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Old habits die hard.
Dexter:Noa, come on.
I turned up the volume on my movie and flipped my phone over so I wouldn’t read the incoming messages anymore. As I was getting back into it, the doorbell buzzed. I knew this was coming.Knewit. And part of it excited me—the stupid hopeful part that broke my heart.
It was the sensible part that made me ignore his attempts to contact me thus far. But the heart? That bitch always won.
I got up and walked to my front door, pressing the intercom before speaking into it. “Yes?” Apparently, he was going to make me be an adult about this.
“Let me up. I have someone I want you to meet.”
I ran over to the window that overlooked the front of the building, and sure enough there were two silhouettes—one a grown man, the other a little girl.
I ran back to the door, my face twisted in annoyance and slight panic. “You havegotto be kidding me,” I said through the speaker. “No.”
“Please?” His voice was soft, and it made me consider letting them up.
Before I could change my mind, I pressed the button that unlocked the front door. I couldn’t let that little girl freeze down there.
I looked down at my sweatpants and T-shirt.
Good.
The more hideous the clothes, the more likely Dexter would take one look and run screaming from my apartment. I was still mentally wrestling over the likelihood of it when my apartment door opened and in walked Dexter. The look in his eyes told me that him running from my apartment wasn’t going to ever happen.
There goes that scenario.
He was holding the small hand of the cutest little girl. Who happened to look nothing like him.
I smiled, figuring that was the polite thing to do. “Hi, Phoebe,” I said, offering my hand.
She ignored it and walked past me, her eyes taking in everything.
I silently mouthed the wordwhatto Dexter and shrugged. A handshake with a toddler might not be the best introduction.
He grinned, watching her as she looked around.
I guessed he didn’t know I was actually asking if he knew he hadn’t sired the Asian child in front of me. One of these things was definitely not like the other.
“Hi.” She took off her backpack and pulled out two dolls and a book.
“Hello,” I responded before I faced Dexter. “A word?”
He followed me into the kitchen. When I turned to bombard him with questions, he took my mouth and made good use of it. Light pecks followed the assault and I wanted to swoon.
“Don’t ignore me again.” His words, his hands at the base of my skull, hisscent, it all made me want to stop fighting the inevitable.
“I wasn’t ignoring you. I was hiding like a coward,” I said, my eyes still closed.
He chuckled and stepped back, making it easier to breathe.
“Who is Phoebe’s father?” I asked him.
“I am.” When I looked at him pointedly, he nodded slowly. “Okay, I’m not her biological father. When I linked up with Rachel again while visiting Aunt Tracey, she’d just found out she was pregnant. Phoebe’s father died. It was cancer. No one saw it coming, and by the time they found it, he was gone. So, we became friends. We sort of shared our grief. After all, it felt like you’d died. When Phoebe was born, it was like she was mine. I was there for all the big appointments, helping Rachel out whenever I could. She asked if I would mind adopting and I didn’t, so, here we are. It wasn’t until Phoebe was a year old that Rachel and I decided to try being in a relationship. After a few months, I knew I couldn’t do it. I wasn’t invested in that way. Still, she never gave me a hard time when it came to Phoebe.” He looked at the little girl with so much love in his eyes. “She moved to Everett so we could all be closer. And one day she’ll make someone very happy.”
Part of me was happy Phoebe wasn’t biologically his. That happiness scared me. It made me want something I didn’t know I’d ever have.
I placed my hand in his and we watched her play. Phoebe was an interesting child. Most kids her age—which Dexter divulged was three—craved social interaction. They wanted to touch everything and learn. She was content to sit on her own, among her things, and create her own happiness.
