Authors: A. L. Jackson
“Think about it. She hasn’t heard from you since the day you essentially kicked her out, and then out of the blue you show up at her house. She has to be shocked, and honestly, probably a little scared of the way you’ve been acting. She doesn’t know your intentions. If I were her, I’d probably react the same way.”
Resigned, I lay back against my bed, rubbing my eye with the heel of my hand. Mom was right. Elizabeth was probably freaking out. I’d been acting like a lunatic, showing up at her house unannounced, calling incessantly, and going to her work. I shook my head at my stupidity.
I took a deep breath and released it slowly. I could almost feel Mom relax through the phone as she realized she was getting through to me. “I know, Mom. I just want to fix this so bad. What if she won’t give me the chance?”
Mom’s voice was soft, comforting. “I know you do. But you need to take a step back . . . give her some space to breathe. She will have built her own life, one without you in it, and it’s going to take some time for her to find a place where you do fit in it.” She paused, giving me time to absorb what she was saying. When she spoke again, her voice was still sympathetic but firm. “You owe her that time, Christian.”
This was exactly why I’d called my mother. She always had a way of putting things into perspective when I couldn’t see it. “You’re right. I promise I’ll give her some time.”
My mother’s satisfaction traveled through the phone. “You’ll make this right. You’ll see.”
I couldn’t help but grin. How many times had she encouraged me to make it right? I just hoped one day Elizabeth would actually let me. I sighed.
“Thanks, Mom.”
“You’re welcome, honey. Now hang in there a bit, okay?”
“Okay,” I promised. “Sorry I called so late.”
I could hear my mother shaking her head. “Don’t apologize. I’m here for you . . . always.”
“I love you Mom.” It meant so much to me to be able to say those words to my mother, free and without hesitation.
“I love you, so much, Christian.” It meant even more for her to say them back to me. “Goodnight, sweetheart.”
“Night.”
Pacified, I placed my phone on the nightstand and curled into my pillow. I could rest with having a plan, with having some insight, some guidance. I would give Elizabeth some time to deal with my resurgence in her life, and then I would slowly try to make contact with her. Like my mom said, I owed her this.
Drifting toward sleep, I jerked, startled by a vibration on the nightstand. I grinned when I realized where the offending noise was coming from and answered the phone, eager to hear whatever advice Mom had forgotten to tell me.
“Hello?” I mumbled through my sleepy smile.
Where I anticipated hearing my mother’s voice, there was silence. “Hello?” I asked again, my stomach suddenly uneasy. I pulled the phone from my ear, checking the number I’d paid no attention to when I’d answered. My heart almost stopped.
“Elizabeth?” I pled, more terrified than excited to hear her voice, having no idea why she would suddenly be calling me well after midnight.
After what seemed like a forever, she finally spoke, her words teeming with disdain. “If you really want to see Lizzie, meet me at the McDonald’s on Fairmount and University at five thirty on Saturday.”
Relief flooded me, and I released an audible force of air from my lungs, preparing myself to thank her, but the line went dead before I was given the chance.
~
Gripping the steering wheel, I peered up through my windshield at the yellow arches and fought to bring my breathing under control. To merely say I was nervous would be an injustice. The anxiety was suffocating. I knew today would be the defining moment in my life.
Today I would meet my daughter.
I wanted nothing more, but truthfully, I was terrified. I had no idea what to expect, how to act, or how to be a father. I didn’t even know if Lizzie knew I
was
her father. Worse than all of those fears was the worry that this would be the one chance I would have, the one encounter with a daughter that I knew nothing of but loved with all my soul. I had no idea what had made Elizabeth change her mind, what caused her to call me in the middle of the night, but I had to hold onto the hope that she saw my sincerity, that she understood I only wanted to make things right.
I rubbed my damp palms against my jeans before stepping from the car. Elizabeth’s little red car sat empty across the lot from where I’d parked.
