16. Garrett
GARRETT
Athena crouches to Peony’s level. “Hey, baby girl. You wanna go for a walk?”
The grin my daughter gives her is wide enough to melt the heart of the grumpiest of grumps. “Walk!”
She toddles past the end of the coffee table as if I’m not kneeling next to it and walks over to Athena.
Athena scoops her up. Giggling, Peony loops her thin arms around Athena’s neck, trapping Poppy between her body and Athena.
At Peony’s reaction, jealousy strikes me like an arrow to the chest, nicking my heart. Which is ridiculous. I only found out less than forty-eight hours ago I have a daughter. Of course she’d pick Athena instead of me.
Less than forty-eight hours ago, I was questioning if she even is my daughter.
Athena removes a small coat, the hood trimmed with pink faux fur, from the closet. “You wanna wear the coat your daddy bought you?”
“That’s a pretty coat,” Zara tells Peony. “Your daddy has fine taste.”
I snort a laugh. Zara twists to me, her eyebrows lifted in a wordless question.
“It was on the end-of-season clearance rack. I was lucky to find something in her size.” Well, almost her size.
Athena helps Peony put on the coat. The hem falls to her knees and swamps her small body. To her credit, Zara doesn’t laugh at my lack of ability to guess a kid’s size.
We walk along the sidewalk, stopping every few feet so Peony can inspect each distraction. An abandoned dime that Athena stops her from picking up. An empty concrete planter. A bird singing in a tree. A squirrel darting across the road.
She squats next to a beetle and watches it scuttle over the ground.
I crouch on the other side of it while respecting Peony’s personal boundaries. “That’s a beetle.”
She points at it. “Bee-el.”
“That’s right. Beetle.” I beam at Zara and catch Athena glancing up and down the street like a rabbit on the lookout for a coyote. I can’t tell if she’s searching for something specific or just memorizing landmarks.
She turns back to us, her freckles more noticeable against her pale skin than they were a moment ago, and flashes Peony a bright smile. “That’s right, baby girl. It’s a beetle.”
Picnic she’s not paying attention to me.
Her face is still pressed against Athena’s shoulder.
Zara opens the door to let us into the room.
I take the armchair. Athena sits on the super-comfy couch.
Peony scrambles onto her lap, clutching Poppy tightly to her body.
Zara grabs menus from the white-washed cabinet and hands them to us. “This is our regular menu,” she explains to Athena. “The kids’ menu is listed at the bottom. We also have international dishes I rotate daily. Today’s specials are jambalaya and Thai green curry with tofu.”
Athena reads the menu and points at something for Peony to see. “Look, they have macaroni and cheese. Would you like that?”
“It’s really yummy,” I tell Peony. Zara makes a mean baked macaroni and cheese, although I’m not sure if the one I love is the same as the one listed on the kids’ menu.
But I am certain the one listed is still better than the macaroni and cheese I made Peony yesterday with the jarred Alfredo sauce.
Mine isn’t even in the same stratosphere as Zara’s.
Anything I cook isn’t in the same stratosphere as hers.
Peony glances briefly at me, as if not sure if she should trust my recommendation. Or me.
“That sounds good, doesn’t it?” Athena prompts with a nod. “Would you like macaroni and cheese and apple juice?”
Peony looks up at her with a big grin, and my heart squeezes at how I haven’t earned that smile of hers yet. “Yes!”
Get over yourself, man. Give her time.
Athena and I place our orders, and Zara leaves to get the food and drinks.
Part of me wants to go with her since I’m at a loss for what else to do to gain Peony’s trust. Maybe someone could write a book on the topic.
How to Gain Your Child’s Trust After Not Knowing They Existed Their Entire Young Life .
This isn’t how I had envisioned things while dating Kenda, during those infrequent times when I’d thought about us one day being married and having a family.
I had envisioned the 2.3 kids. Had envisioned attending their hockey games like my parents had done for my brothers and me.
Had envisioned helping them with their homework and cuddling with my wife in front of the fireplace.
The latter would always lead to hot sex.
I rest my forearms on my thighs. “Is there anything you would like to do after lunch?” Not that I have time to take them anywhere, what with my ticking deadline. Shit . How the hell am I supposed to balance all this? A book on that topic would be helpful too.
“I was going to take Peony to a playground.” Athena glances around the room. “This seems like a nice place.”
“It is. Zara’s done an incredible job with the café.
” Pride shines in my tone, hugs each syllable.
“Assuming the paternity test proves she is my daughter, I’ll need your banking info so I can direct deposit your salary.
And I’ll need your Social Security Number.
” As much as I don’t want to discuss the business side of this arrangement, I can’t ignore it.
“I, er, don’t have a bank account.”
