5. Cam
five
Cam
I have a what?
My heart simultaneously climbs into my throat and falls out of my ass at the revelation, and my mouth is drier than the Sahara. A daughter ?
I think back to that night. Flashes of memories, like frames from the cutting room floor. Amie beneath me, riding me, pressed up against the shower tiles, on her knees, standing above me while I’m on my knees—
Condoms are 98% effective at preventing pregnancy.
I’ve always wondered what it would be like to be in the top two percent.
My head is spinning. I don’t know how to react to the news and as my brain tries to catch up, I see Amie close herself off and pull away from me. I said I wouldn’t lose her again without a fight, but now I know how much is on the line, I’m even more determined.
When she asks if I want to see a picture, my eyes sting and I blink hard, nodding. I press my lips together. I don’t know what’s happening, but I feel like I could cry and this is definitely not the time or the place.
I have a daughter.
Amie pulls her phone from her pocket and taps at the screen, spinning it on the tabletop to show me her screensaver .
“Here she is,” she says with a soft smile. On the screen is a little girl, barely visible under an enormous chunky knit blanket, eyes closed as she sleeps. Her light brown hair is tied in pigtails, secured with a pair of yellow ribbons. My lips turn upwards of their own accord. Then, with another tap, she unlocks the phone and navigates to her camera roll, swiping to her favourites folder with a dreamy, faraway smile on her face. She finds what she’s looking for and pushes the device towards me, and my breath catches in my throat.
The same little girl beams up at me from the screen. Her curly hair surrounds her head like a halo, tiny white teeth parted in a shriek of laughter. Her green eyes are crinkled and her perfect tiny nose is scrunched… her face looks just like the ones in my own childhood photos. She looks just like me. My heart slams in my chest, in my throat, in my mouth; my nose stings and my eyes burn, filling with the tears I thought I’d managed to stave off. I bring a hand to my mouth, biting my fist to choke down the emotion.
“She’s…”
Beautiful.
For the first time in my life, I might actually be speechless. I tear my eyes from the screen to look back at Amie, who has one hand on mine, resting on the table, and the other brushing the edge of her phone.
“She’s perfect,” she confirms. “She’s beautiful.”
Amie swipes her screen a couple of times and more pictures appear with each tap: Maisy wearing fairy wings, Maisy with an ice cream moustache, Maisy asleep on a chair, clutching a blue stuffed dinosaur. His name is Roger, Amie tells me, and he’s Maisy’s favourite thing in the world. She’s getting younger in every photo until suddenly, she’s a baby in Amie’s arms. Amie smiles, embarrassed, and snatches her phone back until I grab her hand.
“I want to see them,” I plead. “I want to know everything. Please, Amie… I’ve missed so much.”
Her face softens and she turns the screen back to me, swiping through with periodic narration until she reaches what might be the most beautiful photo I’ve ever seen. Amie is in a hospital bed, propped up against white pillows, her curls messy and her face pink with exertion, split by the widest grin, eyes glossy and cheeks damp with tears. On her chest, she clutches a tiny bundle wrapped in a yellow blanket, mouth open in a crying protest. Even freshly born, I recognise my own features in newborn Maisy’s face. I trace the image with my finger hovering over the screen, committing everything about it to memory. The most beautiful girls in the world.
My mouth is dry and I have to swallow a few times before I can get the words out.
“Ca—can you send me some pictures? Can you send me this one?” I ask, tapping a fingertip at the edge of the screen. Amie nods shyly, pulling her phone back and tapping again. After a moment, she pushes it back to me.
“Put your number in,” she requests, and I do. Seconds later, my phone vibrates several times in my pocket, and I know I’m about to change the lock screen on every device I own.
“I want to be in, Amie,” I say after a moment of quiet. We’ve been holding hands across the table and I’ve been lost, struck dumb by the way the light dances in the golden flecks in her hazel eyes. “I’m all in. I want to be in her life.”
“Okay,” she whispers. Just, okay . Then, “Let’s walk. ”
She stands, picks up her coffee and untouched cake, and heads for the counter. I hear her request a to-go cup and two boxes for our cake, and I smile. She speaks Spanish with a slight English lilt. It reminds me of dancing close to her on that night in Singapore, hearing her sing along to the pounding Latin music in the bar. The memory has me twitching in my pants and I think of something, absolutely anything else to halt the thickening of my cock. I find myself mentally running through a flight deck checklist as I grab my own cake plate, drain the last of my coffee and meet her at the door, resting a hand against the small of her back as we leave.
We walk in comfortable silence for a few minutes until we reach a nearby park. She brings her coffee to her lips.
“Will you tell me about her?” I ask.
Amie smiles into her cappuccino.
“She’s amazing.” Amie lights up when she talks about our daughter. Her eyes sparkle and the prettiest smile lifts her lips into a grin. “She turned three two weeks ago, on the sixteenth of September. She loves planes and dinosaurs and anything pink. Her favourite food is pizza fingers. She’s so bright, she just has this relentless energy, I don’t know where it comes from but she’s like the Energizer Bunny, you know?”
