Chapter Twenty-One
I hear a knock on the door while nursing my second cup of coffee and pretending to read calculus homework. I set my coffee down and open the door only to see Jeremy.
“Morning,” he says quietly, “Can I come in?”
I nod and open the door more, and he follows me into the kitchen. “Coffee?” I ask. “Sure,” he says. I grab him a mug and pour him some.
“How are you holding up?”
“Better than Emma, it sounds like.”
“She’s struggling with the idea of going back to face her mother after everything that’s happened.” Jeremy sits across from me at the kitchen table, looking older than he did just a few days ago. “I was wondering if I could ask you something.”
“Of course.”
“Would you be willing to have lunch with me today? Just the two of us?” He fidgets with his coffee mug. “I know we’ve spent time together with Emma and your family, but I’d like a chance to talk with you alone. To get to know you without an audience.”
The request catches me off guard, but in a good way. “I’d like that.”
“Emma’s okay with it. She actually suggested it; said we needed some father-daughter bonding time.” He smiles slightly. “Though she doesn’t want to be alone at the Airbnb all afternoon, so Robert offered to let her hang out here until we get back.”
“Robert’s good at taking care of people.”
“He seems like a solid guy. You’re lucky to have him.”
There’s no bitterness in his voice when he says it, which surprises me. If I were in his position, knowing another man had raised my daughter for twelve years, I think I’d struggle with jealousy or resentment.
“You don’t mind? That Robert has been more of a father to me than…” I trail off, realizing how that sounds.
“Than I have?” Jeremy finishes gently. “Olivia, I’m grateful to Robert.
He was there for you when I couldn’t be, and from what I can see, he did a damn good job.
You’re confident, kind, intelligent, everything a father could want his daughter to be.
If Robert helped shape you into the person you are, then I owe him a debt I can never repay. ”
The generosity in his response makes my chest tight. I’ve spent so many years wondering if my biological father would approve of who I’ve become, and here he is, thanking my stepfather for the job he did raising me.
“So lunch?” Jeremy asks. “There’s a seafood place on the pier that looks nice. We could walk around afterward, maybe you could show me some of your favorite places in town.”
“I’d love that.”
“Okay, well, I will come by around noon with Emma. See you then?”
“Can’t wait.”
We’re settled at a table overlooking the harbor at Manny’s Seafood Shack, a local institution that’s been serving fish and chips to tourists and locals for thirty years.
Jeremy ordered the salmon, I went with fish tacos, and we’re sharing an order of sweet potato fries that’s large enough to feed a small family.
“This is incredible,” Jeremy says, taking another bite of his fish. “Emma and I don’t get seafood this fresh in Michigan.”
“One of the perks of living on the coast. Though I probably take it for granted most of the time.”
“Tell me about growing up here. What was it like?”
I tell him about learning to swim in the ocean when I was five, about building sandcastles with Mom and Robert on weekend mornings. I describe my elementary school, which is three blocks from the beach, and how we used to have outdoor classes when the weather was perfect.
Jeremy listens with the kind of focused attention that makes me feel like every detail matters to him.
He asks follow-up questions about my teachers, my friends, the soccer teams I played on as I got older.
He wants to know about my favorite birthday parties, my worst injuries, the books I loved reading.
“I have about a million questions,” he admits, stealing another sweet potato fry. “Eighteen years’ worth of questions about your life, your personality, your experiences. I know I can’t catch up on everything at once, but I want to know as much as you’re willing to share.”
“I have questions too,” I say, gathering my courage. “About you and Mom. About what really happened.”
Jeremy’s expression grows more serious, but he nods. “Ask me anything.”
“How did the affair start?”
He’s quiet for a moment, choosing his words carefully. “Your mom and I got married young—too young, probably. We thought we were ready for adult responsibilities, but we were still kids ourselves. By the time you were conceived, we’d been married for five years and we were struggling.”
“Struggling how?”
“Money, mostly. I was working for an electrical contractor, doing residential jobs, but the pay wasn’t great.
Your mom was working part-time at a gallery while trying to build her art career, but that wasn’t bringing in much either.
Eventually she stopped and stayed home. We were behind on bills, fighting about bills, stressed about everything. ”
“And Lilly?”
