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I hugged him back tightly, running my hand over his hair, and thought of how I would face his nightmares for him if I could.
twenty-eight
Robert
When the night was over, I watched as Delia climbed into the car that I’d called for her, her silhouette framed by the soft glow of the porch light.
She was going home to continue cooking for Thanksgiving the next day, which she would share with her family. I didn’t have that option. When she left, Corinne and I would be alone again.
Delia turned to wave before slipping into the seat, and I nodded back, raising my hand slightly, though my throat felt tight. The car pulled away, and I stood there longer than I should have, staring after it as if that would answer the questions swirling in my head.
What was I doing?
Closing the door, I leaned back against it, letting out a long, slow breath. My pulse still raced, my chest tight with the weight of words, both spoken and unspoken.
The more time I spent with Delia, the more complicated everything became. And yet, I couldn’t seem to pull away. There was something about her—something I couldn’t define—that kept drawing me closer, even when I knew it was a terrible idea.
I moved toward the kitchen, where the remnants of our eaten leftovers sat on the counter. I placed empty Tupperware containers into the sink and wiped crumbs off the counter. My hands gripped the edge of the counter as I stared down into the basin.
She was young—too young for me, young enough that even my daughter had noticed. She was too entangled in my life in ways that shouldn’t have happened, a student of my class, a therapist-in-training where I got my therapy. She was Jeremy’s ex, for God’s sake. My best friend’s ex.How had I let it get this far?
And yet, when she was around, it felt like the first time I could breathe in years. The question wasn’t really how had I let it get this far, butwhy did I want to see how far I could take it?
The sound of footsteps pulled me from my thoughts, and I turned to see Corinne standing in the doorway, her arms wrapped around a stuffed bear. Her mother had gotten it at her baby shower, yet another celebration I hadn’t been around for, that the Navy had taken from me.
I wonder if the United States military knew how many families were marred by memories that were lost forever, time that they could never get back.
Her braids were mussed from sleep, stray curls popping out everywhere, her expression groggy as she rubbed her eyes.
“Daddy?” she said, her voice small.
“Corinne, why are you still up?” I asked her, walking over to her and bending down to meet her eye.
“I heard Delia leave,” she said quietly, scratching her braids. “Can you tuck me in?” she asked innocently.
“Okay, come on,” I said gently, scooping her up into my arms. I knew some people thought she was too old to pick up and hold, but as long as I could pick up and hold my baby, I would. I’d missed a lot of baby hugs when she was little. I’d make up for them as long as I could. I’d work out until it broke my arms to hold her.
She rested her head against my shoulder as I carried her back to her room, the familiar scent of lavender from her hair calming me. I rubbed her back in circles, the jersey fabric of her princess pajamas rough against my palm.
As I tucked her back into bed, she looked up at me, her brows furrowed. “Daddy?”
“Yeah?” I asked, smoothing the blanket over her.
“Do you like Delia?” she asked, her voice hesitant but curious.
The question caught me off guard, and for a moment, I didn’t know how to respond.
“What makes you ask that?” I said carefully, sitting on the edge of her bed. I wanted to tell her that she shouldn’t worry about grown-up things, but when I looked in her eyes, I saw something more than curiosity. I needed to answer her.
She fiddled with the edge of her blanket, avoiding my gaze. “I just…” She sighed and met my eyes. “I don’t know if I want you to have a girlfriend.”
Her words hit me like a punch to the gut. I swallowed hard, searching for the right thing to say.
“Corinne, I…you don’t get to decide that,” I said softly, hoping it would soften the blow. “But if you don’t like her, she doesn’t have to come over.”
Her face scrunched up, her expression somewhere between confusion and frustration. “I do like her,” she whined.
“Okay,” I chuckled, twirling one of her curls around my index finger, “so what’s the problem?”