Chapter 6 #2
I puffed up my cheeks and blew out a great gust of air. “I don’t want to think about that.”
If I did, I’d wind down a path leading to a swamp of guilt and throw myself in face first. Kateryna had inherited my eye problems. She had bilateral congenital cataracts. The moment she was born, I’d spotted her cloudy eyes and known.
Her doctors had already successfully removed the cataract in her first eye. Today, they were removing the second. Then we’d be on an endless cycle of eye drops, changing her lenses, and crossing our fingers that she’d heal well and have decent eyesight.
He caught my hand in his as I paced past him. “It isn’t your fault, sweetheart. These things happen. Katty will be A-OK.”
Sucking in a breath, I looked at him, and my heart lurched.
My dad was the most gentle person I had ever known.
His hair had gone white early, and without my papa to remind him to comb it, it stuck out on the sides like chicks’ fluff.
His eyes were melted chocolate, soft and sweet.
He’d worn the same glasses for as long as I’d known him, and based on pictures I’d seen, he’d been rocking the same square frames since the early nineties.
From her first breath, he had been with me every moment of Katty’s life. I couldn’t have done it without him. I knew that without a doubt. But he’d never made me find out.
We weren’t rich. Our lives were simple and sometimes strained—especially with Katty’s medical bills and my student loans. But we had each other, and most of the time, that was enough.
“I’ll feel better when she’s in my arms.”
“We both will,” he agreed.
It didn’t take long for my daughter to be returned to me. When she woke, she was cranky and disoriented, but I’d never felt more relieved.
“Hi, Katty girl,” I cooed. “Mommy’s here, baby. You’re going to feel so much better soon.”
She cried the howl of a baby who’d been deeply wronged and slammed her face into my chest—not great considering she’d just had eye surgery, but we’d been through this once before.
I knew what she wanted, what might make her feel better, even temporarily.
I put her to my breast, and both of us sighed when she latched.
My dad got up from his seat to kiss the top of my head. “My girls are pretty as a picture together.”
I looked up at him, blinking back the burning in my eyes. “How am I thinking of him right now?”
He shook his head, stroking the back of my hair. “Because if he were any kind of man, he would be here. He should be here.”
“I don’t need him,” I rasped.
“You don’t. Neither does Katty. That doesn’t change anything, does it?”
I’d gone through every stage of grief since that day in Denver.
For a while, I’d gotten stuck on anger, and there were days I was still there—especially when Kateryna was born and I fell in love with her.
I wondered how any parent could be willing to miss this.
How could he not want to look into the face of the person who was half him and find out each one of her secrets?
“No.” I dragged my finger along the curve of my daughter’s cheek. “It doesn’t change a single thing.”
Ben should have been part of Kateryna’s life. He should have wanted this. But I had accepted long ago we were never going to have that.
Today was one of the days I was still angry at him for not being here.
But there was no reason to dwell. It was what it was. My family might have looked a little different, but we were safe, loved, and cared for. That was all that mattered.
Two Years Later…
My dad walked in, shut the door, and closed his eyes as he leaned against it. If Katty were awake, she would have run to him and knocked her glasses askew to hug his legs as hard as she could.
She loved her dido more than Cheerios and Play-Doh.
But Katty was down for her nap, so he didn’t have to put on a brave face and smile through the pain, even though he tried, for my sake.
“Dad.” I took his hand, gently pulling him away from the door. “Come sit down. Let’s talk.”
I would have gone with him to his latest doctor’s appointment, but my babysitter had fallen through, so he’d gone alone. The defeat in his shoulders and lines in his face made my stomach tighten into barbed knots.
We sat together at our small table, Katty’s high chair between us. I made him ginger tea—one of the few things he could consistently keep down—and waited for him to drink half before I couldn’t take another second of silence.
“What did they say?”
He set the mug down with a clunk, keeping his hands wrapped around it. He was cold all the time, even with a beanie on his bald head and layers of sweaters and scarves.
“Mazzy…I’m sorry,” he rasped.
I shook my head. “No. No. Don’t start that way. Nothing good can come after that. Start again—differently this time.”
He reached for my hand, folding his frail fingers over mine. I’d once thought his hands could beat back the world and hold me tight at the same time, but now…they were so breakable. Like they would turn into dust at any moment and blow away.