Chapter 6 – Analyse #2
This weekend also marks the official debut of my relationship with Mateo.
He’ll be with Maya and I at the festival, pretending to be in love with me.
Sure, everyone in town has been whispering about us.
Libby really knows how to spread some bochinche.
But, as of right now, that’s all it’s been because no one has actually seen us together.
Now that I think of it, we should probably set some ground rules. Especially with Maya being there. I don’t want her getting mixed into this mess. With that thought, I pull out my phone and shoot a quick text to Mateo.
Analyse
We need rules.
Mateo
What happened to hello? How are you? How’s your week been?
Analyse
Hello. I spoke to you yesterday. You’re fine.
Mateo
What if I wasn’t fine today? What if I had a horrible day?
I read the text and roll my eyes—and they call me dramatic.
Analyse
Fine. How are you, Mateo? Was your day a horrible one?
Mateo
Why thank you for asking, Analyse. My day has been terrific, actually. No complaints here.
Analyse
Oh my god. All that for nothing.
Mateo
Just teaching you manners, babygirl. So what’s this about rules? What do we need rules for?
Analyse
You know what…I’ll let that slide, for now. We need to set ground rules for this “relationship.” I don’t want Maya catching wind of this. I don’t want to confuse her.
Mateo
That—we can agree on. We’ll just act like friends in front of her, think you can manage that?
Analyse
Hmm. It’ll be hard. Very hard. But I’ll manage.
Mateo
Good girl. And we can let everyone else know that we’re taking it slow and don’t want her to know yet.
Analyse
Yup. Okay final rule…
Mateo
More rules? What now?
Analyse
You can’t fall in love with me.
Mateo
What?? Wow Analyse, you’re so damn humble. Really, you gotta get more confidence.
Analyse
I’m serious! Don’t fall in love with me. I’m fantastic, but this is strictly business.
Mateo
Uhuh. Fine, I won’t fall in love with you.
Analyse
Promise??
Mateo
Yeah, yeah. I promise.
I place my phone on the end table next to my couch and lay my head back, hugging Maya tight. Now that we have a plan in place, I feel like I can breathe a bit better. I really hope this doesn’t all blow up in my face.
I fold the same dish towel for the third time and set it down, only to pick it up again.
Across the kitchen, Maya is curled up on the couch with a coloring book in her lap and her socked feet tucked beneath her.
She hums to herself—completely content, a pink marker streaking over the outline of a dinosaur in a tutu.
She has no idea how much my heart is breaking right now.
I lean against the counter, arms crossed tight over my chest, and take a deep breath. I’ve rehearsed this conversation a dozen different ways. Practiced it while driving, while brushing my teeth, while standing in line at the grocery store. Nothing makes it easier.
How do you tell your daughter that the man you’ve only ever called “your father” in vague, faraway terms is suddenly interested in being part of her life? That the man who never showed up before wants to now?
That you agreed—after years of silence, of anger, of carefully chosen explanations—to let her meet him?
I run a hand over my face. She deserves to know the truth. She always has. But there’s a difference between protecting your child and preparing her for disappointment. And I’m still not sure where that line is.
“Mami?”
I look up.
Maya’s head is tilted to the side, marker still in hand. “Are you okay? You’re looking at the wall weird again.”
I force a smile. “Yeah, baby. Just thinking.”
“About dinner?”
“About something important.”
She narrows her eyes in that very serious, very Maya way. “Is it bad?”
I shake my head and push off the counter, walking over to sit on the arm of the couch beside her. I smooth a hand over her hair, fingers catching in one of her curls. “No. Not bad. Just…big.”
She puts her marker down and turns toward me fully, hands folded in her lap like she knows something is coming.
I pause then speak softly. “I want to talk to you about your dad.”
Her expression shifts—slightly. Not fear. Not excitement. Just…alert. Like she’s listening more carefully now.
“You know how we’ve talked about him before?” I start. “How I told you he wasn’t around when you were born?”
She nods. “You said he had to leave.”
That’s one way I said it. When she was four and asking why everyone else’s daddies were around but hers wasn’t. And then later, I said he couldn’t be what we needed. That sometimes, people don’t know how to love the right way.
And she accepted that—because kids trust their moms. Especially when their moms hold their world together like glue. When they’re there for their children every single day, with unconditional love.