My heart pounded, and I tried unsuccessfully to keep my hands from trembling as I moved to the entrance. Pausing at the door, I drew a breath deep into my lungs in an attempt to calm myself before stepping inside. There were people everywhere, but my eyes were drawn across the restaurant to where Elizabeth and Lizzie stood, waiting hand-in-hand. Lizzie’s face was graced with the most amazing smile the moment she saw me. My racing nerves were soothed by her warmth and an uncontained smile spread across my face. She started bouncing in place as I made my way across the room and, if it was possible, her smile only grew. The only thing that kept me from running and sweeping Lizzie into my arms was Elizabeth. Her face was nearly expressionless, though I could see everything behind her eyes, could feel it radiating off her body.
Hate.
Elizabeth hated me.
My face fell along with the hope I had had that perhaps she was softening toward me.
I held her malignant gaze for a split second before tearing my attention from her and placing it on the reason I was there. I knelt on one knee in front of my daughter. Lizzie’s blue eyes gleamed with delight, her smile unending. My eyes wandered over her, and for the first time, I was able to fully take in my daughter.
Her black hair was pulled into pigtails on each side of her head, accentuating the roundness of her face. She wore denim shorts and a pink T-shirt with flowers and butterflies embroidered across the front. I couldn’t help but grin when I saw her small feet clad in bright pink flip-flops—her tiny toes painted pink. My baby girl liked pink. The soft skin of her arms and legs was pale and smooth. Desperately wishing to hold her, I wanted nothing more than to have her wrap her arms around my neck.
Smiling softly when I looked back at her face, I spoke for the first time to my daughter. “Hi, Lizzie.”
She giggled. “Hi.”
The sound of her laugh took my breath away.
“I’m . . .” Suddenly, I became very uneasy, unsure of how to introduce myself. Wary, I glanced up at Elizabeth, hoping for direction, an indication of how she would want me to proceed. She glared at me, almost as if she were daring me to say it.
Swallowing heavily, I opened my mouth once more, trying to force out the words, “I’m your—”
Lizzie laughed again. “I know who you are, silly. You’re my daddy.”
Daddy.
I was struck with the magnitude of what that meant, the responsibility of being a father. Waves of devotion swept through me as I silently promised her I would always be there for her, would always love her, would be the best father I could possibly be.
Nodding slowly, I reached a shaky hand out to her face, running the back of my hand along the softness of her cheek. “Yes, I’m your daddy.”
A wounded cry escaped Elizabeth, and she jerked, her body shrinking away from us while she still held onto Lizzie’s hand as if she were trying to remove herself from the situation without leaving her daughter’s side. She turned her face as far from us as possible, but not far enough to hide the stream of tears that flowed down her cheeks.
Guilt that would have brought me to my knees brought me to my feet. Stepping to her side, I tried to meet her face.
“Elizabeth.” It came out strangled and small, filled with desperation.
She put up her hand to block the obvious apology that was coming. “Just . . . don’t.”
Dropping her hand and shifting her focus from me, she looked down at Lizzie, and her hardened face melted into sudden tenderness. “Let’s get something to eat, sweetheart.”
Lizzie nodded with excitement and followed her mother, Elizabeth’s hold still firm on our daughter’s hand. I trailed by a few steps, getting in line directly behind them. While a gentleman would have volunteered to pay, I was wise enough to know the firestorm that particular offer would bring. I watched in adoration as Lizzie swayed beside her mother, glancing over her shoulder at me every few seconds and flashing me the sweetest smile I’d ever seen. I loved her—so much so it hurt, and with each second that passed, it only grew.
After ordering, Elizabeth moved aside, and I stepped to the register. Honestly, the last thing I felt like doing was eating, but I asked for first thing I saw when I glanced at the menu. I allowed Elizabeth to lead, following her and my child to fill our
drinks before setting my tray on the opposite side of the table from them.
It was probably the most awkward situation I’d ever been in as I slid into the booth. I watched as Elizabeth hovered over the table. She took their food from the tray and put it on the table, jamming straws into their drinks and refusing to meet my face. The worst part was I couldn’t take my eyes off her. Very unsuccessfully, I tried not to ogle her as she leaned in, tried to ignore how the gray tank top she wore exposed just a hint of the swell of her breasts, tried to pretend her tight black jeans didn’t remind me of the perfection of her body and how it had felt against mine.