She looks at me with the biggest smile and my heart stutters. She’s still the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. I’ve never been a big believer in fate, but hearing that my daughter’s favourite things are dinosaurs and planes when I fly for Jurassic Air, an airline whose call sign is Dino and whose aircraft livery features a cartoon brachiosaurus on the tail, makes me think that maybe this is a story written in the stars.
“She’s just so pure, so kind and loving and sweet. And so smart, she’s so fucking smart, I don’t—I can’t keep up with her.”
“I can’t wait to meet her,” I say, a giddy laugh rushing out of my lungs. “I want to meet her, Amie.”
“I want you to meet her too,” she whispers. She stops walking, a hand on my arm. “I want—I want to give her everything I have. I want to give her the world, Cam…” She trails off, a hint of uncertainty colouring her voice. “I want her to have a mum and a dad who love her. I want her to have everything.”
My throat tightens and then releases, a rush of something fizzing through my limbs.
“I’m in, Amie,” I tell her. “I’m all in. You just tell me what you need, and you’ve got it.”
Later that same day, I convince Amie to let me take her to dinner, where I hope she’ll tell me more about the little girl dominating my every thought. I meant every word: I can’t wait to meet her. I can’t wait to hear her voice and memorise the sound when she calls me daddy . I can’t wait to make her laugh. I want to hold her in my arms, kiss her goodnight, teach her to swim, read, ride a bicycle, and throw a football. I don’t just want to be her father. I want to be her dad. I want it all.
“How old are you?”
We’re waiting to cross the road to the best taqueria in Santiago, and Amie’s arms are wrapped around her torso. She’s looking up at me with those pretty hazel eyes, and I think I’d answer just about anything she asked. But that one is an easy question.
“Thirty-nine,” I say. “How about you?”
“Thirty-one,” she replies with a small smile. Eight years younger than me. It’s not an outrageous difference, but it’s not insignificant, either. I rest a hand lightly on the small of her back as we cross the road and enter the dimly-lit restaurant .
“Where’d you learn Spanish?” I ask after our tacos are delivered to our table.
“ Tengo una licenciatura en Espanol, ” Amie winks. She has a degree. The woman is beautiful and smart, and trouser-brain is rearing his ugly head. I shift slightly in my seat, willing him to cool his fucking jets. This is not the time, and it’s certainly not the place. “What about you?”
“I grew up in Phoenix, a couple hours from the Mexican border. I kinda had no choice,” I answer with a light chuckle, then change the subject back to her. “A whole degree in Spanish, though? That’s impressive as hell. Does Maisy speak Spanish too?”
“S olo un poco, ” she says with a sigh. “It’s hard. I want her to, but other than me, no one else around us speaks Spanish.”
“Do you speak any other languages?”
“Spanish and German. I studied modern languages at university and I spent a year living in Madrid,” she answers almost hesitantly. I hope she’s not keeping a lid on her accomplishments out of humility, because I’m about to burst with pride for her.
“I used to bid mostly for South America flights, and the odd Asia trip. It’s just… harder to do those flights now,” she sighs. “It’s so far from London, the flights are so long. I’m away from home for so long. Maisy always has someone with her, you know, she’s either with my mum or one of my best friends. They’re amazing, her godmothers—they drop everything for her. For both of us. But it’s just such a long trip.”
I squeeze her fingers again. Suddenly, her earlier disdain for being in Santiago makes sense. My heart hurts. It’s an unwelcome sensation. Even more than the sadness of missing out on Amie’s pregnancy and so much of Maisy’s life, I feel sick to my stomach with guilt that Amie has had to be both parents and raise Maisy alone—foot the bill for everything alone—for the last three years. I want to pay my fair share.
“Let me send you some money,” I say quietly. Amie’s proud, and I’m not surprised when she rebukes the offer. I expected it, even. But it still hurts to hear.
“I don’t want your money, Cam,” she snaps at me.
“I just want to be there for her—for both of you. I want to pay my share. When I said I’m in, Amie, I meant it. One hundred percent. For better or worse. The good days, the bad days, the expensive days. I’m in.”
Amie’s expression softens.
“Maisy and I are… we’re doing okay,” she says. “But maybe from here, we can split things. And maybe you can come and meet her soon.”
Holy fuck.
A daughter.
Amie got pregnant that night. With my baby. The woman I’ve wanted, missed, pined for every day for almost four years had my baby, and I had no fucking clue. I could kick myself. I hate myself for not making more of an effort, for not getting her phone number or giving her mine, for not even getting her last name. She had to do everything alone, and if I’d been less focused on getting my dick wet and more focused on the way I was feeling about her after just a few minutes of conversation, everything could’ve been different.
But I know now. It’s out in the open, and now I have some calls—and some decisions—to make .
