Chapter Nine
Trish
I don’t think I’ve ever been so nervous to let another person into my house, and judging by the way Cora is bouncing off the walls. She’s nervous too.
“Mom? Do you think he’ll like me? Dad doesn’t really come to see me anymore…” she trails off, and my heart absolutely breaks for her. The divorce was rough on both of us, but the way Derek has failed her really pisses me off.
“Cora, you’re the best part of my life, and I’m sorry that your dad has continually disappointed you.
That has nothing to do with you, and everything to do with him.
” Although I know she doesn’t understand that sentiment right now, I still feel as if I need to reiterate it to her.
I could kill that man for what he’s done to her.
“Everyone else seems to have their dad around, and he just never wants to see me,” she argues.
“That’s not your fault, I promise. I wish I could explain it to you better, but he’s busy.”
“So are you, and you make time for me.”
Tears burn the backs of my eyes and I wish I could make this more simple, but I can’t. “I know baby girl, and that sucks. There’s no other way around it, it just does. Know that I love you, and I will do whatever I can to prove that to you every single day.”
She pulls her bottom lip between her teeth. “Do you think Mark will like me?”
Fuck Derek. Fuck him and every single lie he’s spoken, and promise he’s broken. “Cora, you’re going to be one of his best friends. Just wait and see.” I pray that Mark doesn’t end up disappointing her the way her dad has.
When I hear the knock, I realize he’s right on time. I half expected to get a message that he’d changed his mind, but not this man who is proving to me that people can keep their promises. Cora freezes next to me in the kitchen, her eyes going wide.
"Is that him?"
"That's him."
She smooths the front of her shirt, the bright orange one with the rhinestone butterfly that she picked out herself because she said it was her prettiest shirt.
My heart clenches in my chest because she dressed for this.
She prepared, the same way I've been preparing all afternoon, convincing myself this is fine, this is just dinner, this is not a big deal.
But it is a big deal. I know it's a big deal. It's one of the biggest ever. This makes or breaks whatever is going to happen between Mark and I.
I open the door, and the first thing I register is all of the colors around him.
He's holding the most ridiculous, beautiful bouquet of flowers I've ever seen. There are sunflowers and zinnias and others I don’t know the names of, wrapped in brown paper and big enough to almost hide his head, and in his other hand is a white bakery box tied with a ribbon.
"Hey," he says, and he's looking at me like he's searching for my approval, before his gaze drops down beside me. Cora is there, her little hand in mine. He crouches down without any hesitation, bringing himself to her level. "You must be Cora. I'm Mark."
She stares at him with the unflinching assessment of a seven year old who only knows how to be honest. "Those flowers are very colorful."
"They are," he agrees, completely serious. "I heard from someone who knows you that it's important."
She points at the bakery box. "What's in there?"
"Chocolate cake," he whispers like it's a secret between the two of them, and my heart gives a little clench again.
The sound she makes is so loud I have to plug my ear. It's pure joy, and she spins around to look up at me like she cannot believe her life. "Mom! He brought my favorite chocolate cake."
"I see that." My voice comes out steadier than I feel. I look at Mark over the top of her head and he's already looking at me, hope in his expression, and I mouth thank you before I step back to let him in.
He hands Cora the flowers, and she carries them to the kitchen counter like they're the most precious things she's ever gotten. Which to her, they might be. No one's ever given her anything like that before.
I watch the two of them as I head into the kitchen.
I'd already planned on hamburgers and fries, which is Cora's standing request for any special occasion, and Mark settles in there like he's supposed to be here. He doesn't hover, or get in the way. He spends time with Cora talking to her quietly. I can’t hear what they’re saying, but the conversation seems to be serious.
There are giggles, and I look over, seeing him pull a coin from behind her ear.
“I didn’t know that you’re a magician.” I raise my eyes at him.
“I have to keep some of my talents a secret.” He throws me a wink that goes straight between my legs.
Knowing that my daughter is here and he’s giving her the attention she hasn’t been getting from her father, I turn back to finish cooking the food. When I get done, I turn off the stove. “Are you two ready to eat?”
“Yeah!” Cora answers. “Because after we eat dinner, I can have my chocolate cake.”
I laugh, knowing that no matter how much she eats for dinner, she’ll have room for that cake.
