5’4”.
“You can chiffonade the herbs.”
Maggie stands there and I see her trying to work out what that means, proud as fuck that my daughter knows. I let Daisy take the lead on this without jumping in.
“Finely chop them into little ribbons like this.” I nod as she checks with me.
Maggie exclaims, “Right. I remember now.”
One daughter sips a Pellegrino next to me as my other one works side by side with the one person on this planet who has ever understood who and what I am. The other half of me is standing with my daughter, and it’s the most surreal thing I’ve ever experienced.
For possibly the first time in my life, there’s not a worry in my head, a knot in my shoulders or care in the world. There’s only this pasta preparation by two of my favorite people on the planet, and my hand holding the other one.