10. Stand By Me #2
How dare Jordan give me advice? Unwanted advice.
Dumb advice. A sprinkle of mansplaining about parenthood from a guy who doesn’t have children, coming in with advice he has no business giving.
Especially when we had a truce, and I’d only just decided to extend the olive branch of peace between us.
I hate that he offered it. I hate that it’s made me second guess myself.
And I especially hate that the more Jordan’s words resonate, the more I think I agree with him.
It’s only a breath before he gives me the space I desperately need. His phone dings. I hear his muffled voice from the other room, most likely calling Dr. Rafferty to update her on Pam’s condition, and I make a phone call of my own. One I pray is the right decision.
Never in the history of alpaca farming has livestock been better celebrated or pre-memoralized than our sweet Pamela.
Not only did Molly insist on coming home to say her goodbyes, but when I offered to hold a funeral for Pam, she surprised me by asking for a party right now.
While Pam is still here. Because, as my nine-year-old so wisely put it, why talk about how much we loved her then when we can throw a party in her honor and tell her today.
So, after picking out her favorite accessory for Pam, a pink collar with a corsage-inspired floral arrangement attached, and supported by her beloved Theo—my girl loves dramatics—Molly says a tearful goodbye to our best girl.
Since she also insisted we invite Theo and his parents, Dinah and Jack, Jack’s parents—whom Molly calls Lolli and Pop—Charlie, Drs.
Rafferty and Rafferty, and Jordan into the room for Pam’s final farewell, it’s quite the packed house as we play what Molly says is Pamela’s favorite song, a Kidz Bop Kidz version of “Peaches” by Justin Bieber.
It’s awful and wonderful, and when Theo holds Molly’s hand and sings along with her, somehow this whole thing feels a lot less dreary. It almost feels like a family.
Jordan offers to sit with Pamela, who’s remained asleep for the entirety of her celebration of life, while the rest of us eat corndogs and brownies in the living room.
I tell Molly how, on a perfect day in North Georgia, her dad and I handpicked Pamela when she was only a cria.
After apple picking, exploring the mountains, and dreaming up ideas for our own farm, an “Alpacas for Sale” sign drew our attention.
When that spotted baby walked right to the fence line to greet me like she’d been waiting for our arrival all along, I knew Pam belonged with us. That she was special.
The others begin to head home, one by one, offering condolences and reassurances that we aren’t alone.
And, astoundingly, I think I believe them.
Molly, Jordan, and I then tuck ourselves into the spare room, quietly talking beside Pam’s sick bed.
Jordan’s planted beside the IV stand with Molly attached to his side like he’s her favorite new security blanket, and he’s more than happy to oblige.
“I’m proud of you, kiddo,” he whispers, between Molly’s light sniffling, then nudges her gently with his arm.
Molly looks up at him, eyes puffy and red. “You are?”
She’s so astonished at his words, I have to take inventory as a parent. Do I give her enough encouragement? Does she know how amazing she is? Have I told her everyday, at every opportunity, how proud I am of the person she’s becoming?
Jordan all but melts, wrapping his arm around her and letting my daughter snuggle under the shelter of his strong arms. She’s still sniffling but closes her eyes when he begins to run his hands through her messy hair.
It’s like I’m not even in the room. I’m a fly on the wall of this blooming friendship between them, and a terrible, wonderful realization overwhelms me.
She loves him.
Molly—who lets people in so easily and shows her beautiful heart to everyone she meets—has fallen for this man in less than two weeks, and I’m not even positive he will be in her life past tomorrow.
Jordan is one of the strays she loves to pull in from outside then shower with all of the affection and warmth she has to give.
I have a sinking feeling she is not going to let go of him. And it terrifies me.
Unaware of what this scene is doing to me, Jordan rubs his thumb along Molly’s cheek, then gives her hair a tiny tug, encouraging her to look up.
Something I’ve seen him do more than once over the past couple of weeks.
“I’m so proud, Little Red. What you did today was really hard, but so special.
” He smiles at the dying alpaca, then back at the girl staring at him with hope-filled stars in her eyes.