“Well…” I breathe in slowly. “He’s reached out recently. He wants to meet you.”
Maya’s eyes widen. “Meet me?”
I nod. “You’ve never met in person. But he asked for the chance.”
She’s quiet. I let the silence stretch, let her process it in whatever way her six-year-old brain can.
Finally, she asks, “Why now?”
The million dollar question.
“I don’t know,” I answer honestly. “But I think…he wants a chance to know you. Even if it’s just once.”
She chews on her bottom lip, eyes flicking back to the half-finished dinosaur on the page, then back to me. “Does he know what I look like?”
“No,” I say softly. “Not yet.”
She nods again. Then, after another beat, asks, “Did he not want me before?”
God. My baby. I close my eyes, just for a second. “It wasn’t about you, baby. It was never about you.”
Her voice is small. “But it feels like it was.”
I slide off the arm of the couch and onto the cushions beside her, pulling her into my side.
She comes easily, curling into me. “He didn’t know how to be what we need,” I say into her hair.
“That’s not your fault. You’re so easy to love, Maya.
The easiest. He just wasn’t ready to be the kind of person you deserve. ”
“Are you sure I want to meet him?”
“I don’t know,” I admit. “And you don’t have to. But he asked for a chance to meet you, and I wanted to ask you how you felt before I said yes.”
She’s quiet again. Her fingers fidget with the sleeve of my shirt. “Will you come too?”
I smile, though it doesn’t quite reach my chest. “Of course. I’m not going anywhere.”
She exhales, a little sigh of relief, and rests her head on my arm. For a long moment, we just sit there in the soft quiet of the living room. The TV hums faintly in the background, a cartoon menu looping with cheerful music no one’s paying any attention to.
Maya traces her finger along the seam of a throw pillow. “What if I don’t like him?”
I run a hand down her back in slow, even strokes. “Then that’s okay.”
She tilts her head to look up at me. “But he’s my dad.”
I smooth her hair back. “He’s your dad by blood, yes. But being a dad is about showing up—and he hasn’t done that. You don’t owe him anything. Meeting him doesn’t mean you have to feel anything. You just have to be honest with yourself.”
She nods slowly, but I can see her chewing on it, the way she does with big thoughts.
“Will it be weird?” she asks.
I laugh softly. “Probably.”
That earns me a tiny smile, and I hold on to it like oxygen.
“We’re going to meet somewhere public,” I continue. “Somewhere that feels safe. I told him I didn’t want it to be in a house or anything too private. I wanted you to feel comfortable.”
She’s quiet again. “Do I have to hug him?”
“Absolutely not,” I say, firm and immediate. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. Not now. Not ever.”
Her shoulders relax a little. “Will he look like me?”
That one catches me off guard. I picture Nico—sharp jawline, confident smile.
“A little,” I say. “Your eyes are like his. But the rest of you? That’s all me. My little twin.”
She hums, filing that away. “I have questions,” she says. “If I meet him.”
“That’s good. Ask whatever you want.”
She looks at me seriously. “Even hard ones?”
I nod. “Especially hard ones.”
She leans her head back on my arm again. “Okay.”
And just like that, the decision is made. Not because she’s excited. Not because she wants it. But because she’s brave enough to face it, even if it scares her.
I press a kiss to the top of her head and close my eyes for a second. I don’t trust Nico. I never will. But Maya deserves to decide who she lets into her life…even if I want to shield her from anything that could possibly hurt her.
Even if it kills me a little to open that door.
The first thing I feel is the wind.
It’s a chilly Saturday morning, one of those crisp fall days where the air smells like damp leaves and distant barbecue smoke. Maya walks a few steps ahead of me, her curls bouncing with every stride, her little fists stuffed deep into the pockets of her jacket.
She hasn’t said much since we left the house. I haven’t either.
A few days have passed since I told Maya about Nico, and now we’re meeting at the park near the library—the one with the big stone fountain and wide walking path. It’s public, open, neutral. Somewhere safe.
He was already here when we pulled into the parking lot. I saw him from the car. Sitting on the bench near the fountain, tapping his foot. He stood when we got out, and for a second, he looked exactly the way he used to. Tall. Put together. Clean-shaven.
