ABBY
Elijah’s tall figure recedes in the distance. Bracing my face in trembling hands, I let myself break down.
Of course he’s furious. To be honest, I was hoping for disinterest. OK, maybe not, but the resentful storming away was definitely a possibility I had imagined. I was ready for wrath.
What I didn’t anticipate was his bare, heartbreaking hurt. I figured you didn’t think much of me but that was brutal. What did I do to deserve your disrespect? His face of agonized betrayal hit me like a slap.
Up till now, my point of view remained on the defensive.
I wanted nothing from him. I would never trap him in a situation he hadn’t chosen.
The decision not to take the morning-after pill was mine.
The choice to keep the baby was mine. I assumed he couldn’t possibly want what I wanted.
I never thought about it as an act of disrespect.
How could you keep this from me? Who the fuck do you think you are?
I’m not sure how long I remain slumped on that public park bench.
When stomach cramps remind me I haven’t eaten all day, I force myself to straighten up.
Knowing the meeting was going to be both intense and unpredictable, Jasmine had offered to keep Cora all afternoon and for however long it took for me to recover from the confrontation.
I’m not recovered, but I want nothing more than to hold my child right now.
It’s the craving to hug my daughter’s bundle of childhood innocence that gets me moving.
I stand and, suddenly, hairs raise on my forearms, prickling with awareness.
Before even turning around, I sense he is behind me. Elijah returned.
His eyes of chocolate swirls arrest me in place. His words do the same. “I want to meet her.”
My insides twist at the implications of his statement. I attempt to stay calm but there’s no denying the panic rising from within, like a thought percolating at the back of your mind and emerging not as a revelation but as a memory.
I didn’t expect this, but I always feared it.
“There’s a lot to process today. Can we talk about it later?” I concede. “Let the news settle in. We’ve only just moved this summer and everything is so new to Cora. Before we decide anything, can we please make sure she’s settled in?”
“How is she, um, how is she with the move? Was she sad to leave London? That’s where you’ve been, right?”
“London was great but she’s always loved New York.”
“She’s been here? You’ve visited New York?” The controlled vulnerability of his voice humbles me.
“And Ohio, where my parents live. My headquarters are in Midtown, Elijah.”
“When? When can I meet her?”
Why hadn’t I planned for this today? Because part of me assumed he deserved to know but would leave it at that. Those words, when can I meet her, demand access to Cora that I’m not ready to acknowledge. That I’m afraid to face. I’m barely able to speak, but I need to try. A lot is on the line.
“I think we need to talk about how. And that will depend on, um, on a lot of things. Please think about it for a few days. We’re not going anywhere. When you’ve decided how much you want to be in her life, if you want to be in her life, we can talk. This will take time, Elijah.”
“You don’t get to lecture me on time. Not when all these years have passed and…” He takes a step closer so I have to look up at him. His lips are a tight line, his nostrils slightly flared, and his jaw rock hard. I get a whiff of his scent: soap and sun and summer. It reminds me of Cora.
He shakes his head in frustration. “What if I didn’t work at Riverside and you never saw me? What if Cora asked about me? Jesus, you were gonna let her think she was abandoned by her father! What the hell was your plan, Abby?”
At the last question, his hands clamp around my forearms. The firm grip doesn’t hurt, but it forces me closer, my lips inches from his chin.
“What was your plan, Abby? Keep me in the dark for the rest of my life? For the rest of Cora’s life?” I feel his breath on my cheek and something in me stirs. Something dormant and dangerous.
“I don’t know. I couldn’t see past the initial decision of keeping the pregnancy. Elijah, everything in my life changed.”
I feel his grip loosen. Still, I don’t step back. There’s a truth, more profound than the information I imparted, that needs to be said.
“My love for her filled my world and I let it push every hard decision away. After she was born, I couldn’t see or think anything beyond Cora. That’s not an excuse, but it’s the truth. I’m sorry, Elijah. I’m so sorry. It was wrong and I’m sorry.”
I feel the insufficiency of my apology, so I reach out to place my hand against his stiff jaw, trying to transmit my overwhelming regret, hoping some tenderness might soften the sting.
At the contact, Elijah doesn’t soften at all. He lifts his chin and glares down at me menacingly. Those darkly lashed eyes laser focus on my parted lips. I’m panting because my lungs aren’t working properly. Sweat trickles down my back as my blood turns to lava.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t,” I mumble, pulling my hand away. Elijah grabs my wrist. Our limbs are suspended between us, his hand large enough to cover most of my forearm. My fingers remain open, tingling with the feel of his late-afternoon stubble.
“You’re sorry.” His tone is deadpan. His grip tightens. “You’re sorry.”
“Yes. Believe it or not, I would go back in time and find the courage to tell you. It was a mistake. But please, let’s not add to my mistake by rushing into anything. Cora is… she’s perceptive and frank and smart. We have to be prepared. We have to prepare her.”
Elijah’s haze of hostility dissipates a little before he says, “I want to see her. Show me a picture. Please.” The plea, somehow aggressive and vulnerable, makes me squirm.
“Text it to me.”
“I only have your school email.”
“Give me your phone.” The barked order surprises me. I’m too discombobulated to question the demand.
Unlocking and presenting my phone, I witness Elijah’s eyes brighten at the sight of my screensaver. It is a picture of Cora as an infant, just a few days old, her little belly stretching the onesie that reads “Baby’s First Christmas.”
Elijah stares at the screen and runs one hand over his hair so roughly, plumes of brown strands stay standing. He exhales hard before punching in his contact information. One sharp line creases between his brows. My treacherous fingers burn with the need to smooth it out.
When he returns the phone, he mumbles, “Tonight. Send them to me tonight,” before walking away once again.
I think you’ll want to know what happens next because Elijah does more than forgive Abby. This book might be the epitome of unconditional love for me. Plus the mouth on this man!