Damn it, Christian. Get yourself together
. This was not why I was here. That reason suddenly climbed into the spot beside me, shocking me by choosing to sit next to me. I grinned at her and scooted down a little to make room for her. She sat on her knees so she could reach the table, and then inched even closer so we were touching. Instinctively, I wrapped my arm around her back and pulled her closer, nestling her against my side. It felt amazing. Then she
kissed
my cheek.
I froze, overcome with the staggering warmth created with that one simple gesture. I stared at her, unwilling to look away from the love swimming in Lizzie eyes.
“Lizzie, please eat your dinner,” Elizabeth said as she sat down across from us.
Affectionately, I patted my daughter’s side, gesturing with my head toward her food. As much as I didn’t want break the connection we’d just shared, the bond we were building, I hoped to keep from upsetting Elizabeth any more than I already had.
Eating in front of Elizabeth felt odd. We’d shared what seemed like a million meals before, but now I felt extremely
self-conscious as I took small bites of my burger, feeling on edge as silence loomed over the table. Elizabeth appeared even more uncomfortable, probably because of the glances I kept sneaking at her every chance I got.
I had missed her so badly, never imagining I’d see her again. My eyes wandered over her face, taking in the changes and all that remained the same. She was thinner now, her cheekbones more prominent, but not to the point of appearing unhealthy as she did when I had seen her just weeks before she had given birth to Lizzie. Her hair was mostly the same, still dark blond and woven with natural highlights just a shade lighter than the rest, though she now wore long bangs that continually seemed to fall over her eyes. When she’d push them aside, I would glimpse a foreign scar that ran just above her left eye. My gut wrenched with the possibilities of where it had come from. I stayed away from her honey-colored eyes as much as possible, not wishing to see the repulsion I knew I would find there.
Lizzie ate her nuggets and apples quietly, almost reserved, as if she could sense the tension in the air. Hugging her body closer, I tried to pull her attention away from the sad place her mind seemed to have gone and whispered against her head, “I’m so happy to be here with you.”
She turned to me, her expression hopeful. “Really?”
I wanted to ask her why she would think I wouldn’t be, but I already knew the answer. Instead, I reassured her with a resolute nod of my head. “Really.”
With that, her insecurities seemed to fade away, and she launched into what seemed to be an impromptu game of twenty questions. She would ask me something, and after I answered, I would ask her a variation of the same question in return. It made me terribly sad that I was asking my daughter these things for
the first time when she was almost five years old, but the fact remained that I didn’t know what she did on a daily basis, her favorite foods, her favorite places. I didn’t know what made her scared or made her cry. I learned today that it was seeing her mommy cry. I wanted to tell her it made me sad, too, but couldn’t find the courage to say it aloud.
Elizabeth squirmed through our conversation, never offering an opinion and only answering when Lizzie specifically asked something of her. Many times, she looked away, holding her jaw rigid, though it still shook as she seemed to struggle through every minute of the conversation Lizzie and I shared. The only time she added anything was when Lizzie asked me where I lived, and I told her down near the water on Harbor. Elizabeth huffed and visibly rolled her eyes as she mouthed a sarcastic, “Nice.” I winced, expecting her anger but not her spite.
Lizzie, on the other hand, was thrilled to hear I lived by the water. She bounced in her seat as she squealed, “You live at the beach?”
Lizzie kept up an almost constant chatter as we ate—not that I minded. She had the sweetest voice I’d ever heard. She drifted closer the longer we talked, so close she was nearly sitting in my lap by the time she finished off her last nugget. She continually smiled and constantly reached out to touch my face and hug my neck.
I felt so unworthy of the affection she gave. She loved so freely, trusted so easily. Would she feel the same when the innocence of her mind faded away, when she understood the meaning of betrayal?
“All done,” she sang as she swallowed her last bite. “Can I play now, Momma?”
Elizabeth nodded tightly. It was apparent she would prefer not to be left alone with me. I, on the other hand, had been
praying I’d have a chance to talk to her in private. Lizzie started to scramble down, but she paused and looked at me. “Daddy, is it okay if I play now?”