“Pammy is the most lucky alpaca to have you. You’ve given her such a going away gift tonight. ”
“I’ve… I've never lost anyone before,” she whimpers. “I mean… my daddy died, but I never met him. And I love Pammy so much—”
“I know. That’s so hard, kiddo.” Jordan makes gentle shushing sounds, wiping her tears with his thumb before returning to running his hands gently over her head.
I cannot fathom why I haven’t interjected.
Why I’m allowing him to be the one to comfort my daughter when it should be me.
It always has been. I think I’m simply stunned.
Even with Jack, whom she adores, Molly has never mentioned her father.
And with me, James has been an elusive idea.
He’s her father, of course, but she’s never known him, and it’s felt as if bringing him up would only be a reminder of what she’s never experienced.
“Did you know I lost my dad, too?” Jordan asks. “When I was a little older than you.”
“You did?”
“Yeah. He was… Well, he got really sick, but I was lucky enough to say goodbye to him just like you did tonight for Pam. Surrounded by family. Laughing and sharing memories.”
“But, you knew your dad. I never got to meet mine,” she says, dejected, like she’s been missing something she’s never had. “What was yours like?”
“He was a really great dad. He loved John Wayne movies and bowls of ice cream, so big, they barely fit in the bowl. And he loved my mom and me.” When Molly casts her gaze to the floor, Jordan uses his hand to tenderly point her face back towards him.
“I don’t know if your mom has told you this or not, but… ”
His eyes flick to mine, seeking approval. I’m not sure I’m really ready, but I nod all the same.
“I knew your dad, kiddo.”
“You did?” She sits up, looking at me for confirmation.
Hot tears sting my eyes, but I manage to smile so she knows it’s true.
When Molly’s face lights up, and an unfamiliar excitement radiates from her despite the sadness permeating the room, I know I’ve misstepped.
I’ve tried to be enough for her by giving her bits and pieces of James over the years but keeping the majority of his memory for myself.
But in doing so, kept him from her. We have pictures around the house.
She knows she carries his name and his smile, but what if she’s needed this all along, and I’ve stifled it?
Jordan’s entire demeanor changes, too, as if he’s been waiting for the chance to share James with Molly after only knowing her a short time.
He curls her in close again, and she rests her head against his chest, hungry for every morsel of memory he’ll give her.
“James was my best friend. He loved motorcycles and animals and playing pranks on your mama every chance he got.”
“James is my middle name,” she says proudly. “Molly James Nelson.”
A soft sob, I barely manage to cover, escapes with a laugh.
Jordan pauses, gaze flicking to mine again.
I can only nod, desperate for him to continue and, yet, aching for him to stop.
It hurts. Not the shared memories I love so much, but knowing he’s more than willing to give Molly what she’s obviously yearning for, when I should have been the one to give her this gift long ago.
Jordan studies me before licking his lips and beginning to tell my daughter how James befriended him their freshmen year of college, referring to Jordan as his “adopted introvert.” He tells Molly about the way he could make any situation positive, exactly like she did tonight with her impromptu party.
The way he won every game they ever played.
Jordan always said James was the luckiest guy he knew.
“Ace,” he called him, more often than not.
Always insisting James could pull a pair of aces from his back pocket if he needed them.
Hearing someone who knew James almost as well as I did—who loved and grieved him—tell our daughter about him is an unexpected balm to my soul.
Finally, Jordan shares how much Molly’s father loved her before she was ever born. How he dreamed about her having red hair and green eyes, just like her mama’s, and how proud James would be of her today.
Molly closes her eyes, letting his words wash over her, and before long, she falls asleep in Jordan’s lap, her soft snores filling the room.
“Thank you,” I say when I’m positive I won’t weep. “You were right… about tonight and, well, everything.”
“I didn’t want to be right, Red,” he whispers, fingers still gently stroking Molly’s hair. “I wanted to help. To just be here with you… with you both. I want you to trust me again.”
It feels silly to deny that having Jordan here is a comfort I didn’t expect, but there’s still so much I don’t know.
Including whether he’ll actually stick around or whether he’ll break my little girl’s heart and disappear for the next ten years.
I don’t ask him any of the questions that seem most pertinent right now, though, and instead blurt out, “Why aren’t you a doctor? ”
He adopts a smirk, completely unnatural to him. “I mean, I am a doctor, Emory. Dr. Amor.”