Page 62 of On the Slopes of Tahoe
“Yeah. This is—” I clear my throat, the knot of emotion threatening to overwhelm me again.
“You ready to name her?” she asks.
We talked about names and settled on one for a boy and one for a girl so we’d be prepared at the birth. I won’t lie and say that I wasn’t hoping for a girl, and part of that was for the name we chose.
I track my eyes over my daughter’s face. “Ten minutes in this world, Willow, and it’s so much brighter because you’re in it.”
The scrambling of feet on hardwood floors brings me out of the memories just in time to brace myself before Willow crashes into me.
“Dad! I’m eight!” she exclaims.
“You sure are. And you know what?” I smile down at my beautiful girl.
“What, Daddy?” Anticipation shines in her eyes.
“Eight years in this world, Willow, and it’s so much brighter because you’re in it.” She hugs me hard, and I hug her back. Words can’t fix all the hurt of the last few months, but maybe these ones—that I say every year on her birthday—will remind her that she’s my whole world and I’ll always be here.
Rory helped me plan a little birthday celebration for Willow—just the three of us plus Jamie. He was invited at Willow’s request, because she’s absolutely harboring a girlhood crush on the redhaired Scotsman. Not sure how I feel about that, but I do like Jamie.
The doorbell rings and Rory runs to open it, finding the man himself standing there, arms filled with presents.
“He makes a good pack mule, don’t you think?” She laughs lightly and it chimes with mirth.
“Ha-ha.” He grunts. “Can I come inside now so I can set all this shi—stuff down.”
“Good catch,” I say. “Willow doesn’t need any more funds in her swear jar.”
“Swear jar?” Jamie grins.
“Yeah, man. How do you think I’m paying for this condo?” I help him with the bags and boxes, revealing his face to the room. As soon as Willow sees him, she starts running and I have to set down my stack of gifts and grab the rest from him so they won’t topple to the floor when she collides with him.
My phone rings in my pocket and I take the moment when everyone’s distracted to pull it free.
Talia’s name flashes on the screen.
I didn’t block her number because even with everything she did, she’ll always be Willow’s mom. There’s a tearing and a swelling in my heart all at once. I hate her for calling right now, but I’m also glad in a way. Willow deserves a phone call today at the very least. Maybe Talia still has some love left in her for this little family she obliterated.
I swipe across the screen before I can think better of it. “Tal—” I say, lifting the phone to my ear. Every head in the room snaps to mine and there’s barely masked hope behind watery blue eyes.
“Breck.” Her voice feels like a physical blow, but I attempt a smile and remind myself I’d do anything for one more phone call from my own mom. “We got the email and thought we should coordinate the meeting.”
Every bit of air in my lungs leaves me in a rush and I physically feel my face fall, along with my shoulders. I can’t look at Willow. Turning my back on the prying eyes, I hurry up the stairs without a word.
“Breck?” she says again, but I’m not saying another word until I’m behind a closed door.
The moment I’m shut in my room, I whisper-hiss into the phone. “You’re calling about the fucking meeting Talia. Today?” I should’ve never answered. I’m going to be the one picking up the pieces of this shitstorm yet again.
“Yes, what’s wrong?” She’s so fucking oblivious it makes me seethe.
“Over two months, Talia. Months without a word, and you pick today, of all fucking days, to call about a goddamn meeting. Do you care so little that you’ve already forgotten today is Willow’s eighth birthday? She heard me answer the phone…” I scrub a hand across my eyes, trying to keep myself in check. “She thinks you called to talk to her. Goddammit.”
“Her birthday was yesterday,” Talia says matter-of-factly. I can almost picture her looking at her nails as if this bores her. “Or… where are you?”
Fuck. She’s right. She doesn’t know we’re in Tahoe. Damn time change. The anger boils higher now though, because she didn’t forget. She knew it was yesterday, and she still didn’t call.
“How dare you, Talia. How fucking dare you. You know what? You and Drew”—I spit his name with as much venom as I can muster—“take the call with the new owners and tell them if they have specific questions for me then they can call me personally. Do not call me again. Do not reach out to me again. You didn’twant us. You didn’t want me. You didn’t want her. Fine. But you don’t get to call and disrupt the lives we’re trying to rebuild in the wake of your departure. Fuck you, Talia.”
I hang up the phone.
