Chapter 23
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chance
By the time I got home from work, it was nearly six thirty p.m. My daughter hadn’t come home from school yet, but she had deigned to send me a curt message saying she was at Kinsley’s house.
I was pulling out the ingredients for homemade chicken tortilla soup when Rowan came down the stairs and into the kitchen.
“Welcome home,” she said. She’d changed from work clothes into leggings and a sweatshirt, and her hair was tousled.
Her feet were bare, her toenails painted a deep navy blue.
She looked adorably sleepy. I couldn’t help imagining what it would be like to be able to crawl into bed next to her and pull her into my body for a late-afternoon snooze…
and maybe more. If I were in bed with her, definitely more.
I shook off the inappropriate thoughts, turned back to the counter, and slid the cutting board toward me. I turned on the heat under the big soup pot. “Did you get a nap?”
She’d looked about to drop by late afternoon, so I’d suggested she go home early and rest. That she’d taken my suggestion to leave work told me how exhausted she must’ve been.
“I passed out. Thanks again for letting me leave early, boss.”
“Not your boss,” I said, smiling in spite of my mood.
“Is Sam home yet?”
My smile dropped. I took out the carrots and began slicing them in an even, therapeutic rhythm. “She went to Kinsley’s house. I checked her phone’s location and verified it.”
“That’s the girl who befriended her when you first moved to town, right?”
“That’s right. They haven’t gotten together for months.”
“She told me about her when we were baking. Kinsley’s not one of the mean girls?”
I shook my head.
“This is a positive thing,” Rowan said.
“She’s avoiding home and me. How is that positive?”
Rowan touched my shoulder. She pulled her hand away too soon for my liking. “She has a lot to sort through. She’s found a friend to help her.”
I’d been admittedly too upset to consider that truth until now. “If I remember right, Kinsley has a really young sibling, like two or three years old. So maybe there’s some common ground there. Parents too old to be having babies.”
“Thirty-six is not too old,” Rowan said with a half laugh. “What can I do to help with dinner? Onions?” She gestured to the one I’d set out.
“Sure.” I handed her a second knife and cutting board. “Thirty-six is a lot older than you.”
“Seven years? That’s nothing.”
“I’m glad you see it that way,” I said. “My daughter probably sees it as her old man knocked up a girl in her twenties.”
“Stop, Chance. Sam is probably more concerned about how a baby will affect her life. You know how teenagers are.”
“Everything revolves around them.”
“Spot on. I won’t pretend to know your daughter well, but if she’s like other fourteen-year-olds, she hasn’t stopped to think how this could be affecting you emotionally.”
“Right.” I considered that as I added oil to the hot pan. “I did the same thing—defaulted to my own feelings, I guess.”
“Of course you did. That’s what we humans do,” she said as she chopped the onion.
“I need to dad up. Think about what she’s going through. Damn.” I seemed to be fucking up as a parent repeatedly. “I appreciate having your perspective. It helps. You seem able to understand my daughter better than I can, and you just met her.”
“She’s not my daughter. It’s easier from the outside,” she said modestly. She set the bowl of diced onion next to the stove for me. “What else can I do?”
I remembered the cornbread mix in the pantry and turned on the oven. “If you mix the cornbread, I’ll get the rest of the soup ingredients ready.”
“Deal.”
As I cut the chicken and she mixed the bread ingredients, I said, “How do you think I should handle Sam not coming home after school?”
“Did she break a rule?”
“Not exactly, since she let me know where she was going.”
“But she usually comes home.”
“Lately she has.” I tossed the last of the chicken into the pot. “She didn’t when she was hanging out with Lacey and company.”
“The mean girls?”
“The bad influences, we’ll call them.”
“But Kinsley’s different.”
“She seems to be. She hasn’t been caught drinking on the beach with boys to my knowledge.”
“Excellent,” Rowan said with a touch of humor. “Today had to be rough on Sam. The pregnancy is huge, and the way she found out didn’t help. Did she say when she’d be home?”
“‘Later.’” I mimicked my teenager’s defiance as I added seasonings and the rest of the ingredients to the pot.
“I’d say as long as she comes home at a decent hour, let it go. You have other battles to fight.”
I nodded as everything she said clicked into place in my head. “You make a lot of sense.”
