48. Colt
48
colt
I float on possibilities and am still wrapped in the scent of Maggie as I enter my kitchen the next morning. Surprised to find nothing on the table. It’s been a week since we’ve been home. Maggie and I spend all day together, and she’s been to dinner this week but it’s hard to carve time while trying to keep it all on the DL from the girls. Daisy insisted on sitting in the front seat on the drive back to Lucca.
It was rather distracting to have Maggie in the rear-view mirror. We caught each other’s gaze quite a few times, and it’s just damn dangerous to have her in my peripheral.
Daisy met some friends last night, and Sloane had a school thing. Cooking school is closed this week so Maggie and I stole a couple of nighttime hours. And since we got back, we’ve also had sex on every surface.
I pick up a peach and cock my head at Daisy. She can cook, but there’s just cereal on the table with milk and bowls. Sloane’s hair isn’t brushed in the slightest with the bulk of it is shoved into a leather braided headband that sits low on her forehead. She’s draped in multi-colored scarves. She smiles at me and gives me a peace sign as I enter. There’s a murmur of Jimi Hendrix whining softly from the living room.
“Good morning, daughters. I thought you were cooking a frittata this morning, Daisy? It’s why I went to the farmer’s market yesterday.” That and it was my turn for Meerkat Monday.
Daisy looks rumpled, her face is red and she’s screwing it up. “What’s wrong?” She explodes as only a teenage girl can.
“Daddy, you can’t do this.”
I glance at Sloane for a context clue as to what’s going on. She shrugs and drinks her cereal milk from the bowl.
“Honey, I’m not doing anything. Just eating a peach.”
Sloane puts her fist up and says, “Allman Brothers Band. Mountain Jam is the best. Solid choice, dad.”
“No, Slygirl, literally eating a peach. Nutball.” I turn back to Daisy, but my smile falls as I see she’s screwed her face up and it’s mottled and angry.
My melodramatic Daisy. I reach for her hand. So much like her mother, not good or bad, just familiar.
She spits out. “I’ve seen you hold her. Hug too long. Smile too much.”
“Who?”
“ Who do you think?!”
“Maggie?” She violently points to me and then utters a scoffing noise. “Daisy, I thought you liked Maggie. She was your friend long before you knew we were friends.”
Sloane sits back and props her feet up, tossing an amaretti cookie into her mouth. Not an ideal breakfast. I take the bag away from her. “I like her. She’s nice. She’s also funny and ridiculous and really pretty.”
Daisy screams at the top of her lungs and it’s jarring. “I know it was you. You were the one when she was younger who had to go away.” She points to her sister, “He loves her, you stupid flower child.”
“ Hey! You do not talk to your sister like that.” She doesn’t know that she just knocked the wind out of me by screeching my deepest secret. The one I’m even afraid to tell Maggie, even though we both know it. It’s the one line I haven’t been able to leap over.
“Also, Daisy, that’s not something you need to worry about. Stop yelling and please get ready for school.”
She stands there with her hands on her hips. “You didn’t deny it. Mommy’s not even been gone a year yet.” My heart aches for her.
My face softens. “Bug. Come on.” Sloane sits forward and squeezes my hand. I look down and she’s removed her headband like she wants me to see her. I touch her cheek and look back to my other daughter, so much her mother. The parts I did admire about Gemma, and the parts that drove a wedge between us long before Daisy existed. There’s a flash of possession and right now she deserves that, because I’m all she has.
They can have me as long as they need me, dad mode snapping into place. I have to talk to Maggie and sort this out so Daisy doesn’t feel lost by me loving another person.
Her voice is cruel and cutting. “You didn’t love Mommy.”
“Whoa.” But I won’t be bullied by her. “You will not talk to me in that tone. I spent half my life with her. There’s no way that happens without some type of trust, mutual respect and a sort of love, even if it was all wrapped up in the two of you. I feel the loss of that relationship every day, not like you do but that’s unfair of you to accuse me of almost dancing on her grave.”
I want the girls to feel about their partners the way I feel about Maggie, not use Gemma and me as an example. But I can’t say that because this is such a dicey subject. I don’t want to lie to her. But how do you tell your kids you not only didn’t love their mother but you’re positive she didn’t love you?
My daughter screams, tosses her hands up and starts out of the room.
“We’re leaving in five, Daisy.”
She whirls around the corner, “You never looked at Mom the way you look at Maggie. You never laughed like that with Mom. Or it seems like that. I don’t know. It’s like you’re more yourself now. Or someone different. All the uncles like her and she’s friends with all the aunts. It’s like Mom was never part of any of that the way Maggie is like instantly.”
