Chapter 8 #2
“This is delicious.” I take another bite of the shrimp tacos Spencer made for lunch. It was a bit strange sitting at the counter watching him whip everything up, but it’s way better than anything I’ve had in a restaurant.
“Thanks.” He stretches his legs out at the kitchen table. “I’ve been taking classes. Not that I’m the worst cook out there, but I needed improvement, especially since Roe doesn’t mince words when she doesn’t like something.”
I laugh loudly, picking up a chip. “No, she doesn’t. That girl is the definition of no filter.”
“I love her so much,” he murmurs softly.
I smile softly. “Me too.”
We look at each other across the table. “We did good, huh?”
“We did, even if it was hard at times.”
He clears his throat. “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever apologized to you.”
“For what?” I ask hesitantly.
“For what you were going through.” He clears his throat, folding his hands together. “I … I was so caught up with life, being a young dad with this new baby, trying to make ends meet and figure things out that I didn’t notice just how bad it had gotten for you.”
I blow out a heavy breath. I try not to dwell on those days too much.
I know I had no control over things, postpartum depression is no joke, but I still blame myself for it.
Like I could’ve, or should’ve, done something different.
Things got better eventually, but the guilt lingers to this day over my worries that I wasn’t a good enough mom to Roe in her early days and I definitely wasn’t a good partner to Spencer then.
I worry it’ll happen to me again when I have another child one day.
Apparently it doesn’t work that way, but I can’t help but worry about it.
“It’s okay. It was a long time ago.”
“It wasn’t that long ago.” He laces his fingers together, settling them on the table. “I can’t go back in time and do things over as much as I wish I could, but I want you to know I’m sorry for not pushing you to get help. I could’ve—”
“Spencer,” I plead, closing my eyes. Opening them slowly, I exhale a breath. “I appreciate you apologizing, even though I don’t think it’s necessary. It’s no one’s fault, it’s just something that happens.”
“Okay.” He presses his lips together. “Okay,” he repeats, looking out the window and I know he’s far away in his head.
I’ve enjoyed myself here with him, and I don’t want to leave with things in an awkward place.
“Can I see Roe’s room?”
He looks back at me, rubbing his fingers over his lips. “I should’ve offered you a tour when you got here.”
“I don’t need a tour,” I insist with a shake of my head. “But I would like to see her room.”
I’ve seen it in photos, but never in person. Usually, Spencer picks her up from my place, or school, when he has her. On the occasions I have brought her, I walk her to the front door and leave.
I’ve always been careful to draw a line in the sand and never cross it. Not until today.
He nods and gets up, pushing his half-eaten plate away. I do the same with mine, my appetite having disappeared with the talk of my postpartum depression.
Following Spencer up the grand staircase I hold onto the black wrought iron railing, looking around at the beautiful home.
Most of the walls are white or a light taupe, with hints of black like in the railing, and rich dark woods from the floors to the beams crisscrossing the vaulted ceiling. It’s both bright and warm.
At the top of the stairs, he turns down a wide hallway and opens the first door on the left.
The room is large with a massive floor to ceiling French door that leads to a balcony.
“Don’t worry,” he says, when he sees where I’m looking, “I keep it locked with a key so she can’t get out, not that I think she’d do anything stupid, but better safe than sorry.”
To my right, the wall is painted with a pastel rainbow. A low, pale pink loveseat sits there lined with stuffed animals. Walking over, I pick up a cockatoo and brush my fingers over the top of its head before putting it back in its rightful spot.
The opposite wall is stucco, with a queen-sized bed, the frame a dark colored wood that nearly matches the floor with four posts and a canopy going around it.
The bed covers are pale pink and just like her room with me, it’s covered in numerous pillows.
On the floor is a large fluffy rug, pink too.
There are the other basics—dresser, chest, and toys.
A beautiful wooden dollhouse takes up residence in the corner near the balcony.
“I built that for her.”
I look at him in surprise. “You did?”
He chuckles, scratching the back of his head. “Yeah, it was a bitch to put together but I got it done. She plays with it all the time.”
“It’s beautiful.” He tips his head at the compliment. “This whole room is beautiful.” I spin in a circle, smiling at the chandelier dangling above. It must be handmade, designed to look like vines and flowers. It’s a work of art. “Did you have a designer?”
He grins. “Our daughter.” Chuckling he looks around like he’s trying to see it all again for the first time. “I browsed websites and she picked out things she wanted and told me she wanted a rainbow somewhere on the walls, and this is how it turned out.”
