by Alexis James
Emmy has made it clear she has every intention of having a lifelong relationship with Roman, regardless of what I have to say. She made it happen that morning and once she has her own car it will be even easier. What I don’t understand is what he gains from being close to her. Continuing a relationship with my daughter will not change the fact that her father is now in the picture and is technically entitled to weigh in on who she does and does not see, at least until she reaches the age of eighteen. That being said, the more time that goes on the less I trust Will. There’s nothing specifically about him that sits wrong with me, it’s more of a combination of all the little things. Now that he’s pushing for us to get back together, I’m more determined than ever to set some legal boundaries.
Which is exactly why I’m now seated across from Cruz, waiting for him to get off the phone. Sure, he’s my boss, but he’s also the smartest person I know. I’m certain he’ll be able to give me some good references for lawyers or at the least some sage advice as I move forward.
Laying my bad choices out for my boss to see is unsettling in every way. I don’t want him doubting me as an employee, or rather doubting my ability to make good choices. And even though I’m not normally one to confide my personal business to people, I know in my heart that he’s the best person to trust this information with.
“Sorry about that,” he states, sitting back in his chair and turning his intense blue-green eyes on me. “Your email said you needed my advice.”
“Yes, I do.”
I spend a long moment wringing my hands and bouncing my foot up and down. Then I take a deep breath and say a silent prayer for strength. I give him a brief rundown on my past with Will and his reappearance in my life. In typical Cruz fashion, he relays very little by way of expression, nodding occasionally and asking a few pointed questions. Never once does he appear shocked or unsettled by what I’m confiding in him.
“I was hoping you could recommend a good lawyer.”
The idea of shelling out thousands of dollars just to hear that Will has as much right to Emmy’s life as I do is not something I look forward to, however, it’s something I must do.
“What do you know about this man?”
I shrug. “Not much. He was in the army. I heard he still lives with his mom and hasn’t ever held down a permanent job. But he doesn’t say a whole lot.” In fact, what little talking he and I do is mostly a rehashing of the relationship we had years ago. He’s been annoyingly vague whenever I ask him if he’s relocated permanently to Florida, nor will he disclose where he’s been staying since he arrived. I suppose these are questions I should persist in getting answered, but he’s so controlling of all our conversations I doubt he’d be honest with me if I did inquire about anything.
“What about Roman? Where does he fit into all this?”
Averting my eyes, I reply, “Um, Roman and I … we …” Good lord, Sabrina, have enough respect for the man to tell the truth. “Roman and I aren’t seeing one another anymore.”
Cruz’s jaw ticks and he nods once. “I see. All right. Well, before you talk to a lawyer I’d like to have my investigator check this guy out.”
My eyes widen. “What? Why?”
“Sabrina, I learned a long time ago to never trust anyone by their word only. You have no idea who this man is. You know only the person he once was. Let’s check him out and if everything looks good, I’ll have my lawyer call you.”
“I can’t afford an investigator and a lawyer.” My face heats with the admission.
“Don’t worry about that. I’ll handle it.” He asks a few more questions, then sets his pen aside. “I’ll call you as soon as I know something. Is there anything else?”
Shaking my head, I rise on wobbly legs. “No. Thank you so much.”
“No thanks necessary.”
I turn to face him once more when my fingers grip the doorknob. “I never meant to hurt Roman.” In true Cruz fashion, he doesn’t respond at all, leaving the statement hanging there in the air, the words useless and empty.
Mia sends me a sympathetic look when I try to move quickly past her desk and reaches out to squeeze my hand, pulling me to a stop. I figured it was a matter of time before the entire Moran family found out about what happened, but I certainly didn’t expect for there to be kindness and understanding on their part. Anger I can handle. Disappointment? Well, I’m disappointed enough in myself so their disappointment would have been icing on a large cake of failure. But as usual, the Moran family is totally unpredictable, showing their true familial colors when I least expect it.
“Is there anything I can do for you?” she asks softly.
“No thanks.”
