Page 30

Mess Is Mine – Vance Joy

Declan

A ddie’s freckled knee bounces rapidly in the passenger seat of my car, her sage green sundress swaying with the action. She’s been a nervous wreck since we stopped at home to change.

“Your tits look fucking great.”

Her knee pauses movement, and wild eyes meet mine with a massive, disbelieving smile. My lips tug up in a smile.

There’s the smile I love.

“What?” I feign nonchalance. “They do.”

We hit a stoplight and I let my gaze linger. Her soft, pale skin flushes a strawberry hue, and she smacks my bicep.

“Stop,” she chastises, but her rosy cheeks and hooded eyes tell a different story.

“You’re beautiful, baby.” I stretch an arm to swirl a strand of hair around my finger. She reaches up and takes my hand, placing a kiss on my palm.

“Thank you. You’re not too shabby, either.”

I huff a soft laugh. “Don’t be coy. I’ve seen you ogle my arms at least half a dozen times.”

“Why are they so hot?” She sighs wistfully. “It’s illogical how turned on I get when you flex them.”

She squeezes my right bicep for good measure, fingers dancing along my skin. The energy in the car turns from playful to dreadful the moment I pull into the parking garage a block from the restaurant.

I open her door, and she smooths out nonexistent wrinkles in her dress. Nerves radiate off her.

“Need one more squeeze for courage?” I turn my bicep toward her, and her grip is deadly.

“That’s good, She-Hulk.” I rip my bicep away and intertwine our fingers. “Let's get some food.”

Her hand tightly grips mine as we walk into the small Italian restaurant her parents selected. The lights are low in the space, creating an intimate ambiance, and as the hostess guides us to the table in the back corner of the restaurant, her fingers begin to tremble.

“Say the word, and we leave,” I whisper as we stop at the table. Her posture is rigid as she meets her parents’ gaze. Her mother is a spitting image of Addie—Auburn hair and hazel eyes. Her lips are pulled in an uncomfortable smile, but she looks at her daughter with fondness and longing.

Her father has a head of thick blonde hair and deep blue eyes that swirl with wariness as he assesses me. I pull my shoulders back as if to say I’m not intimidated.

“Hi,” Addie croaks.

I pull out a chair for her, then sit beside her and take her hand between mine and set it on my lap. Nerves radiate off her, and I swipe a thumb against the back of her hand to soothe the worry.

“We’re glad you agreed to meet with us,” Addie’s mom starts, voice squeaking at the end.

She’s as equally nervous as Addie, and it calms a bit of the worry in my chest. Her eyes flicker between us, searching for how I fit.

“Declan, this is my mom, Cora, and my dad, John.”

I smile, though it doesn’t reach my eyes.

“It’s nice to meet you both.”

An uneasy silence falls around the table, and Addie’s eyes flicker around in panic. Cora continues to stare at Addie intently, like if she blinked, Addie would disappear.

John is the first to break the silence. “I’m sorry,” his eyes flicker to me, “but we were hoping to speak to Addie alone.”

Addie’s grip tightens, and I squeeze before leaning back in my seat. “That’s not going to happen,” I say casually. The vein in his neck pulses, but to his credit, John’s face is neutral. “She asked for me to be here, and we don’t keep secrets from each other.”

I keep my gaze fixed on her parents, but she taps her finger against my palm in thanks.

“You look good,” Cora cuts, quietly and unsure, “How are you? Are you doing okay? How’s Nora? She’s five now, right?”

The questions come out squished, one right after another, like she’s been holding them back for an age.

Addie’s face pales at the mention of Nora’s name, and her eyes meet mine in a panic. I can see the early stages of a shutdown, so I lean down and whisper, “You don’t owe them any answers.”

“I know,” she croaks, but turns to her mom.

“I’m doing well. Nora is good, too,” she whispers.

The waiter stops at the table, offering Addie a small reprieve, and I watch with thinly veiled disdain as John orders for Cora. She doesn’t seem to mind, but it only reminds me of the prick she went on a date with. When they circle to Addie, who holds the menu with a shaky grip, John opens his mouth like he plans to order for her, too.

Fuck that.

“She’ll have—”

“She can order for herself,” I cut him off, and his features morph into angry disbelief, and its with that look I know all civility toward me has disappeared.

He’s tolerating my presence because Addie is here, but I fear that courtesy is gone. So be it.

Addie’s voice is shallow and unsure as she places her order. “Could I get a cheeseburger, add bacon?”

