Chapter 38
THIRTY-EIGHT
Deacon
On Sunday morning, I roll the bright pink suitcase into Willow’s room. “I bought you something,” I say.
She comes running over, her smile wide in excitement.
“My own suitcase?” she asks. “Wow, Daddy! Thank you.”
“Well, you’ll need to take some of your things to your mommy’s place. And then you will need to bring some stuff back when you come home on Wednesday.”
She grins at me like she’s about to go on an adventure. “I made a pile of these toys that I want to take with me.” She steps aside to reveal a great mound of toys on her bed.
“That’s a lot. And they’re all soft toys.”
“Stuffies.”
“You’re half British. We call them soft toys.”
“It’s not as cute as calling them stuffies,” she says on a frown.
“Is that all you want to take?” I ask.
Gabby and I have worked hard with Lucia over the last couple of weeks to make sure she has everything other than toys at both houses.
Her shampoo and hairbrushes, bobbles and headbands.
Even her clothes have been distributed between both houses, so Willow has everything she needs logistically to manage at either house.
Willow has been to see Gabby’s place and has picked out new bed linen for her first night.
Lucia will act as a bridge between the two separate parts of the week.
I can’t do anything but fixate on what might go wrong. Because of the stress of the new arrangements, she might start sleepwalking and end up letting herself out of the house. She might get sick in the middle of the night and something might go wrong because the hospital is two blocks farther away.
Logic tells me that she’s almost certainly going to be okay.
But logic isn’t the only voice when it comes to my daughter.
Willow’s trying to push as many soft toys into her case as possible. She hasn’t even thought about nightclothes or a toothbrush. Which is fine. Her favorite pajamas are at Gabby’s waiting for her. I wanted her to feel cozy in her new bed.
Eventually she sits on the suitcase, squishing them all in. “Daddy, can you zip it up?”
I don’t bother suggesting she doesn’t need as many soft toys as she’s packed. If it makes her transition easier, then she should take what she wants.
I zip up her suitcase and then scoop it off the bed, using my right hand. Ever since seeing Aurora in the lift, since touching her that very last time, I have been conscious whenever I use my hands not to use my left.
I know it’s ridiculous, but it’s like there’s something of her on me still, and I don’t want to use it up. I want to keep that last memory of her as strong as I can, for as long as I can.
Saying goodbye to Aurora was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do, and the thought of her sits heavy inside me. I don’t think it will ever leave. I never expected to feel the way I did about her. If only the timing had been different, and I could have given her more.
My stomach curdles and I try to push away the regret and hurt, but it’s impossible.
Willow tugging at my hand pulls me from my thoughts. As we head out, Willow blows a kiss at her room. “See you Wednesday, bedroom. Love you!”
I hope she stays as upbeat as she seems to be at the moment. I hope nothing’s lurking in her that will come out tonight, in the middle of the night.
“Ready to go?” I ask her.
“Ready,” she says with a determined nod of the head, as we take the steps down to the front door. “I’m a little bit excited,” she says. “I can’t wait to show you my new room.”
I smile. “I’m not sure if I’ll be able to come up and see it,” I say.
“Why?” Willow asks. “I want you to.”
Gabby and I have always been very respectful about not loitering around the house when the other one arrives for their time with Willow. I can’t imagine she’ll want me wandering about her house and hanging with Willow in her bedroom.
“I don’t know, princess. We’ll have to see.”
My driver puts Willow’s case in the car and we climb inside.
“Can we walk, Daddy? Mommy says it’s not far to walk.”
“Maybe another time,” I say. I’ve always known Gabby is nearby, but never actually seen her place.
We only cross two intersections before pulling up at a townhouse that looks very similar to the townhouse.
“Here it is, Daddy,” Willow says.
“How are you feeling?” I ask her.
“I can’t wait to see my new bedroom.” She bounds out of the car, onto the pavement, and to the steps of Gabby’s house.
“Hang on,” I call out. It didn’t seem very long ago that I had to lift her out of her car seat, dress her, and change her nappy. Now she can manage almost everything herself.
She needs me less and less.
Gabby opens the door before we even ring the buzzer. She’s grinning. “I thought that was you.” She bends down to give Willow a hug. Her bump is bigger now. We’re going to have to tell Willow soon or she’s going to guess.
“Can I show Daddy my room?” Willow asks, pushing past her mother to get inside and not even waiting for a response.
“Come in,” Gabby says.
I frown. “I don’t want to make things awkward—”
Gabby laughs. “You will if you stand on the curb looking pained. She’s excited to show you her new room. You should go. Then you’ll be able to picture her, where she is.”
She says it like she’s helping me go through the adjustment of Willow’s new arrangements, rather than us both helping Willow.
I push my hands into my pockets and take the steps up to Gabby’s house.
“Daddy,” Willow yells from somewhere upstairs.
“I’ll take her case up,” I say.
“Can I get you a snack? I’m making something for Willow.”
“I’m good, Gabby. But thanks.”
“But stay for a while,” she says. “Help her settle in.”
I’ve been angry at her wanting to change this arrangement, but I’m grateful she’s being gracious about it and is trying to help Willow navigate everything.
“Where are you?” I call up the stairs.
“Keep going up the stairs,” Willow calls back. “There are lots of stairs, like at our house.”
Our house. I let out a huff of a laugh. Whenever she used that phrase before, she meant Gabby’s, her, and my house. And I’ve never really seen the townhouse as our house. It’s just been the place where I’m with Willow. But now…now our house is our house.