She rubs her hand over her rounded belly and offers me a sweet smile. “I so hoped you and Roman would work out. We are going to miss having you and Emmy around all the time.”
Tears burn in my eyes, but I refuse to give in to them. “We will miss all of you too.” I bite down hard on my lower lip, inhale a shaky breath, and offer her a weak smile. “Please tell your family that I’m so sorry.”
Mia nods and gets to her feet, taking my other hand as well. “Love doesn’t come easily. I can attest to that. Cruz and I … well, let’s just say it was a long road to get to where we are now. Love takes time and sometimes you have to walk away before you can walk back toward one another with open hearts. Give it some time. Things might change.”
Oh how I wish that were true but regardless of what I want, Will is Emmy’s father and he is now a part of our lives. Good or bad, setting aside what my heart wants most, I have to concentrate on what is best for my child. She deserves two parents, parents who should have raised her together from the get-go. And sure, Will is not who I’d chose to walk this path with if I had a choice, but that’s the thing … I don’t have a choice. My choices were taken away the moment he showed his face again. My choices, my wishes, my needs … my love is something I will now have to cherish by memory alone. Eventually I hope this unending pain will go away and I’ll figure out how to say goodbye to Roman for good.
Tears fill my eyes and spill down my face before I can stop them, and Mia pulls me in for a warm hug and some soothing words. In another life, she might be my sister-in-law. In another life, Emmy and I would be a permanent part of that beautiful family and call them ours. In that life Roman and I would raise Em together; we would make a life as one family unit. In that life I’d be happy, cared for and loved.
Wishes and dreams have never been for me, but never more so than this moment right here, right now. Wishing for something I will now never have is a waste of time. Dreaming of a life I so easily discarded is an insult to what Roman and I once shared. Even though not a day goes by when I don’t long to pick up the phone and talk to him or go by his apartment and apologize for all I’ve done, I know without a shred of doubt that I will never be able to make him understand why I did what I did. There are days even I don’t understand it.
“I need to go pick up Emmy,” I murmur, pulling out of her arms and wiping the tears from my face.
Mia nods and resumes her seat. “If you need anything, or just want to talk, I’m here for you.”
Too choked up to talk anymore, I nod and move quickly toward the elevator, stepping inside and pushing the button for the ground floor. The doors open just as I see a familiar black truck pulling out of the parking garage. Coward that I am, I slink back against the wall of the elevator until he pulls out onto the street. When I’m certain he’s gone, I head toward my vehicle, tears trailing slowly down my face once again.
By the time I pull up in front of Maureen’s house, my tears have dried and a dull ache has now settled behind my eyes. Emmy strolls out the front door, best friends on her heels, and I’m shocked to witness the change in all three. A few months ago they’d have all come bounding out to see me, talking a mile a minute all at the same time, bright smiles on their faces. The three sullen teenagers that walk slowly toward the curb are silent, exchanging long hugs before Em moves
toward the car. The other two girls offer me timid smiles but make no attempt to have a conversation or exchange pleasantries. I understand their hesitation. I’m the enemy now. I’ve hurt their friend, brought unnecessary stress and worry into her life, and they’re simply showing where their loyalties lie. I could never fault either of them for loving my girl like they do.
“Hi, sweetie. Did you girls have fun?” I wait while she buckles herself in, hoping she’ll chose today to speak to me. She doesn’t. In fact, she’s stoic and immovable the entire drive home, which thankfully isn’t far.
The moment I pull into the driveway she’s out of the car and stalking toward the front door, undoing the lock and tossing the door open. I know she has every intention of hiding out in her room like she’s done every single night for weeks now, and for the first time in days I’m not about to let that happen.
“Emmy, wait.” She ignores my words and steps into her room, tossing me an indignant look. I pray for patience as I stroll slowly toward her and state, “Emerson Lee Morris, get your butt out here right now.” Her eyes widen in shock, not only at my tone but at the use of her given name. She’s well aware, as most children are I suppose, that the use of the middle name means serious business. “Have a seat on the couch.”