“Hey Mom, is Dad with you?” I sit on the edge of the hotel bed, running a hand through my hair and then rubbing it down over my face, pausing for a moment and letting the stubble on my chin scratch at my palms. I’m exhausted, physically and mentally, but I can’t rest until I’ve made this call. My dad’s face appears beside Mom’s on the small screen of my phone.
“I’m here, son,” he says.
“I need to talk to you both,” I say, ready to rip off the Band-Aid. “I gotta tell you something.”
“Oh honey.” Mom’s face falls. “Are you okay, is it work? Are you sick? You’re not sick, are you?” Her concerned eyes search mine through the screen and I mentally kick myself for worrying her. Even something as simple and mild as a common cold worries her these days, ever since Dad’s cancer scare, even though he’s healthy as a horse and in remission now.
“No, no, it’s nothing like that,” I reassure her and try to smile. I catch my expression in the corner of my screen and it looks more like a grimace.
“I, uh…” This is harder than I thought. Amie’s awkwardness suddenly makes sense. How is it so hard to say four little words? I just need to man up and do it. “I have a daughter.”
“You have… what?” Mom’s hand flies to her mouth, whilst Dad narrows his eyes.
“Yeah, that’s kinda what I said when I found out, too.” I try to make a joke, but Mom just glares through the lens, eyes glassy with unshed tears. “Let me send you a picture.”
I swipe at the screen and select one of the more recent photos Amie sent me. It’s the one of Maisy with ice cream all over her face, the one I’ve already set as the lock screen on my iPad. Mom gasps, and I assume that means she’s seen the photo arrive on her phone.
“Oh, Cam,” she whispers. “Look at her, she’s beautiful. She looks…”
“Just like me, yeah,” I say bashfully. “Her name is Maisy. She just turned three.”
“And her mom?” Dad speaks for the first time. His eyes are still focused intently on Mom’s phone screen just below the camera lens, and I imagine he’s studying Maisy’s face the same way I’ve done for hours already.
“We—I mean, she—her name is Amie and we met on one of my layovers,” I explain. “She’s a flight attendant. We used protection but… I guess it didn’t work.”
Mom winces.
“We never exchanged numbers and I never saw her again. Until I got here, obviously.”
“She’s the one from that night,” Mom says quietly. “Your Singapore girl.” I nod.
“Was she ever gonna tell you?” Dad asks coolly. He’s eerily calm, in complete contrast to Mom who is trying to stave off hysteria, struggling to process the news I’ve just dropped like an atom bomb. Wordlessly, Dad puts a hand on her shoulder and she leans into him for support.
“She didn’t have my number, Dad.” I defend Amie’s actions—or lack thereof. He seems mad, and that’s the last thing I wanted to come of this conversation. My parents and I have always been close; they’ve always been there for me, and now more than ever, I need their support. “She didn’t even know my last name. She never wanted to keep Maisy from me. We never planned for this to happen.”
“But it has, son,” he says quietly. “So what are you gonna do? ”
“I’m gonna meet my daughter,” I say, without hesitation. “I’m gonna be her dad.”
Dad gives me a satisfied nod, and I think that’s the answer he wanted to hear.
“She really does look like you, son,” he says, peering at Mom’s screen with a hint of a smile. “I think we have a photo somewhere of you covered in ice cream, too.” His eyes flash up and he winks into the camera, and I know we’re okay. I surprised him with the news—just like Amie surprised me—but I know without a shadow of a doubt that as soon as he meets his granddaughter, she’ll have him wrapped around one of those tiny little fingers.
With the bombshell out of the way, we move on to lighter subjects.
“So, how’s Santiago?” Mom asks, dabbing at her eyes with the corner of a tissue. “Where are you flying to next, honey?”
I laugh, the tension finally broken.
“Santiago’s good, as always; up to Miami next and then back to San Francisco.” I run through my schedule in my mind as I explain it to my parents. “Then I’ll be home for a few days before I have a four-day run back and forth. Coast to coast.”
“When are you meeting Maisy?” Dad asks. Mom elbows him lightly.
“Two weeks,” I answer. “Amie’s got a couple weeks off of work so I’m gonna fly to London and meet her.”
“London, huh?” Dad asks, a sly twinkle in his eye. “You always did have a thing for a British accent.”
“I was five and I loved Mary Poppins, sue me,” I retort with a laugh. “Julie Andrews was a babe.”
We chat for a little while longer before we hang up, after I promise to visit for dinner on one of the days I’m home between flights. We speak every few days, but it’s been a couple of weeks since I’ve really hung out with my parents and I miss them. I shoot off a quick text to my best friend, Graham, with the news.
He texts back almost immediately.
Gray
WTF
Cam
Almost word for word my reaction
Gray
You gonna get involved?
Cam
Of course I am, man. She’s my kid. How can I not?
Gray
Good. I’d have to kick your ass six ways to fucking Mongolia if you stayed away. Now send me a photo, Lina wants to see her.
I swipe through the photos again and send a selection of my favourites—Maisy with her dinosaur, Maisy covered in ice cream, Maisy sat astride a carousel horse.