Page 10 of From This Moment (After We Fall 4)
I shook my head. “I thought about that yesterday, but I feel like I need to be there for Abby. At least in the beginning. I don’t want her to be confused.”
“So say yes. See how it goes. What’s the worst that could happen?”
“Uh, I could have a seismic emotional meltdown in front of him?”
She shrugged. “At least he wouldn’t want to come over anymore.”
In spite of everything, I laughed a little. “Right.”
“Listen.” She scooted her chair in and put her hand on my forearm. “You don’t have to do anything you’re not ready to do, but you’re stronger than you think. That much I know for sure.”
I’m not, I felt like saying. I’m just fooling you all. I’m pretending so you’ll stop asking me how I’m doing all the time. I’m pretending in the hopes of fooling myself. I’m pretending because the alternative—the truth—is that I’m sad, scared, sick, worried, angry, guilty, lost, and alone. I’m so fucking alone I could scream.
But I didn’t say that.
“Thanks.” I set down my fork. “I’ll text him back.”
Hi Wes. Yes, tonight is fine. Six o’clock will give me time to feed Abby dinner first.
Georgia patted my shoulder and started prepping for dinner, and I picked up the fork again and ate a few bites, tears dripping into my chicken salad.
When I got home, I made spaghetti for dinner and sat at the table with Abby while she ate. I wasn’t hungry enough to eat anything, despite what felt like an ever-widening pit in my stomach. Instead, I poured a glass of wine, hoping it would take the edge off my frazzled nerves.
“So you remember I told you about Daddy’s twin brother, Uncle Wes?”
“The one that looks like him?” she asked as a blob of meat sauce fell off her fork and into her lap.
I got up to get a paper towel. “Yes. He’s been in Africa for a while, so we haven’t seen him much, but he’s home now.”
“Does he live at Nana’s?” She shoveled in a forkful of pasta.
“Yes,” I said, wiping up what had spilled. “But he wants to come over here for a visit. Would that be okay?”
“Sure.”
“It might be a little strange because he looks just like Daddy, but it’s not him.”
“Okay.” She reached for her milk.
“And it’s okay to feel sad about it.”
After a few swallows, she set down the cup. “Okay. But does he have any kids he could bring?” Abby had recently learned what cousins were and was desperate to have some of her own.
“No, he doesn’t have kids. Maybe he will someday, if he gets married.”
“Oh.” She dug into her spaghetti again, and I lifted my wine glass to my lips. I was tempted to keep talking about Drew and Wes, press further, tease out any ambivalence she might be trying to hide from me, but it appeared the only mixed feelings about Wes around here belonged to me.
She’s five, reasoned a voice in my head. She doesn’t realize how difficult it might be.
I’d keep a close eye on her while he was here. If the visit seemed too traumatic for her, I’d cut it short. “Do you have any other questions about him?”
She thought for a moment. “What time is he coming?”
“Six.” I glanced at the clock on the wall. “In about half an hour.”
“Maybe he’ll want to get ice cream. Daddy liked to get ice cream after dinner.”
I wasn’t sure if she actually remembered that or if it was a memory manufactured after the fact based on stories I’d told her. It was one of my favorite memories, going to get ice cream after dinner on summer nights, and Abby asked me about it often. We’d walk into town, and he’d carry Abby on his shoulders. We always ordered the same thing—Moose Tracks in a waffle cone for Drew, pistachio in a cup for me, Birthday Cake in a sugar cone for Abby, which would drip from the bottom of the cone all down her shirt. God, we’d had everything in those days. And I thought we’d have it forever.
