CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Amelia
I’m so on edge as I open my front door to Bryson that I feel like I’ve stuck my finger in an electrical socket.
After being surprised by my mother and Harper after very intense, amazing sex with Deacon, his far too easy acceptance of every one of my demands, and Bryson asking to come over for dessert tonight, my whole world feels like it’s spiraling out of my control.
“Hi,” I say. Bryson’s still in his suit from work, and he’s carrying a bag that looks like it might hold pie. I could really use a big slab of pie. “It’s time, Bry. We need to tell her.”
His eyes pop wide. “Are you sure?”
God, no. Of course, I’m not sure. I was up most of the night debating my options. But Harper likes Bryson. And it’s clear he adores her.
Maybe it’s too soon, but it feels weird to wait.
Harper deserves to know her father, and I don’t want her to have a memory of learning that the man she thought was a family friend for weeks or months turned out to be her father in hiding or something.
If she’s going to have any memories at all of this, I want them to be good ones.
“You leave again,” I say. “I’ll hunt you down this time, Bryson. If we tell her, you’re committing to being a part of her life, even if you don’t stay in Catalpa Creek for some reason.”
His eyes go misty. “Thank you, Amelia.”
His reaction and the fact that he didn’t once push for this make me feel that I’m making the right decision.
I wrap my arms around him for a long hug. “Be a good dad to her.”
He pulls out of the hug and looks into my eyes. “I swear I’ll do everything I can to be the father she deserves.”
“Just be here for her,” I say, my own eyes stinging. This whole thing is far more emotional than I like. “Come on in.”
Mom stayed for dinner after her afternoon with Harper, and there’s no way she’s leaving now that Bryson’s here. But she has promised to be on her best behavior.
Harper hops off the stool she was standing on to ‘help’ her grandmother wash up from dinner and runs over to us. “Hi, Brys,” she says, her eyes lighting up. “Dinner’s over.”
“That’s okay,” Bryson says, crouching to her level. “I already had dinner.”
“What did you eat? I ate sketti.”
“I had spaghetti too,” Bryson says. “I ate at a restaurant.”
“Honey,” I say. “Can we go sit on the couch? Bryson and I want to tell you something important.”
“Are we getting another cat?” Harper asks as she toddles to the living room. “Marmalade needs a friend.”
“No, we aren’t getting another cat.” Not yet. But she’s probably right about Marmalade needing a friend. He’s been making messes again, but only when Harper and I are gone all day.
We settle on the couch, and Harper climbs onto my lap. “Harper, honey.” I’ve been planning out this moment for hours, and I can’t figure out a better way to tell her than to just blurt it out. “Bryson is your father.”
She twists to look at me, her eyes wide. “Are you gonna marry him?”
“No, honey. Bryson and I used to be married. He’s your dad. He had to go away for a long time, but he’s back now, and he’d like to be your dad and spend time with you if you’re okay with that.”
“Or I can just be your friend,” Bryson says, looking more worried than I feel. “Whatever you want.”
Harper faces him, considering him very seriously. “Are you going to live in Momma’s room?”
“No, I’m going to live in a different house,” Bryson says.
“Will I have to live at your house sometimes? Finn’s mom and dad live in two different houses, and he has two beds and lots of toys.”
Damn it. Bryson and I haven’t discussed this.
Bryson looks at me, but I have no idea. My biggest worry was making sure Bryson wouldn’t try to take Harper back to Colorado with him, or get to know her and then vanish out of our lives again.
But of course he’ll want to have her stay with him sometimes.
Hell, she’ll probably want to stay with him sometimes, judging by the way she’s bouncing happily in my lap.
Though that probably has to do with the idea of double the toys.
I shrug and let Bryson take the lead on this. I honestly don’t know what he’s hoping for.
“How about this?” Bryson says. “How about when I get a house, I make sure there’s a bedroom in it for you with lots of toys? That way, you have a place that’s all yours, and you can decide if you want to play there for an afternoon or even overnight if your mom’s okay with it.”
“I’ll get more toys?” Harper asks.
Bryson laughs. “Sure. You can have whatever you want.”
I try to warn him with my eyes not to promise her that, but his entire focus is on Harper.
“Okay,” she says. “You can be my daddy.”
She hops off my lap and races to the kitchen to finish helping her grandmother with the dishes.
Bryson runs a hand over his face and blows out a breath. “That did not go how I expected.”
