Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 103050 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 515(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 344(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103050 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 515(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 344(@300wpm)
We both fall silent and watch Willow watching us.
“How does that sound?” Gabby asks.
We’ve agreed not to tell Willow about the pregnancy yet. I don’t want to drop too much on her at once, and even though Gabby will be showing soon, I think it’s better to wait.
“Okay,” Willow says. “And I get new toys at your place?”
I cut Gabby off before she can agree. I don’t want Willow turning out spoiled. “You have lots of toys here. You can take some over to your new house and keep some here with Daddy.”
“I don’t want you to be lonely,” Willow says, looking at me. “You should have Bear Bear to sleep with while I’m at Mommy’s.”
“I’d like that,” I say.
“Okay.” Willow takes another spoonful of yogurt, like our conversation is all done.
Gabby and I share another look, as if to say, Is that it?
But of course that won’t be it. Any scars Willow has from her childhood won’t necessarily show up now. It might be decades before any pain surfaces.
When Penny died, the pain was instantaneous. We all lived in a trance for what felt like years. We went to school, came home, ate, went to bed…it was as if we were all living but dead inside. Penny’s death changed something in us all so completely and utterly, I don’t think any of us were the same again. Penny took a part of all our souls when she left. I can’t bear the thought of anything like that ever happening to Willow.
But for now, my daughter’s happy. And that’s the best I can hope for.
“Okay,” Gabby says. “I’m going to leave you with your yogurt.”
“I love you, Mommy,” Willow says, reaching up with her sticky fingers for a cuddle from her mother.
I walk Gabby to the front door.
“So that went well,” Gabby says.
“The jury’s out,” I reply. “I’ll let you know if she says any more.”
“She’s a happy, well-adjusted kid,” Gabby says. “She has two parents who want the best for her. She’s going to be fine.”
I’m not prepared to give my judgement quite yet.
“What about you?” Gabby asks. “How are you with everything?”
“How am I?” I ask.
“This is a big change for you,” Gabby asks.
“It’s not me I’m worried about.”
Gabby offers a flimsy smile. “What about the woman who met Willow. How’s she?”
I shake my head. “I have far too much going on with Willow over the next few months to think about anything else.”
Gabby sighs. “Deacon.”
“What?” I say, my tone defensive.
“I want to see you happy. And if you’re prepared to introduce our daughter to someone, you must have really liked her. Tell me you didn’t end things because of Willow.”
“Why is it so difficult for you to see that Willow is my complete priority?”
“Have you ever considered what a pressure that might be for Willow as she gets older? As a small child, it feels good to be the center of someone’s universe. But as she gets bigger, her world is going to expand, and if she feels like she’s the only thing you have in your world, that might start to feel like a burden.”
I take a step back, as if I’m trying to find my balance. What is she talking about? I’m trying to make sure Willow is as happy as I can. I’m not burdening her. I’m trying not to burden her.
“Think about it,” Gabby says. “Take care of yourself. Maybe try doing something for yourself once in a while.”
I open the door and watch as Gabby descends the stoop. Is Gabby trying to justify the impact on Willow of her getting married and having a baby? I’m confused. She seems to be saying if I put Willow at the center of everything, I’m creating a problem for our daughter. But problems are what I’m trying to avoid.
I close the door and pad back to the kitchen table.
“Everything okay here?” I ask, as Willow pushes out her chair and takes her yogurt pot and spoon and heads to the dishwasher.
“Is this recycling?” she asks Lucia.
“Yes, but I have to wash it. Put your spoon in the dishwasher like we practiced.”
“Daddy, look,” Willow calls. “You pull out the tray like this and there are places for the spoon.”
She proudly puts the spoon on the rack, pushes it in and then lifts up the door to the dishwasher.
“Now I wash my hands,” she announces. Normally Lucia or I have to remind her to wash her hands about three times before it registers. And even then, we usually have to help her. But things are changing.
Willow’s growing up.
But it’s too fast. Too much. Too soon. Not for her. For me. The realization hits me full in the gut.
Maybe it’s me who’s not ready for change, not Willow.
Maybe it’s my scars from losing Penny that make me cling on to the status quo.