“Lilly was your mom’s best friend from high school.” He pushes his food around on his plate. “She started coming around more often, offering to help with things, being supportive when your mom and I were arguing.”
I can already see where this is going, but I need to hear him say it.
“She was there when your mom and I were fighting. She listened when I complained about our problems. She made me feel like I wasn’t failing at everything.” He looks up at me. “That’s not an excuse, it’s just what happened. I was weak and stupid and I made the worst possible choice.”
“How long did it go on?”
“About a year. Your mom didn’t know.”
“Until she found out she was pregnant.”
“Until we both found out we were pregnant,” Jeremy corrects. “Lilly told me about her pregnancy first, and I panicked. I knew I had to end things with her, figure out how to tell your mom, try to salvage my marriage. Then three days later, your mom told me she was pregnant too.”
I try to imagine that moment, being twenty-two years old and discovering you’ve gotten two women pregnant simultaneously. It sounds like something from a soap opera, not real life.
“What did you do?”
“I made another series of terrible choices. I didn’t tell your mom about Lilly right away.
I convinced myself I needed time to figure out the best way to handle the situation.
I thought maybe I could end things with Lilly quietly, help support her and the baby financially, and focus on my marriage and you. ”
“But Mom found out.”
“She found out after rekindling after our divorce.”
The pain in his voice is unmistakable. Whatever mistakes he made, he clearly regrets them deeply.
“She must have been devastated.”
“Yeah, and I am an idiot to this day.”
I think about Mom’s reaction to learning about Emma, the way she still struggles with seeing Jeremy after all these years. Some wounds run too deep to completely close.
“So how did you end up choosing Lilly and Emma over us?”
Jeremy sets down his fork and looks at me directly. “I didn’t choose them over you. I never chose them over you.”
“But you ended up with them.”
“I ended up trying to be responsible to both families and failing both of you in the process.” Jeremy leans back in his chair.
“When you were born, I was there. I held you; I signed your birth certificate. I thought maybe your mom and I could find a way to work through everything. But she couldn’t get past the betrayal, and I don’t blame her for that. ”
“So she left.”
“She told me she was taking you to California to visit her aunt for a few weeks. She needed space to think, time to figure out what she wanted to do. I thought it was temporary.”
“But it wasn’t.”
“Three weeks later, I got legal papers. She’d filed for divorce, requested full custody, and established residence in California. Her lawyer made it clear that if I tried to fight for custody or visitation, she would disappear with you completely. Move somewhere I’d never find you.”
The casual way he says it makes my stomach clench. “She threatened to disappear?”
“The exact words were that she would ‘relocate to ensure the child’s safety and wellbeing if the father proved to be a disruptive influence.’ Her lawyer said they had evidence I was an unfit parent due to my ‘moral failures’ and inability to maintain stable relationships.”
“So you gave up?”
“I made a deal. I agreed not to pursue custody in exchange for being allowed to send financial support. Five hundred dollars a month to help with your expenses, with the understanding your mom would decide how much contact, if any, was appropriate as you got older.”
“But she never allowed any contact.”
“Every birthday, every Christmas, every major milestone, I sent cards and letters. Some came back unopened. I sent photos of myself so you’d know what I looked like, school pictures of Emma so you’d know you had a sister. All returned.”
My eyes fill with tears I don’t expect. “I never got any of it.”
“I figured as much.”
“You could have kept trying.”
“I could have,” Jeremy agrees. “I could have fought it in court, could have forced the issue. But I was young and scared and convinced maybe your mom was right. Maybe you were better off without me in your life, considering the mess I’d made of everything else.”
“And Lilly?”
“Lilly and I tried to make it work. We got married when Emma was two, divorced when she was eight, got back together when she was twelve, broke up for good when she was fifteen. We’re better as co-parents than we were as partners.”
“Emma said you’re not together now.”
“We’re not. We share custody, we get along well enough for Emma’s sake, but we both realized a long time ago that a relationship built on betraying other people isn’t a solid foundation for lasting love.”
The honesty in his answer surprises me. Most adults would try to soften that truth, make it sound more romantic or justifiable.
“Do you regret it? The affair, I mean.”