“She’s four,” I say. “She doesn’t really understand what any of this means. A couple of years ago, her uncle reappeared in her life, and he’s one of her favorite people. Maybe she just figures that’s how life works.”
He chuckles. “Random men showing up and claiming to be related to her?”
“It’s worked out well for her so far.” I put a hand on his knee.
“Look, I know we haven’t talked about her staying with you, but I’d be fine with it, once you two get to know each other better.
I don’t want to keep her away from you.” It’s not entirely easy for me to say that.
Harper stays over at her grandparents’ house a couple times a month and with Asher every once in a while, but this is different.
This means I’m going to have my baby at home with me less often. Assuming Bryson doesn’t fuck this up.
“Can we let Harper lead?” he asks. “I don’t want a formal custody arrangement or even an expectation that she gets to stay with me regularly.
I haven’t earned that yet from you or Harper.
And I don’t want her to have to go between two houses on a weekly basis.
I want to be a part of her life in whatever way she chooses or you need me to be. ”
My throat goes tight, and I hug him again, overcome with that damn emotion. “Thank you, Bryson. That would be perfect.”
I sit up and swipe at my eyes. “This is so weird. I’ve hated you for so long and now I’m hugging you like every ten minutes.”
Thankfully, he is also emotional. His voice cracks when he speaks. “I fully expected you and your parents to demand I leave town and never come back. I’m more grateful than I can say that you’ve let me back into your life.”
“We’re going to eat all the pie without you,” Mom calls from the kitchen.
“Keep bringing me pie,” I say. “And it will go a long way toward my forgiving you.”
He makes a mock-outraged face. “I thought you already forgave me.”
“There are depths, layers, and stages to my forgiveness. Pie is the secret key that unlocks it all.”
He follows me to the kitchen, where we eat pie and Harper tells us stories about life in preschool. By the time the last bite is eaten, even Mom has relaxed and is laughing.
“Okay,” I say. “Time for bed, Harper.”
“I want Bryson to read to me,” Harper says. She always wants the guest to read to her. Mostly because she wants more time with the guest, but also to find out who does the best voices.
The look on Bryson’s face, however, suggests he’s reading a lot more into this request than is warranted. I let him have it. It won’t hurt anything.
Mom gives me a look I know all too well. She disapproves.
She probably wants to make Bryson work harder for this, but I’m past that.
If I’d had any remaining doubts, his sister called me after work, caught me just before I stepped inside, and told me what an amazing uncle Bryson has been to her kids. She thinks he was born to be a dad, and I should forgive his four-year abandonment.
She also told me he’s been in therapy to understand why he ran, how to deal with the guilt of running, and how he can make sure he never runs away again.
She’s obviously biased, but she presented an excellent case for why Bryson being back in Harper’s life is truly a good thing for her.
And I will never take good things from my kid.
I do, however, follow them down the hall, make sure Harper gets into her pajamas and brushes her teeth, and stay to listen to him read a couple of pages - he does the voices really well - before returning to the kitchen.
Mom’s still at the table, on her phone, but she ends the call as soon as I walk in. “Your father just got home. He had to work late.”
“Again?” I hate that he has such a physical job and has to work such long hours with his health being what it is. Even as a foreman, it’s still taking a toll on his body.
She puts her phone down, frowning. “I’ve been telling him it’s time to find a less demanding job, but he doesn’t know anything except construction, and we can’t afford for him to retire.”
“I thought you’d figured out a way to retire, that you’d been building your retirement account with Everett’s help.” Everett is a cousin and works in finance.
“We have been,” Mom says with a sigh. “But it’s going to be at least ten more years before we have enough to comfortably retire.”
“At least you’ve gotten off your feet. How’s the back office treating you?
” A lifelong waitress, my mother has been manager at the best restaurant in town for the past ten years and two years ago the owner gave her a true desk job, where she organizes schedules, plans events, handles employee disputes and, more and more, has been handling the basics of the restaurant’s accounting so that they now only need an accountant to stop in and check on everything every other week.
Mom’s smile speaks for her. “I love it. It feels like I’m cheating, sitting back there all day. Reggie said he doesn’t even want me to fill in on the floor anymore, because I’m so valuable in the office.”
I suspect that’s true, but also that Reggie, the owner, is a truly decent guy and hates to see my mother in pain.
“That’s good, Mom. We just need to find Dad a job that lets him sit all day.”