“I bet she never wants to leave.” The words leave me before I even think about what they mean.
I swallow down the lump in my throat. I know our breakup was necessary—for my sanity and his career, but it doesn’t make it easier knowing my young daughter has to live in two separate homes because of it.
He clears his throat, frowning a tiny bit. “Nah, don’t get me wrong, I know she’s happy when she’s here, and she loves me, but … she loves you more.” He looks away. A muscle in his jaw twitches.
He slides his hands into his shorts and looks at the floor as his shoulders hunch upwards.
His obvious pain over what he’s deemed a fact is hard for me to see. I’ve always had Monroe most of the time and then I met Jameson. I’ve never been alone, not really, the way Spencer has. It hits me like a ton of bricks, how lonely he must’ve been without us, and I feel like shit for it.
“That’s not true.”
He wets his lips, tucking his hands into the pair of cargo shorts he changed into after we got back to the house. “Trust me, it is.”
“I’m not the fun parent,” I blurt. “I’m the one who has to remind her to brush her teeth and eat her vegetables. Ask her if she’s done her homework. Make sure she’s bathed and—”
His brow crinkles. “You think I’m the fun parent?
” He throws his head back and laughs. “Sure, I try to always do something fun when we’re together, but she has chores when she’s here, and she has to brush her teeth, eat vegetables, and take baths just like when she’s with you.
But you’re … her constant, her safe place, I’m just that place she goes to sometimes. ”
It’s like he’s thrust a dagger between my ribs, twisted it, and shoved it right into my heart.
I pause, gathering my thoughts. “She loves you so much. She talks about you all the time, tells everyone who will listen how awesome her daddy is. You’re her world. Believe me.”
He clears his throat. “We bother are, Low. I just wish I had more time with her.” My body stiffens at the perceived threat, even though nothing in his body language or tone made it one.
He presses his lips together and shakes his head.
“You know I would never take her from you. The way things are … yeah, I’m not happy about it.
I didn’t want this … separation.” He wiggles a finger between the two of us.
“You know that. I’ve always wanted to be together, raising our daughter. I love you, Low. I never stopped—”
“Spencer—” I interject, but he holds up a hand begging me for silence.
“I know, believe me, I know. You’re with Jameson now, you have your life, I have mine, believe it or not.
” He rubs his jaw, looking out the balcony doors for a brief moment.
“But it doesn’t stop me from wondering what could’ve been, but I’ve accepted that’s all it’ll ever be.
I had this ideal picture in my mind. You, me, and Roe.
I thought you getting pregnant was the greatest thing ever.
Sure, the timing sucked, but I thought it was an adventure.
” Again, I go to interrupt, and he silences me.
“I know I wasn’t much older than you, but I was older, and I didn’t see then how much your life was going to change because of a baby.
I guess that was selfish of me, or just a guy thing.
I don’t know.” He shrugs, crossing his arms over his chest. “But yeah, I saw us together forever and you … you didn’t, and that hurt. ”
I shake my head, looking down at my feet. “Spencer, I never meant to hurt you and you make it sound like I had one foot out the door our whole relationship and that’s not true, but we were young. We were kids having a kid. We just … grew up.”
He shakes his head. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to get on this topic of conversation. It’s not why I invited you over here today. I really do want us to be friends again. I miss you. I already lost one friend in my life. I don’t want to lose you, too, and I feel like I have.”
I want to say we never stopped being friends, but he’s right. Our relationship has been strained ever since he bought this house thinking it was for the three of us.
“It’s okay. It’s probably something we need to discuss more one day once … once things are better.”
He nods and moves closer, keeping a careful distance. “Could we get lunch next week?”
“Wow,” I laugh, “going right for it, huh?” Thinking for a second I say, “Wednesday should work, but I’ll let you know for sure.” Looking at the time on my phone, I groan. “I better get going so I can get Roe in time.”
The day has gotten away from me.
“Right.” He clears his throat, flipping the light switch off in her room. “Tell her hello for me and that I love her.”
“I will.” He walks me downstairs and out to my car. He seems lost in his own head. Opening my car door, I stand behind it and smile at him. “This was nice. I mean that. I’ve missed you.”
He stares back at me with this intense look in his eyes I can’t decipher. “I’ve missed you more than you know.” Clearing his throat, he adds, “Be careful.”
Closing the door, I crank the engine and turn around in the massive driveway. When I look in the rearview mirror, I find him standing with his hands shoved in his pockets, eyes squinted as he watches me drive away.