Chapter 8
Halle
I need a life-size facepalm emoji to use right now as I remain rooted utterly speechless after this unexpected run-in with Dane. I can feel the attention from both my dad and PJ on me.
My dad stares at me with an eyebrow quirked skyward, and I know exactly what he’s thinking.
Hal, you need to tell Dane about his daughter.
This entire situation is a complete clusterfuck and unbelievably complicated. Dane just met his daughter for the first time and doesn’t even know it.
Gah! I am an idiot for letting this happen.
Lenni wiggles in my arms. “Mama, let me down. I want to put your picture on your desk.”
I absently do as my daughter requests and direct her to the cube next door while my dad introduces himself to PJ.
They begin chatting about the recent preseason games and how the team looks for the year ahead.
Even in my daze from the conversation with Dane, I can hear the level of unrestrained excitement my dad has over attending the game, and it makes me so happy that I can give him this opportunity.
As I help Lenni find the tape in my desk drawer, I mull over all the hundreds of possibilities I’ve rehearsed in my head about how I will someday explain to Dane that we made a child together.
But that someday isn’t today. The timing has to be perfect. It’s not every day you share such important news with the father of your child.
I’ve considered every option, including springing it on him when he’s having one of the best days ever. Like, sharing it with him after he wins the Stanley Cup. He’d be on such a hockey-loving high that the idea of becoming an instant father wouldn’t faze him.
I’d go up to him outside of the locker rooms, look him in the eye, and say, “Congratulations, Ax. You did it! You won the Cup! Oh, and by the way, you also have a daughter you never knew about! Isn’t that great news? DING DING DING. You’re the big winner!”
Corny and lame, I know. But how else do you go about breaking the news to your former boyfriend—I guess I can call him that—that he knocked you up five years ago and is now a father?
And then there’s the tiny little issue that I’ve kept this news from him all this time. Since I have no clue how Dane may feel about the subject, I have to prepare for the various emotions that may arise. Anger. Confusion. Denial. And maybe even grief.
The best-case scenario? That Dane will be empathetic and understand the reasons why I chose to keep him in the dark after I learned I was pregnant and not to pursue any paternity rights.
My daughter’s small grunt of exertion as she reaches her small arm across my desk to adhere the picture to the wall draws my attention back to the present. The paper is taped haphazardly and slants sideways. I leave it as is, her efforts making me smile with pride.
“Ahh, thanks, sweet pea. You’re such a good artist and drew me such a beautiful picture. It will make me smile every time I look at it.”
I stroke her soft cheek with my thumb and bend to kiss the top of her head once again, noticing the recent changes in her hair color. The light blond hair has begun to deepen into a darker shade of goldenrod. Just like her father’s.
“Are you ready to go meet your new teacher?”
Lenni nods and squeals with excitement. “Yeeeees!”
I’m happy that she has this much enthusiasm over this new change. It means she’s growing up and learning to accept new things and people without trying to hide. I put my finger to my lips to shush her. “Inside voice, please.”
She giggles and jumps to the floor.
I’ve been so worried that this move would turn her world topsy-turvy. I’m taking her away from the only family she’s ever known, and I think Dad’s absence will be felt once he leaves.
I know I’ll miss his daily presence and support.
Lenni grabs my hand, and we beckon my dad, who wraps up his conversation with PJ.
“Nice meeting you, PJ,” he says, shaking his hand. “I appreciate you looking out for my daughter and teaching her the ropes.”
“You bet, Clint.” PJ’s eyes dart to mine as I give him a curious stare. He nods. “It’s great to have her here. And enjoy the game tonight.”
My dad offers a broad smile. As he’s been a lifelong hockey fan, I’ve never seen him happier than the day I told him I got the job with the Vikings.
We knew it would be tough for me to move and branch out on my own.
We had many late-night conversations about Lenni’s needs and how I was going to manage it all by myself, hours away from my dad and brothers.
Although he’s never outright broached the subject of Dane, Dad has made comments here and there about how he could have never managed to juggle all the balls with the family after my mom died without my assistance.
Hidden within those comments was the fact that me being around meant he had help in raising my brothers.
I was there to manage the household and care for my brothers when he was on long trips.
I understand his concerns. He’s my dad and Lenni’s grandfather. His job is to protect us and provide support. He’s done that for years and I’ll be eternally grateful. But now it’s time for me to let go of that rope and learn to balance the life I’ve chosen to live on my own.
If millions of other single parents can do it, then so can I.
Starting with the incredible on-site daycare that the Vikings organization provides.