The waiter nods. I ignore her parents' confused looks and order myself the same. It’s unclear if they’re staring because Addie is clutching my hand like a lifeline or because we ordered burgers at an upscale Italian restaurant, but I don’t care.

My girl can have a fucking cheeseburger on Mars if that’s what she wants.

The waiter leaves, and the table is deadly silent. Cora extends the first olive branch. “What do you do for work?”

“He’s a football player,” John responds, eyes travelling between Addie and me. “A popular one. Tell me, is she just another notch on your bedpost? Plan to toss her aside once she doesn’t fit your needs anymore like the last guy?”

His words strike like a slap, and Cora gasps.

This is the man who raised Addie? Kind, thoughtful, bright Adeline?

Cora and Addie stare at us, eyes wide as saucers, and for one moment, I lose myself in the hazel of Addie’s eyes. I know I supported this, but if this is how her father is starting this conversation, can any relationship be salvaged? Is it worth introducing Nora to this type of behavior, simply because they’re genetically related?

“That’s not how—” Cora scrambles to save the dinner, but I raise a hand and she pauses.

“Let me make one thing very clear, “ I begin, voice laced with lethal calm. “You will speak to us with respect, or you won’t speak to us at all. She does not owe you this conversation or any explanation. And to answer your question—though I find it incredibly insulting—no, she’s not another notch on my bedpost ,” I spit the words back with venom. “She is the love of my life , and I will not sit here while you disrespect her. So, either you apologize and we begin again, or we’ll take the burgers to-go.”

Addie’s eyes burn a hole in the side of my head, but I keep my gaze fixed on John. His lips turn down in a frown, and he seems to consider his words. Seems he’s not entirely stupid. He releases a deep, tired sigh and his shoulders sag.

His focus turns to Addie, and I don’t miss the flicker of anguish on his face.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t—”

“He’s the man who’s shown up,” Addie interrupts, eyes brimming with tears.

My breath catches, but she shakes her head. Not tears from her parents. I love you, too , she mouths, before turning back to her parents.

“He’s the man who takes care of Nora when she’s sick and reads her bedtime stories. Who has made sure she’ll never need anything in her life, and nurtures her hopes and dreams. The partner who has taught me to dream again; who picks me up on bad days and tells me it’s okay to let someone take care of me, because for the last five years, I’ve had no one to take care of me.”

Cora chokes on a sob, and John question himself as she continues. I take her hand in mine. Her responding smile is watery and small, but she sets her shoulders and continues.

“You two should have taken care of me, but instead, I was on my own. Until I met Declan.” She squeezes my palm. “I am here because he convinced me you two were worth a second chance, but it doesn’t seem like much has changed in five years.”

Her sigh is resigned and full of anguish. Even after everything, she hoped for more from them. Cora is sobbing in earnest now, and John looks stricken by his daughter's words. Maybe it’s the absence of family in my youth, or the pure devastation on everyone’s faces at the table—Addie included—that stops me from whisking her away.

What is family if not a complex, complicated web of people who love each other? People who make mistakes and say the wrong things, make poor choices, and regret their decisions. Does the mess outweigh the love shared?

“I-I’m sorry,” John says again, taking his wife’s hand the same way Addie is holding mine.

Against my better judgment, I extend one last olive branch.

“I don’t think this is how anyone wanted this to go,” I say gently. Cora nods rapidly, and John inclines his head. I’m wary of him, but all the hostility is gone as he watches his daughter fiddle with her napkin. “Why don’t we start again?”

Though I hoped for more, I texted Sharon and asked for tips on how to navigate this meeting if it started on the wrong foot. Now, we’re going to put her advice to the test.

“We miss you,” Cora says, sniffling and rubbing away her tears. “We made a mistake—there’s not a day that’s gone by where we haven’t regretted what I said and how we turned our backs on you.”

“Why did you?” Addie’s question is barely audible, but it holds years of hurt.

“We were shocked, and surprised, and…” she heaves a sigh, “stubborn. You were so special, and on a path for great things, and it felt like you were throwing your life away.”

Addie draws a sharp breath. “Having Nora was not throwing my life away. She’s one of the greatest things to ever happen to me.”

Her hazel eyes meet mine, and she silently conveys the second half of her statement with a soft smile. You’re one of the great things, too, her look seems to say.

“We know,” John says, “And that choice cost us five years of memories. We don’t want to lose anymore with you, or Nora. There is nothing we can say or do to make-up for the time we lost due to our choices.”

