CHAPTER 20
Jason
T he bedroom door swings in, and I take a step back. Valentina keeps her hand on the handle. In other words, she can only offer me a moment of her time. She’s changed into silk long pants and a red T-shirt with the sun in the front. Her scent, now a blend of something like a tranquil spa, swirls around me, soothing yet stirring a tempest. When her gaze rises to mine, dizziness trips over me, heavy with longing and the aching need to love and be loved.
“What’s up, Grumps?” Her playful nickname yanks me back to the moment.
Clearing my throat, I shove my hands deep into my sweats pockets. “Please don’t quit.” I rasp the words out. “Stay.”
Her forehead creases, and her lips part in a silent question. I can’t hold her gaze, afraid of rejection. So I glance past her shoulder to the humidifier curling steam into the room and the candles flickering on the windowsill. Her pictures on the wall are blurred from where I stand, but their presence is relief of some sort—they might mean she isn’t packing her things to leave.
“Let’s talk.” Her voice halts my spiraling thoughts. She tips her head toward the hallway to the kitchen, and I lead the way, then pull out a barstool for her. It scrapes against the tile, a harsh, grating sound in the quiet house.
“I considered quitting.”
My heart sinks, but I recover when the statement registers—“considered.” So I have another chance.
She settles onto the stool and squares her shoulders, that confidence of hers clear. “I’m only here for the kids, Grumps.”
“Thank you.” That’s the most important thing. The kids. My nod is precise as my gaze flits to the rain lashing the windows in the dark. I have so much I want to say, so many confessions on my tongue. I’d better say something before she can unleash something unthinkable like she’s done with us.
“I appreciate you coming out tonight.” She didn’t have to be here, especially in this weather, yet here she is. I search her for signs of discomfort. “How are you feeling? I should’ve asked yesterday.”
“Just a headache, but I’m good.” She clasps her hands together on the marble countertop, her knuckles whitening. “Took some meds.”
“I’m sorry again.” I need to ensure she knows in case my text didn’t convey enough sincerity. My phone had shown that she read my message. “I should’ve—”
“Do you trust me now that you watched the dashcam?”
I shift uncomfortably. “I don’t trust myself.” I grind my teeth against a raw frustration. Drawing out a breath, I try to calm this turmoil. “Makes it tricky to trust anyone.”
My gaze lifts to hers. Hers probes as if to peel back the layers of my thoughts. “I didn’t watch the cam, didn’t need to. Deep down, I believed you instead of Eden, but I got caught up...”
What am I trying to say? I wrestle with the guilt, what-ifs tangling with the need to trust my daughter—who, in the end, will be with me when Valentina leaves. Isn’t that what a good father is supposed to do?
I slide onto the seat across from her. She’s perched on the edge of her stool, ready to bolt. Her gaze wanders to the long counter, and mine follows to the glass vials of oils she uses to clean the kitchen and mix dish soap and bug sprays. My home’s never smelled or felt better. My kids have never been happier, even if Eden’s taken longer to let her in.
Silence stretches as she scrutinizes me. I keep her gaze, this time seeing her sincerity and kindness more than I’ve allowed myself to acknowledge.
“What are you afraid of, Grumps?”
I blink. “What?”
“You don’t trust yourself. Means you’re scared of something.”
I chuckle, but she’s pinpointed my core issue. “I’d almost forgotten you’re a shrink.”
“Not in the real world. I haven’t utilized my knowledge.”
Her doubt probably stems from people like me and those threatened by her show. Although it helped many, some of us blamed it for our problems. But she drove here when my daughter needed her, even when Eden was at fault. The least I can do is admit my fears. That doesn’t mean I have to look at her when I speak.
“Letting someone into our lives, my family. As soon as we get attached, they leave.” The weight I’ve carried since Daisy left feels lighter with the admission. “I’m also afraid I’ll fail my kids and they’ll look back and wonder why I didn’t do things another way.”
My confession hangs in the air. I focus on the aromatic vials again.
At last, she releases a noisy breath. “I’m sorry the kids’ mom left you, but anyone else around you—your kids, especially—has no doubt you love them.”
Bolstered, I brave looking at her. Her gaze is level, her eyes sincere.
She rests an elbow on the marble and her chin on her hand. “Tell me about your dad?”
Dad? “I barely remember him. He left when I was four.” Why does this feel like a session of some sort? Still, the words flow since no one has ever asked before. Even Daisy never brought up my past in any way. “I’d always wondered if he’d stayed, perhaps I would have had a sibling or two. I dreaded playing alone.” I share with her the lonely evenings after school, the house empty while Mom worked overtime. “I had friends, but we all had to return to our own homes at some point.”
Her mouth folds in a thin line. “You wanted more than one child, so they didn’t have to be lonely.”
At least she understands how I got here. “I always assumed they’d have two parents in the home—a complete family.”
She touches my sleeve. “Your family is as perfect as one with two parents. As long as the kids feel loved, protected, and secure—which they do.”
Heat burns behind my eyes, and I blink it away as a weight lifts off me.
I’d better focus on something else before I embarrass myself. She’s forgiven Eden, but I still need to apologize on her behalf, and I do. “Eden’s phone likely won’t work anymore. It’s for the best.” She doesn’t have to deal with checking constantly in hopes her mom called.
“I put her phone in rice at my house. It works now. Wanted to give it to her after I asked you first.”
I appreciate her awaiting my approval. “Let’s keep it this way. No phone for now.” I exhale, desperate for a solution to the endless cycle between Daisy, Eden, and me. “If you were in my position, how would you handle Daisy?”
“What?” She gawks. Ah, so it’s her turn to be surprised.
