16. Alexis
Alexis
Gabriel’s hand rests at the small of my back as we leave Travis behind. There’s a tight set to his jaw, a slight scowl on his face that almost makes me think that he’s… jealous.
I must be imagining that. It wouldn’t make any sense for him to be jealous that I was once engaged to another man. Hell, he probably wishes I had married Travis. Then we wouldn’t be in this situation, bound together by a marriage neither of us asked for.
Still, there’s something off about the way he holds me. His touch feels firmer, more intentional, like he’s staking a claim. The tension radiating from him is palpable.
Gabriel isn’t one to let his emotions show. I glance up at him, trying to read his expression, but his gaze is fixed ahead, his features carved from stone.
But something is off.
I’m not sure if I should say anything. If I would make this storm worse by acknowledging it.
Before I can decide, Peyton lets out an excited gasp. “Daddy! Look! Seagulls!”
Gabriel’s head snaps toward her, his entire demeanor softening in an instant. The tension in his jaw ebbs away. “Of course there are seagulls, Bug. We’re at the beach.”
“Can I chase them? Please?”
Gabriel chuckles. Whatever was bothering him, it seems like only Peyton could’ve made him forget about it. “Go ahead, but don’t scare them too much,” he says.
Peyton doesn’t wait for another word. She bolts toward the flock of seagulls pecking at the sand, her laughter ringing out as they scatter into the sky in a flurry of squawks and feathers.
Eventually, the gulls are gone, and Peyton grows bored of watching them fly away. The three of us reconvene to find a spot on the sand, a quiet area near the cliffs that border the beach. I help Gabriel set up our chairs while Peyton rushes off to the edge of the water.
“You mind if I join her?” Gabriel asks.
“Go for it,” I reply, settling into my chair. “I’m good here.”
I watch as Gabriel turns and approaches Peyton, who is splashing in the surf, giggling each time a wave laps at her ankles.
When Gabriel reaches her, he crouches down to her level.
She throws her arms around his neck, and he sweeps her up effortlessly, spinning her once before setting her down just as a wave washes over their feet.
Something inside me tightens as I watch them together. Gabriel—harsh, stoic Gabriel, with his sharp words and careful facade—is so unguarded, so sweet with his daughter. It’s as if she’s the only person in the world who can unlock the warmth in him.
Melanie probably used to be able to do that too, I think to myself, my feet shifting in the sand.
I feel a now-familiar flicker of discomfort, the one I’ve come to associate with thoughts of Gabriel’s first wife.
I can’t help but feel like an interloper whenever I’m confronted with the reality that she was once here, in my place.
That this family was once whole, and now isn’t anymore.
I shouldn’t feel this way, I remind myself. He’s Peyton’s father, and I’m her stepmother now. But watching them, this effortless connection they share, makes me feel like an outsider in a world I don’t know how to be part of.
I lean back in my chair, breathing in the ocean air with my eyes closed for a moment. When I open them again, Peyton is feeling more adventurous. She pulls at his hand, tugging her father toward the deeper part of the surf. Gabriel takes small steps as he follows her, letting her lead the way.
I think about our interaction earlier with the ice cream vendor.
Gabriel was so patient with Peyton, so encouraging.
He never told her to fix her lisp, only to speak despite it.
He accepted her the way she is. I can’t help but think about how powerful that type of parenting must be, how well-adjusted Peyton will become.
I take a sip of my iced tea, trying to soothe the sudden twist in my stomach.
Everything about Gabriel’s parenting is the exact opposite of how my parents handled my early childhood.
I remember their reactions to my stutter.
Their approach was never about building my confidence.
It was only ever about trying to fix me.
They always made it feel like a personal failing of mine, cringing every time I opened my mouth to speak or even outright telling me to keep it shut.
I felt like they could never love me unless I overcame the stutter, something that seemed so daunting, almost impossible.
My only option was to stay quiet. To never speak, in case I opened myself up to ridicule.
In private, I worked hard to get rid of the stutter.
I practiced endlessly, repeating words in front of the mirror, slowing down my speech.
But even when I made progress, even when I thought I had it under control, I would slip.
Whenever I was upset, or stressed, I couldn’t stop myself from stumbling over my words.