“Why did you never reach out and apologize?” I ask. Five years is a long time to stay silent, and then suddenly want to re-enter their lives.

“We tried.” John sighs. “About a month after Nora was born, we tried to text you. It was never answered, so we gave you space, but we’ve tried to reach out over the years.”

Addie’s face crumples, and she whispers words that slice like a white hot blade. “I begged you to come when I was in labor, pleaded through contractions for my parents. Left a dozen voicemails.”

There’s no response at the table. What can you say to absolve yourself from the choices you made?

The waiter's eyes widen slightly before a blanket of neutrality falls over them as they set our plates down in front of us. I incline my head slightly, as if to say you can skip your check-in , and he nods, darting away from the tense, somber air surrounding our table.

When I look back, Addie shovels fries in her mouth like someone is going to snatch them away, and her parents pick at their pasta.

“That’s a shameful choice we will live with for the rest of our lives,” Cora chokes out, hesitantly reaching a hand out toward Addie. When she doesn’t pull away, Cora places her hand on top of Addie’s. “I should have been there. Holding your hand. Feeding you ice chips. Helping you through contractions. They day you entered the world was the greatest day of my life, and I should have been there when you experienced the same.”

“I have a suggestion,” I say, focused on arranging a layer of fries onto my burger. When I have their attention, I continue, “There’s a lot of trauma and built-up resentment here, as well as a collapse of communication. It’s impossible to fix anything overnight, but I’m proposing virtual therapy to work through the past and find a path for us to move forward.”

Addie lets her head fall on my shoulder momentarily, and her greasy hand falls to my thigh, squeezing and leaving fingerprints on my trousers. I bite back a smile.

“You’re a good man,” she whispers, “I wish I got to tell you I love you in some grand way, but I do. Love you with my whole heart and soul. The zing is never wrong.”

I kiss the top of her head, holding back the words I want to tell her. It’s not the time or place, and we deserve to revel in the moment.

“We’d like that very much,” Cora says, and John nods.

“We want to fix what we broke,” he adds.

She tries to hide it, but those are the words Addie’s been desperate to hear. “Okay.”

Dinner is quiet as we eat our meals, but as we finish, Cora asks in a tiny voice, “What’s she like?”

Addie can’t hide her shock, as if she wasn’t prepared for them to ask the question. Cora waits with a hopeful gaze, and John holds onto his wife’s hand, eyes glistening.

“We’d love to see photos,” he says, “if you’re willing to share.”

She turns to me, and I lift the corner of my lips in a tiny smile. An approval of their request, not that she needs it.

“Nora is…” I search for the right word, “Inquisitive. Smart. Loud.” That pulls a chuckle from Addie. “She loves sticker books and princess movies. We’re actually taking her to Florida next week.”

Addie sucks in a breath and her eyebrows are high on her forehead.

Shit. I didn't mean to give away that secret. “Surprise?”

“I should have known.” Addie shakes her head, pursing her lips, but there’s no real heat in the look.

Cora and John laugh softly.

Addie hesitantly shares photos of Nora, and I offer a few photos of my own. Nora and Addie are in matching aprons. The three of us after the game. The aquarium. Dinner ends with hopeful looks in everyone’s eyes, and as she says goodbye to her parents, Cora sweeps her into a crushing hug.

She melts in her mother's arms, and when they separate, they each wear small, timid smiles. John stands at my side as we watch them.

“I’m sorry for what I said,” he admits quietly, hands slipping into his front pockets. “She shines by your side. As a parent, I couldn’t ask for someone better for her, or Nora. Thank you for doing what we did not.”

“I’ve been exactly where you are,” I say. “Asking for forgiveness after hurting someone I love. I’m living proof that if you put in the effort, you can regain the trust you lost.”

Addie giggles at something her mother says, and my chest bursts with warmth.

“It’s going to be hard, and at times, uncomfortable, but it will be worth it,” I continue. “They’re both worth it.”

He nods once more before they head in the opposite direction, and Addie skips to the car, light as a cloud. She takes my arm and leans her head on my shoulder as we walk side-by-side.

“I’m so proud of you, baby.”

“It’s a start,” she says, tone neutral, but I recognize the hope in her eyes. We walk to the car, hand in hand, and her fruity perfume fills the air around us as her hair sways in the wind.

“When we get home,” Addie says nonchalantly, slipping into the passenger seat of the car, “I’m going to fuck your brains out.”

I slam my foot on the gas pedal and the engine roars, creating a lovely melody with Addie’s boisterous laughter.