Peony beams at Athena, her bright smile mirroring the one I’d witnessed so many times on her mother. My heart squeezes, but not as hard as it once would have. It’s the reaction felt for a lost friend instead of for a lost love.
Athena kisses her forehead. Peony holds up Poppy, and Athena pretends to kiss the stuffed panda’s head. “Ready for this new adventure?”
Peony throws her arms up, jerking Poppy above her head and almost whacking Athena in the face. “Yes!” Not once does her gaze fall on me. As far as she’s concerned, I’m not here.
I place the last of their things from the hotel room in the trunk and close it. In the short time they’ve stayed here, they’ve accumulated quite a few belongings—a lot of which I bought for Peony. Emily, Zara, Simone, and Avery also contributed to Athena’s wardrobe, which she didn’t protest over, unlike when I offered to buy her some clothes.
I drive us to my neighborhood. It’s midafternoon and the sun is shining,as if welcoming Peony home. One more week and the paternity results will prove what I already know. The test arrived yesterday morning, and I fired it back to the testing facility soon after, with the swabs containing Peony’s and my DNA.
Both Peony and Athena are quiet, looking out the windows of the Explorer as we pass the neighborhood houses. Elementary-school-aged kids run and skip and chase each other on the sidewalk.
Peony’s holding her stuffed panda tightly, her eyes wide with wonder. “Doggie.” She points at a small dog walking alongside its owner on the sidewalk.
I return my attention to the road. “You like dogs?”
A silence heavy with indifference meets my question, drowns out the children’s song playing through the speakers.
A quick glance in the rearview mirror is met with a wobbly-lip expression. A wobbly-lip expression I can’t help but feel is the result of me asking Peony the question. Of me acknowledging her presence.
Of her having to acknowledge mine.
“She…she doesn’t have much experience with dogs,” Athena says after a long beat, “other than in her favorite picture book.”
“One of your uncles has a little dog like that.” My gaze flicks briefly to Peony. She continues looking out the window. “His name is Butterscotch. And his girlfriend has a golden retriever named Bailey. She’s training to be a psychiatric service dog for Jess, so you won’t get to stroke Bailey unless she’s off duty. And Uncle Lucas and Auntie Simone have a large golden Labradoodle.” I have no idea if Peony understands anything I’m saying. I’m just scrambling for common ground between us.
No matter how tiny.
“You don’t like dogs?” Athena asks.
I turn my head, catching the same assessing expression on her face I’ve witnessed a few times in the past six days. “No, I like ’em.”
“But you don’t have one.”
“My schedule doesn’t allow for one. Between being a full-time author and being away on Wilderness Warriors excursions, I don’t have time for pets.” Not even a pet goldfish.
“That’s sad.” Athena’s tone is soft, almost a whisper. “What is Wilderness Warriors?”
“My brothers and I created an outdoor recreational program for military veterans. Of all abilities and disabilities. Right now they’re weekend trips, like hiking, canoeing, camping, climbing. But we’re planning to start doing week-long programs next year.”
We’ll be hiring summer staff to help with that. Lucas, Troy, Kellan, and I have full-time careers we love. But Warriors is a way for us to give back to those who served our country, fighting for the freedoms we hold dear.
“What about you. Do you like dogs?”
“Can’t say I’ve ever had one.” Her voice is dreamy, almost…nostalgic? “Kenda wanted a dog.”
“She did? I find that hard to believe given her career goal. She just wanted to move from one journalism assignment to the next.”
“Priorities change. Especially when you become a parent.” Athena glances over her shoulder to where Peony is sitting behind me.
I can’t tell if she’s hinting my priorities will need to change now that I have a daughter. Or if she’s talking about Kenda and how her priorities veered off their original path.
At least in my case, I’m not moving from one place to the next with no permanent address. I can give Peony stability, a chance to make long-term friends.
I turn onto my driveway and park in the garage. Athena helps Peony out of her car seat while I remove the bags from the trunk.
We enter the silent house through the laundry room. A silence I prefer when I’m writing. A silence that will be a thing of the past with a toddler now living here. I can’t expect her to be quiet while I write—nor do I intend to demand she keeps the noise down while I’m getting words on the page.
I’m not that man. I’m not the military man who needs to be in control and for everything to be orderly.