Maya slows down and turns back to me. I nod once, just enough to say you’ve got this, even though every part of me wants to scoop her back into the car and drive away to the safety of our home.
She steps closer to my side. I rest my hand gently on her back as we walk the last few feet together. Nico straightens. He looks at Maya, really looks at her, and for a second, he doesn’t say anything. Just stares.
Finally, he clears his throat. “Hi,” he says, voice quiet. “You must be Maya.”
She nods once.
“I’m—” He glances at me then back to her. “I’m…”
“Nico,” I cut in, my tone calm but firm.
His eyes flick to mine, startled.
“This is Nico, Maya.” I smooth a hand down her back. “He wanted to meet you.”
For a beat, no one speaks. The title he clearly wanted to claim—dad—hangs in the air, unsaid. Maya tilts her head, studying him.
“It’s really good to meet you,” Nico says quickly, adjusting. “You…you look just like your mom.”
Maya glances up at me then back at him. “I don’t know what you look like.”
I feel his discomfort like static in the air. But he nods. “That’s fair. I haven’t been around.”
“Why not?” she asks plainly.
He shifts his weight. “That’s a good question.”
“She’s allowed to ask,” I say, my voice soft but firm.
“I know.” He swallows. “I wasn’t ready. I was scared. And I made mistakes.”
Maya studies him for a long time. “You missed my first day of school. And my birthdays.”
“I know,” he says, quieter now. “I’m really sorry.”
Maya turns to me. “Can we sit?”
I nod and guide her to the bench across from Nico’s. She hops up and swings her legs. Nico sits, too—tentatively, like any wrong move will make Maya bolt.
He tries to make small talk. Asks her about school, favorite subjects, cartoons. She answers in short sentences, polite but distant. She doesn’t smile.
He tells a joke that probably worked in his head. She blinks at him. I want to step in. Smooth it over. But I don’t. I let the silence stretch. Because she’s handling this. And I promised myself I’d follow her lead. And because it isn’t my job to make things more comfortable for him.
Nico leans forward, forearms on his knees. “You know, when I was a kid, I wanted to be a doctor.”
Maya shrugs. “I want to be a ninja.”
He nods, unsure what to say next. Maya picks at a loose thread on her sleeve, quiet, staring at him.
“I used to play baseball,” he tries again. “Maybe I could take you to a game sometime?”
That’s when she finally looks at me again. And I know that look. I invented that look. It’s her help me look.
I clear my throat. “I think we’re okay for today.”
Nico blinks. “Oh. Yeah. Of course.”
He looks like he wants to say more. Like there’s a speech in his head that he’s been practicing and he’s just now realizing that this isn’t the time to get it out.
Maya hops down from the bench, brushing her hands on her jeans. “It was nice to meet you,” she says.
Nico stands, too. “Yeah. You too, Maya. Really.”
She walks to me, slips her hands into mine without a word, and we start to leave.
“Analyse,” Nico calls softly behind us.
I pause, turn slightly.
“I meant it,” he says. “Thank you. For bringing her. For…for giving me this chance. I know I can win you back if you’ll just let me.”
I let out a slow breath, tired down to my bones. “Just don’t make it harder than it has to be.”
We walk away—hand in hand, her grip tight in mine, the breeze catching the edge of her jacket, lifting it. Once we’re settled in the car, I start the engine and let it idle for a moment before pulling out of the lot.
“Was that okay?” she asks.
I glance over at her. “You were perfect.”
She leans her head against the window. “I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel, Mami.”
“That’s okay,” I say gently. “You don’t have to figure it all out right now. And I’ll be here with you, helping you, every step of the way.”
She’s quiet for a while then says, “I love you so much, Mami.”
“I love you, too, mija. More than you could ever imagine.”
As we pull into the lot, I notice something waiting on front porch—a small white paper bag, folded neatly at the top. My chest tightens as I step out and peek inside. Florecitas for Maya. Pan sobao for me.
A note in Mateo’s messy scrawl sits on top:
For my girls. Thought you might need these today.
I glance around, but he’s not here. He didn’t stay. Didn’t hover. Just…knew.
Maya peeks into the bag and grins, wide and genuine, for the first time all day. “He remembered.”
“Yeah, baby,” I whisper, brushing a curl off her forehead. “He did.”