A home.
A place I can relax in, and not feel like it’s just one of two hotels I use over the course of a week.
Eventually, I find Willow in her room.
“Wow, you have a swing in your bedroom?” I say, as I find her sitting with her favorite stuffed animal in a pink rope saucer swing that hangs from the ceiling.
“Isn’t it cool?”
“Very cool,” I agree. I glance around at the decoration.
It feels much more grown up than her room back at the townhouse.
It has a modern wooden four-poster bed with white voile draped over it.
There are two beanbags under the window next to some bookshelves that create a little reading nook, and a beautiful art deco mirror over a dressing table.
Instead of sugar pink, the walls are a pale mink color with a similar-colored carpet, and the far wall has a collection of framed artwork that I recognize as Willow’s recent creations.
“It feels very grown up,” I say.
“I can brush my hair here,” she says, hopping off the swing and sitting on the stool by her dressing table. “And Mommy bought me some stick-on earrings.” She glances at me as if she’s waiting for me to tell her she can’t wear them.
“Let me see?”
She pulls out one of the drawers in her dressing table and hands me a sheet of different-colored gemstones. “They’re just pretend, Daddy.”
“They’re very pretty,” I say. I’ve always been clear that I don’t want Willow growing up before she needs to. Pierced ears aren’t allowed. Not until she hits double figures. “Do you want some on now? I can help you.”
Her face lights up. “You don’t mind?”
I shake my head. “I don’t mind. I just don’t want you putting holes in your beautiful skin when you’re little.”
“But these don’t make a hole,” she says.
“I know. What about the blue pair?” I suggest. “Like sapphires.”
“I like the green ones. They remind me of Aurora’s eyes,” she says—and it’s like her words are a physical blow.
“They’re pretty too,” I manage to say.
“Will Aurora live with you like Ray lives with Mommy?” she asks, sweeping her hair behind her ear so I can put her chosen gems on her earlobes.
Her question has me rooted to the spot. I can’t move. Why would she think that Aurora was going to live in the townhouse with me?
“What makes you ask that question?”
She shrugs. “I just wondered if you’d have someone like Mommy has someone. I don’t want you to be lonely while I’m here. And Aurora is very pretty. And kind.”
I manage to gather myself and peel off one of the green gems. “Yes, she is kind. And pretty. But she’s not moving into the townhouse.”
“Oh,” she says, and she looks a little disappointed.
I press the first gem on her ear and Willow smiles. Then I put the second sticker on. They look surprisingly realistic.
“How do they look?” she asks.
They look lovely. She looks lovely. And happy. And relaxed. And like she doesn’t have a care in the world.
“Do I look like I have Aurora’s eyeballs on my ears?” She makes a silly face.
I laugh at her being goofy and make my own stupid face to rival hers. I’m relieved there are no tears, no begging to come back to the townhouse or sadness at missing her old bedroom. It’s not what I was expecting, but I’m happy. Relieved.
“Eyeballs don’t make the best earrings,” I say. “These look much prettier.”
“It’s because they’re the same color as Aurora’s eyes, not actually Aurora’s eyes.”
“That’s probably it,” I say. “They look beautiful on you, darling.”
She wraps her arms around my waist. “I love you, Daddy.”
“I love you too,” I whisper, holding her close.
I think my six-year-old daughter just gave me her blessing to have a life of my own.
In fact, maybe it wasn’t a blessing. Maybe it was a request. Maybe Gabby was right, and Willow would feel less pressure if she knew I had something in my world other than her.
Gabby insists I stay while Willow eats her snack and then I head out. Willow doesn’t make a fuss. She doesn’t even run to the door to show me out. I just kiss her goodbye and leave her coloring with Lucia.
“She’s in good spirits,” I say to Gabby, as we head to the front door.
“She’s growing up,” she replies. “She can handle stuff.”
I nod. “Yeah. I mean, it’s early days, but so far so good.”
“There are bound to be bumps in the road,” she says. “All we can do is try to be as supportive as we can as she navigates them.”
I don’t say anything, but all I think is how I don’t want Willow to have to navigate bumps in the road. I want to flatten the road out for her. I want her to have an easy ride through life.
But as the thoughts form in my head, I know they’re not realistic. She’s bound to have ups and downs.
“You know when we separated,” Gabby says, “we both agreed that it would be better for Willow to have two parents who were happy apart than two parents who were miserable together?”
I nod.
“I’m really happy,” Gabby says, absentmindedly placing her hand on her bump.
“I’m glad.”
“I want that for you too,” she says.
“I’m happy,” I say. “I’m not miserable.”
“Not being miserable is not the same as being happy,” she says, offering me a small smile.
“Willow is going to be okay. She might melt down over missing her old bedroom or leaving a toy here when she’s at the townhouse, but she’s going to be okay.
And she’s going to be even more okay if her dad is happy. ”
I really think Willow is going to be okay about the changes that are coming up. And I can see how coming from a happy home makes Willow happy. Maybe Gabby’s right.
“You’re a good mom, Gabby,” I say. Gabby makes a good friend too. We were never meant to be together in a romantic sense, but I’m glad to have her in my life.
Gabby grins. “Thanks. You’re a good dad.”
I am a good dad. But I’m not sure I’m happy. I’m not sure I’ve been really happy other than when I’m with Willow or Aurora. Aurora with the eyes like emerald-colored stick-on jewels, only a thousand times more beautiful.