That’s true. They never liked her, but she didn’t exactly try with any of them. They were cordial but as for friendly, she was downright dismissive of all of them. Even Claire, and everyone likes Claire.
“To be fair, they were Maggie’s friends in Paris. And Makenzie is her lifelong best friend. But your mother had other friends and hobbies. She didn’t need to fit in with the uncles.”
“It’s like you’re better, happier or something and it’s not okay to be this different since she died.”
Sloane puts her feet back up on the table and crosses them. “Daddy gets to be happy.”
“You don’t miss her! You don’t think about her. It’s like we’re the burdens she left behind.”
There’s the button she’s been trying to push. The one that will get me to raise my voice. “That’s it, drama. You know that’s not true. And not fair. You cannot speak to me like that. Or anyone. I know you’re upset but this is not okay. It’s insulting you’d question my love for you based on whether you think I miss your mother or not. The two were never connected.” She huffs and I step to her to make sure she doesn’t miss my meaning.
I temper my temper and talk to her in an even tone. “Burden? This is not who I’m raising you to be. That comment was petty and ridiculous, and that’s why you’re grounded. Give me your phone. You don’t know how or if I miss your mother. You never ask, but I won’t tolerate being spoken to in that manner. If you want to know something, ask, don’t assume.”
She tuts under her breath and it’s one of those parenting moments where you want to scream at the top of your lungs. But you can’t. I walk out of the room and around the house, gathering breath and a rational response. I reenter the kitchen.
“Daisy. I’m the adult here and this is a tough situation.”
Daisy’s voice is lower but not screaming. “Whatever. Don’t see her. Don’t talk to her. Don’t text or call her. Be done with Maggie. It’s not right and it’s not okay. And I don’t want to like her anymore now that you love her.”
“Is it because I’m taking your friend away, or you think she’s trying to take someone’s place?”
Sloane sits up crying and that worries the fuck out of me. This one rarely cries, and this is the second time in a week. “Slygirl what’s up.”
I sit down next to her. “This made me miss, Mom.” Fighting made her miss Mom. Says a lot about my marriage.
Daisy points to her sister. “See.”
I speak to my eldest daughter in a calm, authoritative tone. “We’ll always be a family. No matter who comes into any of our lives. You’ll both find love, and I’ll accept whoever they are into our home. But at the core, it will always be us and the memories of your mother.” I think I’ve done a good job. But I want them to know that although I didn’t love their mother the way she probably deserved, she was part of my life. We all sit in the uncomfortable for a minute.
I’m sure I was colder than I thought. More dismissive than I needed to be. I’m not a fool. I know it takes two people to be miserable. Daisy sits down and puts an arm around her sister.
My karmic gift to that sacrifice is these girls. They are everything, and maybe that’s all I get. I did think that maybe I’d earned another karma gift or maybe even Gemma herself put Maggie in my path again. But if it hurts the girls this much, then I can’t do it. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. We can step back maybe, then reevaluate in a couple of months.
Perhaps it’s all a cruel coincidence. Gemma’s last fuck you to me. Her last taunt, here she is and you still can’t have her. I need Daisy to calm down, and I need Sloane to stop crying. This is all because of Maggie. Or me screwing up our family dynamic so soon after Gemma’s passing. It’s such a delicate plate right now, one extra ingredient and the balance will be off. And currently it’s getting a little too acidic. I have to fix this before it becomes acrid.
This is ripping me up because I don’t want to wait for Maggie again. I’ve put happiness on hold my entire fucking life for my father and the good of the girls. One thing I want is the one thing that apparently, I can’t have. But again, that’s parenting, maybe. I put myself and my heartache aside for a moment so I can focus back on the girls. They deserve all of me right now. I hate that Maggie was right waiting for the flip side of happiness and now I know what it will be.
My voice cracks a little. “I often pick up my phone to text her. The other day at the market, I put almond milk in the basket.” They both laugh a bit. We all hate almond milk, but it was Gemma’s favorite. “If you love someone else, because we all will, doesn’t mean we love her less. It can be both. It just means we get to honor your mom.”
Daisy’s face is wound tight in teenage angst and anger. “Shut up.” I’m standing in front of her in an instant. Now she’s pushed too far. “Don’t see her anymore.” She turns and slams the front closet door.
“We do not say shut up in this household. Where do you think you’re going?”
“School. It’s six blocks. I think I can handle the walk on my own.”
“We’re not done talking about this.”
“We are if you see her ever again,” Daisy says in a cutting remark and slams the front door. And I hate that seeing Maggie only brings her more pain. What the hell do I know about what’s going on with my daughter? Is she upset about her mother or sharing me? Does she truly hate Maggie? Is it something I can’t possibly understand like her hormones? Parenting can suck. The familiar pull and agony of doing what’s right tugs at my soul.