Cora talks through most of dinner, which is standard. She’s always got a story to tell.
“We played kickball today,” she says with excitement, making her voice high.
I look over at Mark as she launches into a play by play of every part of their game.
I’m used to it, but I hope that he’s okay with it.
Throughout the whole thing, he nods where he’s supposed to, and acts as if he’s completely interested in the stories she has to tell. I’m beyond thankful for it.
Sitting back, I relax, letting my mind wander as the two of them carry the conversation. It’s what I need after a long day of work, and I hardly ever get it, so I’m going to appreciate it while I can.
When the plates are mostly cleared, she plants her elbow on the table and rests her chin in her hand, looking at him. "Do you like to dance?"
"I've been known to," he says, clasping his hands in front of him.
Her eyes light up. "I love to dance. I'm really good at it." She says this with zero self-consciousness, which is one of my favorite things about her. "Do you want to dance with me?"
"Cora, let his food digest first,” I try to get her to calm down for a few minutes.
"It’s cool, I’ve let my food digest," Mark says. He looks at me and then at her, where she’s already gone to the living room. "I've got this."
"Are you sure? Don’t let her make you do anything you don’t want to."
"Trish." His voice is easy and calm and somehow that makes it more effective. "I’d do anything she asked me to.” He turns to Cora. “Go put some music on."
Cora is already gone, already in the living room pulling up YouTube on the television. She does this all the time so she no longer needs my help. I gather the glasses and the napkins and carry them to the kitchen, and Mark follows with the rest of it, and I get started on it.
“She’ll go easy on me right?" he asks, nodding toward the living room.
"You don't know what you're getting yourself into."
The corner of his mouth tips up. "I'll survive, hopefully."
“Good luck, you’re gonna need it,” I laugh as I watch him walk in there.
He does more than survive.
I'm rinsing the last pan at the sink when I look through the window and can see their reflection. What I see makes me stop entirely.
They're dancing. Cora has the remote in one hand and the other stretched up toward him, and he's bent slightly so that his big hand can hold her little one, and they're doing some kind of ridiculous stepping pattern that she's clearly making up as she goes.
He follows her lead without argument. When she spins, he spins her.
When she demonstrates a move, he attempts it with enough seriousness that she bursts into laughter and has to show him again.
He's sweating slightly. My daughter is giving him a full workout and he's just going with it.
I don't realize I've stopped breathing until I make myself exhale.
This is the thing I didn't let myself think about when I agreed to tonight.
Not just whether he'd be kind to her, whether he'd be patient, whether he'd treat her like she mattered.
But this — whether she'd look at someone and feel seen.
Whether someone would show up for her the way she deserved to be shown up for.
He glances toward the kitchen then, like he felt me watching. Our eyes meet in the window and I don't look away. Turning so he can see me, I mouth the words thank you and I mean them more than I've meant anything in a long time.
He gives me the smallest nod, and then Cora demands his attention back and he gives it to her without a second's hesitation.
After around ten songs, she decides she wants cake, and so do I.
"You did really good getting this cake," I tell Mark. "It might be her favorite, but it's a close one of mine too."
He leans over, dropping a kiss on my lips, letting me taste the sweetness of the cake. "I'll have to remember that."
Bedtime is all about negotiations, as it always is.
Cora lobbies hard for one more song and he backs me up when I say it's time, which earns him approximately seventeen kisses from me when we’re alone.
She hugs him goodnight, which surprises us both, and I feel a twinge of hope when I see his expression as she does it.
Like he wasn't ready for it and didn't know what to do with it and decided it was maybe the best thing that had happened to him all night.
I take her up, run through the routine, answer her questions in the dark while she stares at the ceiling.
"I like him," she announces.
"Yeah?"
"He kept up pretty good. For an adult." A pause. "Is he going to come back?"
"I think so," I say, and I mean it. "I really think so."
She turns over and gives me a smile. "Good." She rolls back over, done with the conversation, and is asleep inside of three minutes. That’s how it always is with her. She goes and goes until she can’t anymore, and then she’s out. She’s always been like this, since she was a baby.
I stand in the doorway for a second, watching her breathe.
Then I go back downstairs to where he's waiting, my heart fluttering in my chest. I don’t have to share him anymore. Mark is all mine.