“There’ll be friction with her about my pregnancy for who knows how long. If it were my kid, I think I’d cut her slack on things like going to a friend’s unless she breaks a rule or outwardly defies you. But she’s not my kid, and I don’t know anything about parenting, so…”
“Nobody knows anything about parenting.” It came out sounding flippant, but I meant every word. “In my dads’ group, everyone says the same thing. Even West, who has three kids… He says none of them are the same, not even his twins, so you never feel like you know what you’re doing.”
“I’m hoping you have some baby basics down for this one,” she said, pointing at her middle. “It’s been a lot of years since I changed a diaper, back when I babysat as a teenager.”
“Which was probably about the same time Sam was in diapers, so it’s been just as long for me.” I’d said it as a joke, but as I ran the math, I realized it was likely true.
“Good thing we decided to co-parent, huh?”
Her tone was lighthearted, but mine went serious when I said, “Doing it alone is not a picnic.”
Rowan came forward with the baking dish ready to go in the oven. I stepped out of her way so she could put it in. When she straightened, she sought eye contact and put a hand on my arm.
“Chance, I think you’re doing okay with Sam. There might be bobbles, as there is with literally every single teenager on the planet, but you’ve instilled good stuff in her. Whatever you’ve been doing, she’s got a solid foundation. I can tell.”
“Most days it doesn’t feel good enough.”
“It is good enough. I’m sure she’s had a shit show of a day, but deep down, she knows you love her.”
I hoped like hell that was true. Who ever fucking knew?
What I did know was that it was damn nice to have someone to talk to about it. Someone who reassured me, seemingly genuinely.
Sure, I had the dad group, but I saw them less often than I used to, and half the time, we spent our evenings talking about anything but our kids.
Another thing that was damn nice was spending time with Rowan. Having another adult to talk to not only about Sam but about anything. A friendly conversationalist who didn’t make me doubt every word I said, wondering if it would be the wrong thing.
“Thanks for helping with dinner,” I said a little later as we sat down with our soup and a plate piled high with steaming cornbread.
“I’m happy to. Especially on days when I get a short power nap beforehand.”
“You had a hell of a morning between throwing up your guts and then the Sam stuff.”
“We both did,” she said.
We were nearly finished with our food when I heard the garage door going up.
“She’s home,” I said.
“Deep breath. You got this.”
The door to the house opened, then shut, and Sam appeared on the other side of the kitchen.
“Hey, Sammy.”
“Hi, Sam,” Rowan said.
“Hey,” my daughter said begrudgingly. She paused with her hand on the knob of the basement door, coat still on, backpack over one shoulder.
“There’s plenty of soup. Would you like some?” I asked.
“I ate at Kinsley’s.”
I set down my spoon, giving my daughter my full attention. “Do you want to sit and talk?”
“There’s not really anything more to talk about, is there?” There was a thread of hurt in her voice.
“There’s whatever you want to talk about.”
Sam shrugged. “I’ve got homework to do.”
“Okay. First, I’ve got something to say. I understand this is hard for you. I don’t know how our lives will look in a few months, but you’re very much at the heart of the decisions I make. I love you, Sam, and I’m sorry you’re hurting.”
Her eyes looked watery as she nodded. She didn’t say a word, but I didn’t detect anger like this morning. This was more sad, confused, concerned.
No anger seemed like a step in the right direction.
“Can I go now?” she asked tiredly.
“Yes. Good night, Sammy.”
My daughter headed downstairs without another word. My chest ached for all the hurt I was causing her.
I stood and picked up my plate and bowl. Rowan did the same.
“That went better than this morning,” she said quietly.
My jaw was clenched hard, so I merely nodded once as I carried everything to the kitchen and set it down. I braced my arms on the counter, hating that my daughter was hurting yet again. Hating even more that I was the cause of it.
“Chance.”
Rowan tugged at my arm and pulled me toward her. She wrapped her arms around me, our bodies flush, her sweet scent enveloping me. Softening my frustration. Calming me.
I hugged her back, holding her close. I closed my eyes and breathed her in.
“Thank you,” I whispered into her hair.
“She might be your daughter, but I’m in this with you. Whatever you need. Whatever she needs. Whatever she’ll let me do.”
My chest lightened with gratitude, and my throat felt clogged with emotions, so I merely nodded and pulled her closer.
I might’ve made my life a mess, but there wasn’t anyone I’d rather be in this mess with than this woman.