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Obviously in today's day and age, a DNA test would change his mind really quick. But none of that matters because he'd gotten married soon after I found out I was pregnant, and there was no way I was going to tear his life - and his new wife’s life, for that matter - apart to make my own life easier. Maybe someday I'll tell him the truth, but for now, I honestly don't mind being the center of her world, because she's the center of mine. I can't bear the thought of telling him the truth only to have him not love her like I do.
Realizing that the troubling thoughts are trying to take over again, I take a deep breath as my bed shifts under foreign weight.
“I missed you, Mommy.” She curls up against me, her tiny arm across my throat as she stretches out. I can’t speak around the painful lump in my throat, and her breathing deepens nearly instantly.
I missed her so much today, and I'm grateful for her, and love her so much. And now, with her warm body curled up in bed with me, I feel happy, loved, and appreciated. Knowing she’d woken up and come to me and didn’t even care if I woke up and acknowledged her, just to tell me she missed me... it’s heartbreakingly sweet and beautiful. A tear slips from the corner of my eye across the bridge of my nose to dot my pillow.
These precious moments with her - they’re the moments I live for. The moments that make putting up with jerks like Charles worthwhile. And as her warmth seeps into my bones, my body relaxes, and I begin to drift off to sleep.
All morning long I've been dragging my feet, making our rituals last longer than they're supposed to, just so I can spend every extra second with her.
But now with her fed and dressed and her hair done, there’s no more excuses for me to stay.
“I could have done all that.” But even as she says the words, my momma's knowing glance tells me she understands why I'm still home. She places a hand on my shoulder as my daughter runs into the living room. “These moments go quick; it's good that you know to savor them.”
“I feel like she was just born and I blinked.”
My mom nods her head in agreement. “Wait till she's eighteen, or twenty-three, or thirty. Time only goes faster the older we get.”
“If you're trying to make me feel better, you are failing miserably.” I flash a smile at my mom, but only to keep myself from crying.
“Was I supposed to be making you feel better? I’m sorry.” She lifts both shoulders.
“I just want to thank you again for doing this on such short notice. I'm looking into longer term care as I figure out what my hours are, but I'm really glad you're here.”
My mom waves away my thoughts. “Oh, stop it. You know I'm glad to be here.”
“How is dad managing without someone to cook for him?” I can't help but poke fun at their ultra-traditional marriage. I'd have gone crazy having to mother my husband, but my mom has managed for a long time.
“I'm sure he's getting really tired of sandwiches.” There's a wicked sparkle in her eye, and I realize that she's having way too much fun thinking about how miserable dad must be without her. I giggle. Sandwiches are about the only thing he’s capable of making for himself, so I’m not surprised.
“Who knows, maybe he'll pick up some new skills while you’re gone.”
She stares me dead in the eyes without so much as cracking a smile. “Like what? How to boil pasta?” She snorts. “Don’t count on it.”
“Okay, I'd better go.” It's not that I mind standing here listening to her rip on my dad. It's that I worry that she'll get bitter if she continues ripping on my dad. Last thing I need right now is for them to divorce because she realizes just how unhappy she is… unless divorce would make her happy and then maybe they have my blessing. I'm just not sure I have the emotional headspace to think about that right now too.
I follow my daughter into the living room and give her a quick hug. “I love you; I miss you and I will see you later today, okay?”
She nods, not even looking up from her coloring pages. “Love you, Mommy!” With that, she puts down her crayons, stands up and throws her arms around my shoulders, and squeezes me tight.
Every bit of my willpower goes into walking out that door. I keep reminding myself that I need the job, we need the money.
So why does this feel so wrong?
I don't even remember the drive to Charles' house, but when I get there, I sit outside and stare at the front door, my heart sinking to my shoes. I'm not looking forward to the battle of wills I know is going to happen today.
With a sigh, I get out and walk up to the front door, punching in the code, but the door opens before I can put in the final number. Charles stands on the other side, glaring down at me with a look of distaste.
“Hello, Charles. Is your mother here today?” I try to peek past him into the house, but he shakes his head no while blocking my view.
“Well, that's a shame.” With that, I push past him into the house and make my way toward the kitchen. I already have several recipes for the day in mind, but I feel his gaze and know he’s followed me in. I wait a moment, hoping he’ll leave, but he doesn't.
So I turn to face him, crossing my arms and letting out a sigh. “I can feel you glaring holes into me. What do you need?”
He's leaning against the wall letting into the kitchen, watching me. “I need you to make sure there's plenty of meat in your meals today.”
I let out a sigh, trying to decide if I even want to bother with the fight today. Why do I care more than he does about how healthy he is or how long he'll live? The answer is pretty simple. I don't think I can live with myself if somebody that I'm cooking for dies, even if they die because of their own unhealthy choices. But actively harming someone's health goes against the core reason I chose this profession.