I still can’t. It’s like my body remembers the stutter, no matter how hard I try to make my mind leave it behind.
I wonder, watching Peyton playfully splash water at Gabriel, whether that was a mistake of my parents’—to make me feel like there was something fundamentally wrong with me, something I needed to fix.
I get the sense that if anyone implied that about Peyton—that she’s broken, or that she needs to change—Gabriel would tear them to shreds.
There’s a lump in my throat that no amount of iced tea can wash down. Gabriel is a good father. The more of his parenting I witness, the more I realize just how shitty my own parents were. They were the exact opposite of him, in every way, and the thought makes me bitterly sad.
“Alexis!”
Gabriel’s voice draws me out of my thoughts, and I blink rapidly. He stands knee-deep in the water, Peyton clinging to his legs.
“Come join us!” he calls, waving.
I hesitate for a moment. It’s the beating sun that ultimately makes my decision for me. I could use the chance to cool off.
I push myself up from the chair and make my way toward the water, my bare feet stinging on the hot sand. Peyton lets out a squeak of laughter as I reach the water’s edge and recoil at the cold.
“It’s not so bad once you get used to it,” Gabriel assures me, grinning.
I’m not so sure about that, but there’s enough warmth in his eyes that it feels worth it to take the leap.
I brace myself, holding my breath, and jump toward Peyton and Gabriel, letting myself fall sideways into the shallows.
The cold water is a shock to my system, but a much-needed one.
I gasp and splutter, playing up my reaction a bit for Peyton’s benefit.
She giggles wildly, splashing water over my head.
“You’re splashing me?” I say in mock disbelief. I prop myself up on one arm to see her, my fingers digging into the sand. “Splashing me while I’m down?”
Peyton scurries to hide behind Gabriel, peeking out at me with a shy, mischievous smile. He glances down at her, amusement glinting in his eyes.
“Oh, I don’t think so,” he says. “You’re not going to make me an accomplice. Not today.”
He flops down into the water, sending up a wave that douses Peyton. She tries to dodge, but the water’s up to her chest, and she can’t move quickly enough to avoid getting wet. She lets out a squeal and shakes herself. The seawater weighs down her curls.
“Daddy!” she shrieks. “You were supposed to be on my team!”
“Sorry, Bug,” he says. “You have to double-check about this sort of thing.”
Peyton aims her next splash attack at him.
This time, she gets him good. He’s completely soaked, his hair flattened and sticking to his forehead.
She laughs at the look of indignation on his face, and so do I, unable to help myself.
It’s so disarming to see Gabriel, a man who usually carries himself with such control and authority, at the mercy of a six-year-old.
He shifts to his knees, wiping water from his eyes, and glares at his daughter sternly. It’s the sort of look that must make investors and powerful people quail in the face of his intensity.
It doesn’t work on Peyton. She giggles, then lunges toward him. The stern look melts from his face, replaced by a tender smile as he catches her, bouncing her in the water.
“You’re really going to do me like that?” he asks.
“Yes!” she shouts, wriggling in his arms. “Everyone has to get splashed!”
“Of course,” he says, shooting me a wry smile. “It’s not a beach day if I’m not getting splashed.”
Then Peyton makes a sudden effort to escape his grasp, and Gabriel’s distracted for a moment as he stands, scooping her out of the water despite her protests. I smile, leaning back into the now-comfortable ocean and watching them.
Maybe I’m not fully part of this, sure, but I can appreciate what’s in front of me. And maybe that’s enough.
The sun is setting by the time we leave the beach, all three of us salty and sandy and pleasantly tired.
Peyton, in particular, has managed to get sand absolutely everywhere—in her hair, on her feet, somehow even behind her ears.
In the car, Gabriel teases her lovingly about it, marveling that one small person could carry half the beach home with her.
Peyton just grins and shows him a fistful of seashells she smuggled into the cupholder, completely unbothered.
She yawns three times on the drive, clearly worn out from a day of fun.
When we arrive back at the house, Gabriel takes her to the pool deck to rinse the sand and saltwater off her, then whisks her upstairs to get ready for bed.
I wander into the bedroom and peel off my damp bathing suit, showering quickly before changing into comfortable pajamas.
I pick up my book from the side table and head back downstairs to the living room.