Chapter 9
Seth
“Put me on the camera. I want to see my grandbaby,” he says. Any outsider would probably think it’s adorable that a grandfather wants to see his granddaughter, but it does not make me feel warm and fuzzy inside. It pisses me the fuck off, is what it does.
“Fine,” I mutter. “I have to hang up. I’ll call you back in a few minutes.” While I fill the tub, I undress my wiggling baby. I put her naked body on my hip and pray she won’t pee or worse on me like she did a few nights ago.
Once I put her in the warm water and hand her a few toys, I call my father on FaceTime. He’s only forty-six but looks about ten years older. He’s completely gray and he looks like he hasn’t shaved in a week. Not that it matters when you never go anywhere.
Unwilling to look at him, I turn the camera around so he can see Jasmine. His only granddaughter that he sees only when I bring her to him. Not that he would ever make the effort to take the four-hour drive from upstate to Manhattan.
After he talks nonsense with Jasmine for a few minutes, he asks to speak with me. I go stand on the other side of the room while Jasmine plays in the tub.
“She’s gotten so big,” he says.
“Yeah. You should come and see her,” I add.
“I was thinking that you two could come for a few days. It’s the summer and you’re not training yet. I miss you guys.” I sigh and roll my eyes. “I really do, Seth. And I’d come to you if I could, but—”
“Well, if you’d work with the therapist,” I say.
“I am, but it’s hard. In the meantime, Jasmine needs family, and I’m her only grandparent,” he reminds me. That’s the saddest thing of all, and it’s true. My father, who hasn’t left the house in over a decade, is the only family I have. Even though I had to raise myself. Worse, once my mother left, I had to take on roles that no young boy should have to.
“I don’t know. Maybe,” I say without making any promises, but I most likely will go, if only for a day or two.
“And how about you? Have you met anyone? Remember what I told you. Jasmine needs a mother. She’s only a baby now, but she’s going to need a woman around when she gets older.”
“How did that work out when you tried it?” I don’t regret my words despite the look of hurt on his face.
“That was because of me. Your mother—”
“She is not my mother. If she was, she wouldn’t have just left me like she did.” I do my best to keep my voice level so as not to upset Jasmine, but I can feel the color creeping up my neck.
“She left me,” he says.
“And me. She didn’t take me with her.”
“That’s because I wouldn’t let her,” he says. “You were the only thing I had left. I couldn’t lose you too.”
“Yeah, look at how you treated the only thing you had left, Dad,” I say to him.
“I never laid a hand on you. I love you. I always have. I can’t do things like regular people, Son. I wish I could be better for you and Jasmine. I’m trying. I really am.” His voice cracks, and I feel guilty. I look away from the phone.
“I don’t want to talk about that anymore,” I tell him. “I have to finish washing Jasmine up.”
He casts his eyes down, and for a moment, I feel shame for making him feel bad. Me and Jasmine are the only family he has, but the bitter resentment that sits in the pit of my stomach always comes to the surface whenever I talk to my father. And since I’ve had Jasmine, we talk more often.
I was shocked at how happy he was to hear that I had a daughter, especially under the circumstances of her conception, but he was excited and begged me to bring her for a visit the first weekend I had her. Whatever issues I have with my father, I don’t want them to affect his relationship with his only grandchild.
“Will you come see me soon?” he asks, almost sounding like a little boy.
I take a deep breath and say, “We will.” He looks up, and I look into the eyes that look just like mine. He exhales in relief.
“Good. And stay more than just one night next time. I love you, Son,” he says.
“I love you too, Dad.” I turn the phone to Jasmine.
“Bye!” she says, waving furiously at the phone. I end the call and turn to the door of the bathroom. Layla is about as subtle as a fire alarm.
“Want to come in?” I ask, gesturing for her to enter the bathroom. After a brief hesitation, she walks in with her head held high and not a hint of embarrassment for being caught eavesdropping.
“I can call a ride-sharing service to take me home. Thanks for dinner.” She refuses to meet my stare, and that’s what I can’t have. The comments about being a whore, I can take, but this is not bearable. I can take insults but not pity.
“I’ll take you home,” I say while I lather the washcloth.
“Well, you’re busy. And don’t you have to put Jazzy to bed?” I hadn’t thought of that. After her bath, I let her play for an hour, and give her some warm milk while I read to her. She’s usually asleep before I finish the story. I’d hate to upset her routine. Even the smallest change can lead to a meltdown either tonight or tomorrow.
“Just sit tight and I’ll take care of it,” I say.
“Who are you bossing around?” she says before she scoffs.
“You. Now, go sit your ass down and let me finish. I’ll only be ten minutes, and Jazzy will want to say goodbye, so don’t run off.” She stomps her feet and walks out of the bathroom. “Women,” I say to my daughter. “You better not be like that.” I tap the tip of her nose with my finger.
“Baaaa,” she says before she splashes some water in the tub. She hits it so hard that some hits me in the face.