My steps grow more confident as my dad and I walk side by side while Lenni races down the hall like a kid hopped up on candy and ice cream.
Dad gives me a gentle bump of his shoulder against mine, and I heave out a heavy sigh, curling into the arm he wraps around my back and fitting my head in the crook of his elbow.
“You doing okay, Hal? I know this is a lot.” He squeezes my arm lovingly. “I’ve been concerned it might prove too much for you and Len. But I’m so proud of you for taking on this challenge.”
Emotion clogs my eyes and tears form at the corners of my eyes, and I give them a quick swipe with my finger. “Thanks, Dad.”
“You know, I’m just an hour and a half plane ride away. And your aunt Marie is just down in Surrey if you run into any emergencies.”
I know he’s just trying to be helpful, but there is no reason I’d ever reach out to Aunt Marie.
She was my mother’s older sister by ten years, and they never had a close relationship.
I think I may have seen her a total of three times during my childhood, and one of them was at my mom’s funeral.
Marie isn’t the warm and friendly type. She was always too busy with work or travel to be bothered with family matters.
Perhaps I hold a grudge because of how cold and distant she was with my brothers and me at the funeral. She looked down at us with pity.
I tip my chin and give my dad a direct look. “Well, then, let’s hope for our sakes there are no emergencies.”
This garners a bark of laughter from my dad, and we round the corner toward the Little Vikings preschool and daycare.
Lenni—who is still five steps ahead of us—stands stock-still in the middle of the hallway, her back to us, like a boulder planted into a mountainside. Then she suddenly turns her face to look at us, her mouth gaping open. Her eyes light up in astonishment, and a giggle escapes her chest.
“Mama, Papa—look!” she exclaims with all the joy that can only emanate from a four-year-old. “It’s a rainbow on the wall!”
She points to the long wall opposite the windowed room and jumps up and down. It indeed is a painted rainbow, bookended with white puffy clouds and birds flying on either side in the blue painted sky. She moves to the wall, jutting out her finger to touch each color in the mural.
“Wed, gween, blue,” she says, all her Rs replaced with the W sound.
She also has trouble pronouncing the th sound.
But when I asked her pediatrician during her last checkup, the doctors said that’s typical of young children and will resolve as she grows.
Even now, I’ve noticed it sorting itself out.
“Good job knowing your colors,” a female voice says from inside the room. We all turn to find a young woman, perhaps my age or a few years older, wearing a polka-dotted dress, jean jacket, and a pair of white sneakers, and smiling from the doorway. “You must be Lennon MacAlister.”
Lenni hesitates and then rushes back to me, wrapping her arms around my leg like an octopus. She did the same thing a bit ago when she met Dane. But oddly, she warmed up almost immediately.
I extend my hand in greeting to the woman I believe is one of her new teachers. “Hi there. I’m Halle MacAlister and this is my father, Clint. And as you’ve determined, this is Lennon. Or Lenni.”
We shake hands, and she kneels on the ground to greet Lenni at eye level.
“Hi there, Lenni. My name is Miss Adelaide. But you can call me Miss Addy.” She smiles at Lenni, who peers out from behind my leg.
“Would you like to come inside the classroom, and I’ll show you around?
There are still a few of the kids here waiting for their families to pick them up, and I know they’re all excited to meet you. ”
Lenni glances up to me with a dubious look, and I give her a reassuring nod of approval.
She slowly untethers herself from my leg as Miss Addy stands, then takes hold of Miss Addy’s outstretched hand.
Something unfurls inside my chest, loosening from the tight restriction I hadn’t realized had been there for weeks.
Letting go of people in life is difficult. It’s a hard life lesson we all have to learn and tests our resiliency to manage through change.
Just like letting go of my father’s helping hand in order to learn how to become self-reliant. I know this is the boost Lenni and I both need to become independent women. Lucky for us, though, my dad will always be around to bail me out if I need his help.
I suppose it’s part of the reason why I broke off the connection with Dane. At the time, I knew we both had to live our own lives and it would be best for both of us.
But this experience of watching Lenni leave me is an important life lesson for us both, too. Learning to fly even when we’re not sure we’re capable of doing it on our own.
I give her a wave, trying to keep my composure and the tears from spilling from the corners of my eyes. “Bye, sweet pea. I love you!” My voice cracks, and I point in the opposite direction. “I’ll be just down the hall if you need me.”
“Bye!” She waves and walks into the classroom. My dad squeezes my arm.
“You’re doing great, Hal. You’ve got this.”
Yeah, I’ve got this.