I repeat my question. “I don’t want to keep the kids from their mom, but I’ve got to stop the letdowns when she doesn’t show.”
She taps her lower lip. “It’s necessary to keep open a possibility for her to stay in touch with the kids. Perhaps she can go through you to talk to them—or at least to Eden. She can call you and ask to talk to her kids or make surprise visits without giving them any promises she might struggle to fulfill.”
I’ve been too laid-back. Probably that’s why Daisy has walked all over me.
“Are you still in love with Daisy?”
I chuckle mirthlessly. Any semblance of respect for her vanished long ago. I only have enough love left for my kids. “She’ll always be connected to me... but love?”
“Do you see yourself moving on someday with someone else?”
“Now and then, I have a desire...” I eye her. Why would she ask, anyway? “You gonna send me a bill now after this shrinking session?”
She chuckles, then waves. “Since you asked”—she shrugs—“don’t focus on people who’ve let you down along the way, Grumps. Thank them. Without those people, without those trials, you wouldn’t be where you are today.”
That’s one of the wisest statements I’ve ever heard. “That sounds like something Ethan would say.” I tip my head. “Makes me wonder if you’re a spiritual person.”
“Spiritual sounds like practice. I’m more on a spiritual journey, and sometimes I get sidetracked,” she says, talking about her faith in God, the ups and downs. “My job hunt and failures reminded me how helpless I am without God’s help...It helped me get back on track with God.”
Yes, that sounds like Ethan. He always assures me that God meets us where we are and as we are. He made us, so He’s aware of our weaknesses and inability to remain faithful while He forever remains faithful to us.
“The point is—focus on what you’re doing right rather than what you’re doing wrong.”
“How do I do that?”
“Let go of the past. Never allow the past to ruin your present. Make new memories for your family... traditions and things that you can do together, monthly, annually, or whatever.” She suggests various ideas, including a simple weekly movie night, a monthly hike, or an annual family vacation. “Things that will be a Sterling family tradition for years to come.”
“New memories. I like that.” Excitement bubbles up. Valentina will be a part of those new memories, one way or another. “I’ll start these new memories by being a friend to my kids’ nanny.”
“That’s a good start.” She smiles, and my heart all but melts.
I don’t want to stop talking to her. I need to savor this unusual moment together. “The boys told me you’re all starting gratitude journals?”
“Yeah. I used to journal.” A smile curls the corners of her mouth. “A gratitude journal can be a powerful tool for enhancing mental and emotional well-being.”
“My mom used to make me write what I was thankful for. Said I complained a lot. I guess I lost track of doing so sometime in middle school.” Mom was too busy at work to cope with all the things I needed. “Since I have a counselor at my disposal, what other advice do you have for me to be a good dad?”
“You need to be content that you’re doing enough.” She makes it sound so simple, yet she carries a challenging intensity. “You shouldn’t overparent.”
Overparent? “What do you mean?”
“Eden, let’s say. She’s eleven. Maybe tone down on the hugs in front of her peers. Unless she hugs you first.” She shrugs. “Your kids will still love you if you make sure they clean up their messes and do their own laundry. Like I said before, if all the fathers in the country did half of what you do, the kids and the world would be a better place.”
I didn’t realize I needed this reassurance. Perhaps sensing these personal subjects might be too much, she changes the topic. “How’s work going? And the new show?”
“I should’ve hired you,” I blurt out, another form of an apology. “You were our top candidate, but...”
“It’s fine. I’m sure the one you hired is doing well.”
“The ratings haven’t been good.” Unfortunately.
Her eyes widen. “Have you engaged in community events? I mean, diverse communities and events. Like in the Bronx, they have a spring music festival that draws families, Queens... no, Brooklyn has a spring food fest—consider diversity in race, age, culture, and financial background. You’re a family network after all.”
I nod. She’s knowledgeable. “How do you know all these events?”
“Did my research before I interviewed at Family Sphere.”
I shift, guilt pricking me again as she offers suggestions for different events in detail. She doesn’t appear regretful and offers logical suggestions that inspire action. All her ideas make sense. In fact, she's just convinced me to speak at an eighth-grade graduation ceremony in Brooklyn, a suggestion she pitched as a way to connect with the community.
“My friend Leah will be over the moon. A CEO of a family network addressing her students.”
My team was right. Valentina was the perfect candidate.
“I am sorry for being a jerk.” I look into her eyes, and her half smile makes my heart skip. “Just because I have issues, doesn’t mean I should take it out on others.”
“We all make mistakes.”
“I cost you a job you’d be good at.”
“I can be good at nannying too.” Her light response assures me of her commitment to us. “And I’m crazy about your kids.”
“Does that mean I’m forgiven?” I think I hold my breath for a sign of absolution.
“It depends.”
“On?” I lean in, knowing I’m flirting and she’s flirting back. Knowing how much trouble we could get into if we don’t stop right this second. “What does it depend on, Ms. Diaz?”
“Your behavior.”
“Am I behaving right now?” I waggle my eyebrows.
She chuckles.
Warmth spreads through my chest. “I’ll take that as a yes.” I pause before adding, “And what my daughter said about me not liking you—it’s not true. Not in the way she meant.”
“I don’t expect you to like me, Grumps. I know you let me watch your kids because you think your family is what I need right now.”
“And you’re what they need.” That truth is deeper than I intended to reveal, which must be why she sucks in a breath.
Time to change the subject. “So, you’re okay coming along to Long Island in two weeks?”
“I know it’s the kids’ idea—”
“I, too, would like you to come.”
“I’d love to.”
My heart soars. Having her with us in my happy place seems just right.