That statement earns me a roll of the eyes and stomping feet the entire way across the room. I have to bite back the urge to laugh. She is such a teenager at this moment. Most certainly not the smart, levelheaded girl I’ve raised. Weird, but I sort of like seeing her behave like a typical brat at this age. It’s far better than the brokenhearted, silent girl she’s been.
Taking a seat on the other end of the couch, I silently consider my options. The nice guy stuff hasn’t worked at all. Begging and pleading for her to talk, to listen, to give Will time has only made me more of an enemy in her eyes. A different tactic is needed. But what?
“I’m not talking to that guy, Mom. I don’t care what you say.”
“I understand our apprehension, Em, but you need to give him a chance.”
She glares at me. “Why? Why do I need to give him anything? He’s ignored me my entire life.”
I root around inside my head for all the standard, correct answers. “Because he’s human and he’s made mistakes.”
“So you just expect me to forgive him and let him be a dad to me just because he shows up and decides that now he wants to meet me?” Getting to her feet, she walks toward the window, her back to me. “I don’t know why he’s here, Mom, but it’s not to be a dad. A dad doesn’t curse at you and yell at you and demand that you spend time with him. A dad accepts you for who you are and unselfishly helps you out when you need it.” Her shoulders shudder, a telltale sign that she’s crying. “A dad welcomes you into his heart without question, without expectation.” She turns to face me, as broken and battered as I am. “A dad, my dad … is Roman. I’m sorry if that hurts you, but it’s the truth. He’s loved me from the first day he helped with my homework and even though we’re not related by blood, he’s been more of a father to me than Will ever could be.” Resuming her seat, she swipes at the tears on her face. “Will is nothing more than a sperm donor. He’s not my father. He’s never going to be my father. And as soon as I’m eighteen I’ll make sure he’s not allowed to come anywhere near me.”
“That’s a little drastic, Em,” I reply.
“No it’s not. I’ve been given no choices here. I’m expected to smile and be nice and talk to this guy just because you slept with him and I was the result.”
Mouth hanging open, I snap, “Emerson!”
“What? It’s the truth! I’m not a kid anymore. I know where babies come from.” Her fingers tangle in her hair as her eyes plead with me. “I don’t like him. Something about him feels weird. I don’t trust him. I don’t trust the crap that comes out of his mouth. And I refuse to comply just to make you happy.”
Funny, I wanted the truth and now that it’s out there I wish I would have just let her hide away in her room. She’s right … about everything. So why is it that I still feel this weird sense of obligation—residual guilt?—about not insisting she take this opportunity to fully get to know her biological father. In my head I’m well aware that I have nothing to feel guilty about. I didn’t walk away, I haven’t ignored her for years, I didn’t make a conscious decision to run from the truth like Will did. But my heart, well that crazy whacked out organ that I’ve never been able to rely on, feels a sense of loyalty to the man who helped create this beautiful young woman sitting in front of me. He may never be my chosen one, but without him I would never have her. I refuse to regret that.
“He scares me, Mom,” she whispers, every bit the child she tries so hard to hide. “I’m afraid he’s gonna get mad and hit me. Or worse … hit you.”
While I wouldn’t put it past Will to get rough with me, I refuse to believe he’d raise a hand to our child. How can you be so sure? my own inner voice taunts loudly. The fact remains is that I can’t be so sure. Cruz is right. I don’t really know who Will is at all. I know what he tells me, what he thinks I want to hear, but I’ve been as naïve about him now as I was seventeen years ago, believing what he says simply because he says it’s so.
What does that say about me as a person, as a woman, as a mother for God’s sake? How can I be expected to trust my own judgement when I’m so quick to believe anything he tells me? Furthermore, how can I trust myself at all, when I so easily walked away from the best man who ever set foot in my life, the one man who only ever wanted to love me and my child forever.
“Cruz is looking into his background for me. Until then, I’m not allowing him near you.”