“You don’t?”
“I was always paid in cash.”
“What? You don’t trust banks?” I know a few people who are paranoid about the banking institution, but they still have bank accounts.
She shrugs.
“You can set one up in Maple Ridge. It’s easy enough to do.”
She strokes her pendant like it’s a lucky charm.
“Hot sauce in a hen house, I can’t do that.
I lost my ID, and the bank will need to see it to set up an account.
But not to worry—I’ll apply for a replacement.
Same with my Social Security Number.” Her hand drops to her lap. “In the meantime, just pay me in cash.”
“Okay, I can do that for now. And I’ll get my lawyer to draft an employment contract. Once I have the paternity test results.”
She nods and pets Poppy on the head.
Clearly bored with the conversation, Peony squirms and twists onto her stomach. She slides off Athena’s lap and onto the couch cushion next to her and glances around.
“I’ll need extra help with Peony while I’m working on my book. But I’ll pay you overtime.”
“Did you hear that, Peony?” A rush of excitement practically does cartwheels in Athena’s tone. “I’ll get to spend more time playing with you and reading your favorite story.”
Peony grins at her, then wiggles backward on her stomach until her feet are dangling above the floor. Athena helps her down.
A look of uncertain mischief lightens Peony’s expression as she takes in the room from her new vantage point.
A room that wasn’t designed with young kids in mind.
And I’m sure if given a chance, Peony could get into all kinds of curiosity-motivated trouble.
Especially if she’s anything like I was as a kid.
“Do you like to draw?” I remove several sheets of blank paper and a container of crayons from the side cabinet and put them on the coffee table. I grab a page and a green crayon and kneel on the floor, close enough to Peony so she can see what I’m doing, but far enough away so as not to scare her.
I start drawing a friendly dragon. Or a winged horse that looks slightly ill.
Peony studies the crayons for a beat and selects a red one.
Athena points at it. “What color is that?”
Peony lifts the crayon, showing it to her. “Red!”
“Very good. Should I draw something too?”
Peony hands Athena a blue crayon, and Athena begins drawing, the tip of the crayon effortlessly gliding across the page.
Peony scribbles on the paper in front of her.
“What are you drawing?” I ask her.
She doesn’t reply or acknowledge me. She just keeps making patterns and squiggles.
The door opens, and Zara enters carrying a tray filled with our food.
She peers down at my paper. “That looks great, Garrett. Um, what’s it supposed to be?” She tilts her head to the side as if that will help her figure it out.
“A dragon. A friendly one.” I grab a red crayon and draw flames shooting from its mouth.
Zara chuckles, the rich, throaty sound pouring over me like sweet molasses, soothing my dented self-esteem at my sad artistic abilities. “Yes, the flames make it look very friendly.”
I grin at her. “Right?”
She puts the tray on the other side of the coffee table, avoiding Peony’s picture. “That’s pretty, Peony. And wow, that’s amazing, Athena.”
The image of a young girl’s face stares at me from Athena’s paper. It’s only partially finished, but what she has done is impressive. The fact she drew it with a crayon makes it more so.
“You’re an artist?” I’m unable to tear my gaze from the two soulful eyes. The soulful eyes and side-swept bangs and the bridge of the girl’s nose are the only things Athena has drawn, but they’re mesmerizing. Deep-to-your-soul mesmerizing.
Athena shrugs, her expression neutral, if not a little sad—much like the girl on the paper.
I expect Athena to keep working on the picture, to bring the girl’s face fully into view, but she returns the crayon to the container and pushes the page aside. “Where did you learn to draw like that?” I ask.
Another shrug. “Here and there.”
“I would love to be able to draw like that,” Zara tells her.
“You draw?” In all the years I’ve known Zara, I don’t remember seeing anything she’s drawn, other than when we were in elementary school.
She snicker-snorts. “I haven’t drawn since Mrs. Dixon’s sixth-grade art class. Her reaction whenever she saw my projects was enough to tell me I should find something else to focus my energy on. Anyway, I’ll be right back with the drinks.”
She leaves, and the awkwardness I feel around Peony and Athena presses down on me again. Usually I don’t have trouble talking to women. Usually I don’t find myself in this situation. “So, you were living in North Carolina?”
Athena isn’t paying attention to me. She’s drawing something new. “That’s right. Where mermaids like to gather and lure sailors to their demise.” She says it so casually, like it’s an everyday fact.
Or at least I assume she doesn’t actually believe mermaids exist. “Did you grow up there?”
“Sure.” Her answer is half-hearted at best. A non-real answer. She removes three crayons from the container and holds them out to Peony. “Which color should I use next?”
Message received. The topic isn’t up for discussion.
But why? Why is Athena’s past not something she wants to discuss?