I turn toward Sloane, whose tears are already dry, as she collects her backpack and pulls on her little round glasses and straightens her headband. Costume firmly in place but I still see my sage and sweet eight-year-old. The one she’s trying to hide.
Sloane was born from love, but never saw it a day in her life between her parents. Despite our acting, I’m sure she knew. She’s wiser than all of us. Her earnest eyes tell me constantly she’s got me all figured out.
Little arms curl around my middle from the back. “I’ll always miss her, but it would be nice not to hurt when I think of Mommy. And feel bad for you.” I wrap myself around my girl. “Daddy, let her blow it all off today at school. She’ll be fine. I mean, you gotta love the one you’re with.”
I laugh as she pats me on the back. I ask her, “Want me to walk with you?” I kiss the top of her head and it’s ripping me apart, but this has to be the last time in my life I’m going to have to choose someone over Maggie.
Sloane puts out her hand and I say, “Don’t turn fourteen, okay? Just stay eight-year-old Sloane.”
“I’ll be fine, Daddy. I promise not to be like that fourteen-year-old.”
We stroll down the gorgeous, twisty cobblestone street that feels like home. My stomach feels a bit twisted as well. Something sour and brutal is pounding my head, heart, soul, stomach, knees at the thought of stepping back from her.
“Don’t worry, I’ll fix this for Daisy,” I say.
Sloane remarks, “Vivi una vita degna del tuo cuore.”
“Good Italian. Live a life worthy of your heart? Is that what you said, wise Slygirl?”
“I picked it up somewhere. For what it’s worth I do like Maggie. She’s not like Mommy. And I don’t think Mommy like-liked you. She friend liked you, and you should have someone who like-likes you.”
I freeze. “Sure, she did, Sly.”
We walk along, and I try not to react to my daughter seeing right through me.
“Not like Maggie. I mean she like-like-likes you. I can tell. It’s the same way Ernesto looks at me, and I don’t care for it. But Maggie has that same look.”
“What look?” I worry about my daughter being too old too fast.
“Like she wants to take you out for gelato and a cookie. But fix this with Daisy first because that I can’t handle.”
“Understood.” I grin as I get my daughter’s perspective on how Maggie feels about me. I’ll need to push pause with Maggie to bring Daisy around, and I don’t know how long that’s going to take.
As we round the corner, there’s a little boy standing there looking around for someone. My daughter ducks behind me. I inquire, “Ernesto? Who is this joker?”
“He’s the boy I thought was a friend, but things have taken a turn.”
“And that’s a bad thing? Do I need to be more concerned here? He looks harmless. Is he?”
She whispers, “Yes, he’s harmless. But does he have a little white bag?”
“Yes. Looks like a bakery bag.”
She groans. “That’s the cookie I was talking about. It’s like a big heart. Blech.”
“Come on. You love cookies.”
“But if I eat it, I’ll have to get married. Those are the rules.”
“Um. I don’t think so. Unless Italy has way different laws than America.”
“Rules of recess, Daddy. You eat the cookie; you get married at recess. And I have to be free to fly. I’m a lone wolf. I’m setting out on the open highway. I can’t be tied down.”
“I see you started reading On The Road.”
“It’s a game changer, Daddy. Game changer. Is he gone?”
“Quick clarification. No, he’s still there but you know there’s nothing on this earth that means more to me than you girls.”
She burrows into my back, but I can still make out her muffled voice. The poor Ernesto kid is still frantically looking around. “I’m getting that, duh. But it’s okay.”
“What is, honey?” I cross my arms over my chest.
“To be happy.”
I clutch my heart. “You’re killing me, kid.” We stay like that for a while. Ernesto turns to go inside, and I don’t tell her so I can hang with her a little longer. “What’s wrong with this kid?”
“He smells like Styrofoam.”
My stomach shakes a lot as I try to stifle my huge laugh. “And what does Styrofoam smell like?”
“Old curry and Ernesto. He’s the worst, Daddy.” She hangs out behind me, and I’m pretty sure she knows he’s gone. I turn toward her and smile. I gather her backpack from the ground and hand it to her.
“Daddy?”
“Yes, Slygirl.”
Her voice is so small, “You can love her.”
“And you can eat the cookie and choose not to marry him.”
“True. But, I do like cookies. Like a lot.”
“Okay, Dinglebutt. Get in there and learn something.”
“When are you going to realize, I’m the only one learning things in our house?”
“Too late. I’ll realize too late. But for now, go learn how to spell something in Italian.”
She squeezes my hand and my heart breaks because I know what needs to be done for now.