Emmy sends me a watery smile. “Thanks, Mom.”
Pulling her into my arms, I feel content for the first time in weeks. Whatever happens from this point on, I must stand my ground and be the strong woman I’ve been since Will walked away and left me alone. I’ve proven more than once, to myself and to others, that I don’t need a man in my life to survive. It’s high time I call back some of that stubbornness and strength that I’ve so easily let go of and remind myself—and Will—that I’m in control here. He does not get to dictate my life or my daughter’s life, and he sure as hell does not get to make decisions about our future.
Christmas morning finds me up before the sun, dropping off packages on Sabrina’s front porch. I’ve debated with myself many times whether or not to give into this indulgence then late last night when Emmy sent me a text, the decision suddenly became so clear. I may no longer be a part of Sabrina’s life, a part of her future, but I will always be a part of Emmy’s. I promised her that, and I intend to stand by my word, regardless of how much it fucking hurts.
So I quietly walk up to the house with my arms full, stack the boxes neatly right in front of the door, and shoot Em a text to let her know what she’ll find when she opens her door. She responds with her usual bevy of emoticons and love you in all caps.
How the hell is it possible to be so damn happy and so damn miserable at the same time? It’s not like I walked away from my relationship with Sabrina with a boatload of nothing. At least I have this amazing girl in my life. And even though our communication, for now at least, is only by phone, I’m grateful. Really, I am. Most people have jack-shit when they split from someone: pictures, memories to hold onto for a few months before they’re shoved into a box or tossed into the trash, as easily dismissed as the relationship itself. I’ll still get a stab of pain every time I look at Em because she reminds me so much of her mom, but I am thankful that at least one of the Morris women decided I’m worthy of their love.
Christ, Moran … really? Self-pity is so not you.
Celebrating the holiday is the last thing I want to do, but I’m well aware that I’m expected at my parents’ house in a few hours. I might have been able to pull a disappearing act the past few weeks, but I’d literally be hunted down and caught if I tried to avoid a holiday with my family. Hopefully the questions will be minimal and everyone w
ill be too fixated on gifts and on the meal to care about whether or not I’m happy.
Keep telling yourself that, man.
With a curse, I throw the truck into park and take the elevator up to my apartment. I’ve got a few hours to work out, which will hopefully take some of the edge off the anger that feels like a second skin. I don’t like being pissed off but it’s the one emotion I can actually live with. Being sad or hurt doesn’t work for me, and I hate the pathetic pussy I am when I give in to the pain. Being pissed off feels good and although I’m pissed off at mostly everyone and everything simply because it’s easier than picking or choosing who and what to target, it feels a hell of a lot better than sitting and moaning about all I’ve lost.
After changing into workout clothes, I take the elevator down to the onsite gym. It’s nothing fancy, and while I prefer to use the gym across town, the holiday closure has me settling for second best.
The large room is empty, and I immediately head for one of the treadmills that’s positioned in front of the large windows that look out upon the city. Earphones in, pounding metal music up loud, I crank the incline and the speed and go for it, balls out. No warm-up for this pissed off guy. I fully intend to torture my body until I can barely move. A run turns into an all-out sprint, and soon I’m pounding away like someone’s set my ass on fire. Sure, I’m probably running from my own demons, running away from all the crap and heartache that’s deluged me since Sabrina walked away, but it feels damn good to be doing something for me for a change—something that’s not on auto-pilot.
By the time I step into my apartment, I’m weary and shaky and dripping sweat all over the floor. Stripping off my soaked shirt, I toss it in the sink and grab a few water bottles out of the fridge, taking both out onto the balcony. I hydrate while I stretch and watch Miami come alive below me. People are bustling about, decked out in red and green, packages filling their arms. I can hear the strains of “White Christmas” coming from the apartment above me, and I start to snicker. You’ll never see a white Christmas here in Florida. I know some people crave that shit each year, but I like knowing that I can throw on shorts and enjoy the holiday in the sunshiny warmth.