Zara: You can’t drive me. You have a deadline!!!
Me: And you have an appt. Your appt trumps all.
Granted, my publisher and the movie studio might not see it that way, but that’s not my concern right now. Zara is.
Zara: Really, Garrett, you don’t need to drive me. I can drive myself.
I snort a humorless laugh and speed dial her number. She picks up on the second ring.
“If you could drive yourself,” I say before she can respond, “you wouldn’t have asked Emily to take you. A few hours won’t kill the book. Besides, I need your feedback on a scene I’m working on.” Specifically, the steamy one.
“What kind of scene?” Suspicion swings in her tone, and I picture her dubiously eyeing her phone.
“One that involves the kind of books you, Em, and Simone like to read.”
“Romance? You’re talking about romance novels?” A silent chuckle wraps through her vowels, dangles from her consonants.
“Yup, I’m talking about romance. We can discuss it when I pick you up in two hours.”
Her low, throaty laugh pours through the phone line, teasing me. “Can’t wait.”
We end the call, and I return to where Peony and Athena are playing.
Peony toddles to me, her little legs moving quickly. She stops and lifts her arms. “Fly! Fly!”
Her wide toothy grin is too irresistible to say no to, even if I should return to work. I scoop her up under her arms.
Holding her high, I do a lap of the small area of grass. Peony makes a funny spluttering-engine noise that sends Athena doubling over with laughter and has me chuckling.
We finish the lap, ending up at the patio. I press a light kiss on Peony’s forehead. It’s just a small kiss, the kind a parent gives their child. The kind I’ve witnessed Athena do plenty of times.
It’s a test. To see just how far we’ve come. To see if Peony is ready to accept me as her father. To acceptme, the man who this amazing little girl has wrapped around her fingers.
Peony stiffens in my arms, and it feels like we’re back to where we started, when she showed up in my life.
A portion of my heart crumples at her hands. Falls to the ground like a dying leaf, ready to be crushed under foot.
But then the tension seems to fizzle from her body. She rests her head on my chest, where my heart is thumping loudly for her, and all the air in my lungs whooshes out in relief.
I tighten my arms in a small hug, letting her know she’s safe. I don’t want to put her down, to let go of her now I’ve built this level of trust between us. A thinly woven trust, easily broken if not treated with the utmost care.
Her trust is one of the most precious things in this world.
She is the most precious thing.
But as much as I don’t want to let go of my daughter, I don’t have a choice. I can’t let Zara down either. And I have to get in more words before picking her up for her appointment.
Is this what parenting is? Juggling so many plates and trying not to drop any. Hoping if one cracks, the outcome won’t be devastating.
I don’t know how my parents managed. Mom worked part time as a nurse, but she also had three boys—four once Kellan became part of the family. She helped us with our schoolwork, took care of us, drove us tohockey practices and games. Yet, she was still there for her friends and neighbors if they needed a helping hand.
I always suspected Mom was a superhero. Now I’m a single father, trying not to let any plates fall, I’m more than ever convinced of it.
“As much as I want to stay and play with you two,” I tell Peony, “I have to work a little longer and then drive Zara to Portland. But I’ll be back in time for your bedtime.”
I look up in time to catch Athena’s frown. The grooves in her forehead swiftly smooth away, leaving me to wonder if I imagined the annoyed expression. Or maybe it was worry. Or jealousy.
None of the emotions make sense, so I brush her reaction aside. It was nothing more than my imagination, the side effect of being a fiction author. She’s not a character in any of my books, past or present. The last thing I need to do is interpret her reactions as if she is.
