Page 98 of Never Forget
But try wasn't enough. Not for Rosie.
"Mark." I kept my voice low so Rosie wouldn't hear. "I can't move her to New York, let her get attached to you and then watch you decide it's too hard."
He didn't have an answer.
I knew he'd try. He'd try the way he did everything, carefully—the way a man who was good at his life went about adding something new to it. He had the means and loved me well. He would show up for her the way he showed up for me—on time, prepared, and decent. He would learn her the way he'd learned me.
But Rosie already had someone. And Sam wasn't just trying. Sam had shown up before she needed him, before any of us knew she would. He was the reason we'd made it out of the fire. He was the man who'd slept on a couch too small for him for three weeks so she could have a bed. He was the one who'd bought her a stuffed dog at a hospital gift shop at 6:00 a.m. and called her brave.
If I was choosing a father for her, she deserved one who loved her the way Jack did. And Sam already did.
Mark nodded slowly and accepted it.
"I had to ask," he said. "I had to at least ask."
"I know."
We finished the meal. Mark was good with Rosie the rest of the way, asking her about her drawing, letting her tell him the names of the animals she was coloring. He paid the check and walked us back to my apartment in the cold. At the door of my building he crouched down and said goodnight to Rosie. She gave him a small hug around the knees, and he closed his eyes for a second when she did.
Then he stood.
"Can I see you off at the airport?"
"Mark, we?—"
"Please."
I should have said no. But this felt like the proper goodbye we both deserved.
"Okay."
He nodded. Touched my arm. Turned and walked down the block.
I took Rosie upstairs and put her to bed.
Mark picked us up in the morning.
The drive to JFK was quiet. Rosie was half-asleep in the back seat with Biscuit tucked under her chin, her head tipped against the window. I watched the city go by from the passenger seat. The bridges. The water. The skyline pulling away behind us.
At the terminal he helped me with the suitcase. We stood together on the curb with the airport noise moving around us. Rosie held my hand. There was nothing left to say that we hadn't already said.
"If you ever find yourself back in New York," Mark said, "my door is always open."
I knew it wasn't realistic. Mark would move on. He'd meet someone new. He'd build a life with someone who could give him what he wanted. Six months from now he'd be sitting across from her at the place he'd taken me on my birthday, and she'd laugh at something he said, and he'd look at her and mean it.
But the tears came anyway. This was goodbye. To Mark. To New York. To the woman I'd built here and loved and said goodbye to all week without quite admitting I was doing it.
He crouched down to Rosie.
"You take care of your Auntie Jamie, okay?"
Rosie nodded, serious. "Okay."
He stepped close and kissed my forehead.
"Goodbye, Jamie."
I took Rosie's hand and turned toward the doors before I could break down completely.
