Page 107 of Manhattan Kiss

“Everything okay here?” I ask, as Willow pushes out her chair and takes her yogurt pot and spoon and heads to the dishwasher.

“Is this recycling?” she asks Lucia.

“Yes, but I have to wash it. Put your spoon in the dishwasher like we practiced.”

“Daddy, look,” Willow calls. “You pull out the tray like this and there are places for the spoon.”

She proudly puts the spoon on the rack, pushes it in and then lifts up the door to the dishwasher.

“Now I wash my hands,” she announces. Normally Lucia or I have to remind her to wash her hands about three times before it registers. And even then, we usually have to help her. But things are changing.

Willow’s growing up.

But it’s too fast. Too much. Too soon. Not for her. For me. The realization hits me full in the gut.

Maybe it’s me who’s not ready for change, not Willow.

Maybe it’s my scars from losing Penny that make me cling on to the status quo.

Things start to come into focus. When Gabby told me she was pregnant, she mentioned Penny, and I just couldn’t understand why. But Gabby thought I was worried Willow would die like Penny did.

Perhaps that’s part of it. But more than that, I want to protect Willow from the aftershocks of something bad happening to her. I want to shield her from pain and from grief because I know how deep they cut, how sometimes they never heal. Grief has made its home inside me, and there it still lives.

I watch Willow washing her hands and drying them earnestly on the towel Lucia hands to her. She’s so grown up already, and she relishes the small bits of independence she has. I sigh. Maybe it’s impossible to be an impenetrable shield for Willow, maybe that’s why I’m so protective—I know she’s going to endure pain in her life, and I hate it.

The more I think about it, the more I realize, it’s inevitable. Part of my job is to help her through the difficult times, help her cope. And maybe another part of my job is to prepare her to cope.

Aurora was right; Willow needs some ups and downs in life. It can’t be wrong to wrap a baby up in cotton wool and make sure they’re as safe and secure as possible, with no worries or concerns. But Willow isn’t a baby anymore. And she’s not going to be little forever.

“How are you feeling about having two bedrooms?” I ask, as she comes toward me.

“A little bit excited,” she says. “And a little bit nervous.”

I nod and pull her onto my lap. “That’s how I feel as well, sometimes.”

“You do?” She puts her palm on my face.

“Yes,” I say. “Sometimes it’s good to be a little bit nervous. But it’s important to talk about how you’re feeling.”

“Yes, Daddy,” she says, and I’m eighty-five percent sure she didn’t compute what I just said.

“And you and Mommy are going to decorate your new bedroom.”

“And you’re going to live here all the time,” she says, her eyes bright and her smile wide.

I glance around at the place I’m going to get to call home full-time from August 16th. “Yeah,” I say. “That’s going to be a change for Daddy.”

“I’ll know exactly where you are when you’re not with me. It’s good,” Willow says.

I chuckle at the idea that my daughter wants to keep track of me, but I can also see how it’s actually comforting to know that I’m okay without her. Maybe Gabby has a point.

“Maybe we should do a bit of decorating,” I say to Willow, but she’s off with her favorite doll, Lily. She’s not listening.

But maybe I’ll make some changes around here. I could move back into the primary bedroom, which is bigger than the one I’m currently in. But I’d redecorate first. Maybe even change the sofa in the living room area, which I’ve always hated.

I stand and walk around the space, and I start to see things with fresh eyes.

THIRTY-SIX