So Much More (33 page)

“We’ve both known since she discovered she was pregnant. The paternity test was done at birth.” He sounds truly apologetic.

“What the fuck?” I’m whispering. I’m talking to me. I’m talking to him. I’m talking to Miranda, even though she’s not here. I’m talking to a God I’m not sure I believe in because he wouldn’t let shit like this happen. Loren leaves me to wallow in my shock induced silence for several minutes. When I finally look at him, I ask him point blank, “What do you want? You must want something, what is it?”

“I want to die with a clear conscience. I’ve done so many things I regret. So many things I can’t change. So many things I can’t make right. This is one that I can. Kira deserves to be yours in every way possible. You are her father and a far better man than I. I never intended to bring a child into this world, Seamus, but she’s a beautiful child, and that is solely thanks to your hand in raising her. I want you to finish that job unhindered.”

So many questions, I have so many questions, but my mind can’t put the words together properly to articulate them. “Do you want Kira to know about you?”

He shakes his head. “No. She loves you. Not that her knowing about me would change that, but I don’t want anything to complicate your relationship with her.”

I look at the papers on the table. “So, I sign these, and you walk away, and we never hear from you again?” I ask.

He nods and the look in his eyes is sincere, a father talking to a father. “Yes.”

“What if Kira finds out someday? Miranda has a big mouth. What if she wants to get to know you? Or what if there’s a health issue and we need information from you?”

“You or Kira can always contact me if that sort of need arises. But, if the need never arises, I would prefer she never know.”

I want to call him a deadbeat father, because who does this? Who lets someone else raise their child and doesn’t get involved? But then I think about the kids I’ve counseled over the years; the kids who had parents who didn’t want them or mistreated them; or the kids who were raised by guardians other than their parents who loved them fiercely and guided them into adulthood successfully and gracefully. Parenthood isn’t genetic, it’s about commitment and love. Period. I look him in the eye before I sign the papers. “Kira’s always been mine in my heart. This paperwork doesn’t change that.”

He nods. “I know that, Seamus. And thank you.”

“I’d like to have my lawyer review these before I sign them.” I’m never signing anything again without my lawyer’s blessing.

“I expected that you would. Overnight them to my office when the review is complete.”

“I’ll have them back to you in a few days if he’s satisfied, or call with questions if he’s not.”

“Of course, I’m always available by cell phone. My number is in the documents.”

“Thank you.”

We shake hands.

And he leaves.

My mind is full of questions. How did I not know? Why did Miranda hide this? What would Kira think if she knew? But the one thing that rises above it all isn’t a question at all, it’s an absolute: I love Kira. Because more than anything else that’s what matters. Am I angry? Hell yes. Do I feel betrayed? Beyond belief. But, more than that I love my little girl.

The wait for them to return is long, not in a matter of minutes, but in heartbeats. Because each one reminds me of my anger. I feel it pulsing along in my bloodstream. Each time it constricts I tick off another thing about Miranda that disgusts me. It’s a cause and effect. One leads to the next, leads to the next, and before I know it I’m thinking about things I haven’t thought of in years. Things I’d put behind me are heat in my veins again.

When the door finally opens, I hug each of my kids to absorb some calm. And I vow someday very soon to get answers from Miranda, someday after the adoption is finalized and she can’t meddle.

That’s a stunner to open with

present

“Faith?” It’s accompanied by knocking on my bedroom door. It’s Benito’s voice.

I open the door to his smiling face. “I brought you a cup of coffee.”

I perk up at the sight of it. It’s become a ritual at my new home to have coffee with him on the nights I don’t work at the diner. I look forward to it. Our chats are short, but they always cover a wide range of topics. Benito knows a little bit about everything because he reads so much, but he’s not a know-it-all. He usually delves into something further only when I’ve prompted him or asked questions. And he’s always curious to hear what I have to say; I like that. Good listeners are rare. He’s like the dad I always wanted.

“What are your dreams, Faith?” Our conversations begin with a question like this, because we need a starting point. Usually, they go down bunny trails, in two minutes we could be talking about the relevance of hip-hop in modern culture or if the Dodgers are going to make the playoffs this year, you just never know.

“That’s a stunner to open with, Benito.” I’m thinking. Dreams are hard to put into words.

“I like to keep you on your toes, young lady.” His grin tells me that’s true.

“That shouldn’t be a hard question, should it? I mean, most people grow up with dreams. They’re defined and vivid and can be measured. My dreams growing up were survival based for the most part. I dreamed of a nice family to live with. I dreamed of my favorite meals. I dreamed of having a new pair of shoes. The older I get I dream about going to college someday. I dream about finding my birth mother. I dream about figuring out who I am…so I can just be her, you know?”

Benito nods at my words. “I believe you do know…
you are her
. You’re just too scared to go after the things you really want because you don’t think you deserve them. I’m here to tell you that you do.”

“Addiction is a hard thing to get out from under. It’s shameful. It’s polarizing. It’s defining. Even when it’s behind you, it’s never really behind you. I still feel like my past will always dictate my future. That’s a tough hurdle.” It’s nice to talk to someone I can be this candid with.
 

