That’s not necessarily a surprise.
I constantly feel affection for her. But when it’s your normal state of heart, you don’t always notice it. This time, though, the wave crashes over me. And I know why.
“I’m lucky,” I say.
She shoots me a curious look. “Why are you lucky?”
My heart thumps harder, filling up like a hot-air balloon with love for this kid. “Because I’ve had you your whole life.”
I get what’s coming to me. A flummoxed what on earth are you talking about look. It’s paired with the waggle of one eyebrow. Then a lift of the other one. “You feeling okay there, Mom?”
I nod, my throat tightening. I reach for my coffee, take a hit of the life-sustaining beverage, and try to speak past the knot. “I’m lucky because I’ve known you since you were born.”
“Well, duh. You gave birth to me. Of course you’ve known me since I was born. That’s kind of what being a mom is.” She snags another piece of egg.
“But some parents don’t get to know their kids their whole life.”
A solemn look crosses her eyes. “Is this going to be a sad conversation where you tell me that you’re sick or that someone has died?”
“No, God no.” I reach for her shoulder, squeezing, then squash the notion that seemed to bring such fear to her voice immediately. “I just mean some parents don’t know for a while that they’ve had kids.”
She breathes a sigh of relief, but then her brow pinches in confusion again. “What do you mean?”
“It happens.” And since Liam’s story of fatherhood isn’t a secret, I say, “That’s the case with Liam and Ethan. Liam didn’t even know he had a son until Ethan was more than six years old, and his mom brought Ethan to him because she had cancer.”
Her eyes glisten. “Oh, that’s so sad. And hard. That sounds really hard for everyone. And weird too. I’m sorry about his mom.”
“Me too. But it also made me realize something. I’m so glad I’ve known you your whole life.” My voice trembles. “I’m glad I didn’t miss any of it.”
My daughter smiles at me in the most genuine, wonderful way. In a way that hooks into my chest, that knocks the air from my lungs. That makes me realize that your heart truly does beat outside your body when you have a child. That all your emotions are both stored in the container of your heart and spill over it at the exact same time.
“But I don’t remember that much from when I was younger,” Wednesday adds, tilting her head and screwing up the corner of her lips, lost in thought. “But I think I was happy. I’ve always been happy, right?”
My smile stretches to the edges of the world. I run a hand down her soft hair. “That’s another reason why I’m lucky. You’ve always been a pretty happy kid.”
“I don’t think it’s just luck. I mean, look, I like you,” she says, like it’s no big deal, when it’s the biggest deal. “You’re cool. You’re a good mom. That’s why I’m happy. And Dad is a good dad, even though I don’t see him much. I talk to him a lot. We text all the time. And he was a good dad when he was here.”
The lump in my throat expands to the size of a golf ball. “Vince is a very good dad.”
She takes another bite of her eggs, then a drink of her coffee, since she’s already on the sauce. “Even when you and Dad weren’t really crazy about each other, I was still mostly happy, I guess, because you guys were never jerks to each other. Some of my friends who have divorced parents—their parents can be jerks. Yelling at each other, treating each other badly. But you and Dad were never like that. You were just two people who weren’t really right for each other.”
It is amazing how much a child can see.
We think we can fool them. We think, as parents, by spelling words out loud before they can read, by whispering, by slapping on false smiles, that we can shield them from the truth. But children are always so much more astute than we think. That’s why I’ve never wanted to fool my daughter. I’ve always tried to be open and honest with her because that’s how I want her to be with me. “No, we really weren’t right for each other.”
She picks up her plate and walks over to the sink. “Is this your way of telling me you’re right for Liam?”
I blanch, whipping my head around to look at her as she sets down her dish. “What are you talking about?”
She rolls her eyes, an even bigger eye roll this time, as she returns to the table, grabs my plate, and takes it to the sink too, rinsing both. “Mom. Do you think I don’t know what you did last night?”