“Every day is a new day. It took me years to believe that, Faith, but it’s true. Every day is a new opportunity to be the person you’ve always wanted to be. Some days your heart will be in it, and some days you’ll fake it, but eventually it will become a habit and without thinking about it, you will be changed anew. A new attitude. A new outlook. A new perspective. The human mind is a wonderful thing to grant us that kind of change.” He pauses and smiles. “What else do you dream of, Faith?”

I sip my coffee before I answer because this one is harder to explain. “Love.”

He’s leaned back in his seat. His posture is never lazy, but it’s always relaxed. I think that’s one of the reasons he’s so easy to talk to. “Love. That’s very general. Do you care to expound on that?”

“When I was growing up I just wanted someone to love me.” I shrug. “That’s what every kid wants, right? The past few years that’s changed. I mean, I still want someone to love me, but more than that I want someone to love. I want reciprocation. I want connection. I want to wake up in the morning thinking about him and go to sleep at night doing the same. Not in an obsessive, unhealthy way, but I want to know what it’s like to have so much emotion inside for another person that it manifests itself in selfless, kind, random acts. I want their well-being and happiness to be taken into consideration unconsciously, because it’s second nature. I want attraction, not just physically, but emotionally and mentally, I want to be inexplicably pulled to someone. And for them to feel the same. What an unbelievably beautiful circumstance that would be to be in…” I trail off, because all I can think about is Seamus.

His eyes are thoughtful. He can read between the lines. “What an unbelievably beautiful circumstance to be in indeed. Well put, my dear.”

He stands, which means it’s time for him to leave. Sometimes our time together only lasts minutes. “Thank you, Benito.”

“You’re welcome.” He walks toward the stairs, but stops just short. “Faith?”

I’m still sitting on the couch. “Yeah.”

“I hope he knows what an unbelievably beautiful circumstance he could be in with you.”

I smile, this is Benito giving fatherly advice. “Sometimes life isn’t that easy, Benito.”

“And sometimes, it isn’t that hard.” He disappears with a wink.

Were you sent straight from hell to destroy my life?

present

I’m worshipping at the altar of Pinterest again. Lasagna is the target of my affection. I’ve been stalking it like a sociopath, a carb-loving sociopath, for the past thirty minutes.

I check my watch. Seven o’clock. In the morning. It’s Saturday, and I’m picking up the kids from Seamus’s at eight. Now that I’m in my new house we’ve agreed they’ll spend weekends with me.

I clap my hands. “Hell yes, we’re having homemade lasagna for dinner.” It’s positive reinforcement, mental preparation for the culinary challenge ahead. I grab my keys and purse and march out the door on a mission. The mission includes the grocery store, Seamus’s, and while I’m at it I hijack my cooking talisman, Hope—a little insurance that dinner will be palatable. Hope is a goddamn genius in the kitchen. Everyone has a hidden talent—Hope’s, it turns out, is food.

Everyone and everything gathered, we assemble back at my house for Operation Lasagna.

Rory, Kira, Hope, and I are knee-deep in making noodles using the fancy contraption I bought, when Kai bows out to go outside and ride his bike. “Stay close, Kai,” I yell when I hear the front door open.

“I will, Mom,” he answers.

This is the point at which, in hindsight, I want to stop everything and put it in temporary suspense.
 

Life.
 

The Earth spinning on its axis.
 

Every.

Fucking.

Thing.

I want a do-over.

In my do-over, this is what would’ve happened:
 

I tell Kai no, he can’t ride his bike. Ever again.

He stays and we all tag team the hell out of building a glorious pan of Italian magnificence.
 

We eat said Italian magnificence in blissful harmony at my dining room table.
 

Happily ever after.
 

The end.

Instead, this happened:
 

I realized I forgot the damn ricotta cheese, because I’m a forgetful loser.

I asked Hope to watch the kids while I ran to the grocery store, instead of taking them with me like a good mom would.

I hurried out to my car and started it with only conquering lasagna on my mind in true self-absorbed fashion, because I’m a selfish bitch.

And then I backed out with a vengeance, forgetting there are more important things in the world than making lasagna.

I heard the crash.

I felt the impact.

And my heart.

Stopped.

Beating.

They say change comes when you least expect it.

That all transformation needs is a catalyst.

I’ll take transformation, but I want a different fucking catalyst.

I’m mechanically filling out forms though I can’t see the words on the page through the fear blotting my vision and streaming down my face. The words,
You’re a horrible monster
, repeat over and over taunting me like the soundtrack of a horror movie. I’m arguing with them, praying, trading promises,
I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Please let him be okay. I’ll do anything. Anything. Take me instead.
 

“Daddy,” Kira’s voice is weak with sadness, and it pulls me out of my trance.

Seamus is standing just inside the automatic doors, scanning the waiting room for us.

Rory charges to him from the seat next to me.

I’m scared to look at his face. Whatever emotion he’s wearing will be a variety so raw it will strip me to the bone. And I’ve got no flesh left. I forgot what I said to him on the phone when I called.
Kai. Bike. Car. Accident. Hospital
. Those are the only words I can recall now.

“Is there any news, Miranda? What are his injuries? What have the doctors said?” The words are shaky with dread, but to the point and protective. He’s laser-focused in thought and mission, in problem-solving mode. His posture is stiff and rigid with determination.