Page 62 of The Loves We Lost

“What do you mean?”

“Vi. If you need to tell her about my ASPD and ADHD for me, to make sense with her. You can tell her. I don’t care.”

“Is not my place to share your shit, brother.”

Niro turns to face me. “I know. But in case it helps you, with her, or whatever. If it ever comes up. Just wanted you to know I was okay with it.”

I don’t know what makes me reach out and grip his hand for a second, but I do. “Thank you.”

My phone vibrates in my pocket, and I let go. “Fuck,” I mutter. “Please don’t let anybody need anything. I just found some fucking chill,” I grumble as I wrestle it from the pocket of my cut.

Viola.

A video call.

“Hey, buttercup. Everything okay?” Then I realize it’s Avery, not Vi, and my heart bursts.

“Hey, Daddy.”

Those two words turn me from a solid drunk to a sloppy drunk. “Hey, pumpkin. What are you up to?”

“I had a dream that there was a spider in my room, so you came and killed it and then flew me to Paris.”

There is no way I’m getting through the next year without taking her to Paris, even though I am relatively certain she has no idea that Paris is just another big city with a bunch of old buildings and paintings in it. “Oh, that sounds scary. Glad I killed it for you.”

She nods earnestly. “You were brave, and I just squealed and hid on my bed.”

Niro leans in. “Hey, kiddo.”

“Uncle Colton,” she squeals. “Have you ever killed a spider?”

“Tons of ’em. Can’t stand ’em. I mean, who needs eight legs?” he says.

“An octopus has eight legs,” she says.

“Think those are tentacles,” I reply.

“What’s the difference, Daddy?”

I look at Niro, who shakes his head. “I’m not sure. But I’ll look it up tomorrow and call you when I know.”

“Where are you?” she asks.

“I’m at the clubhouse, where you stayed when you came to see me.”

“Are you sleeping there tonight?”

“I am. In my room.”

She purses her lips. Her hair has been slept on; it’s all smushed up against the side of her face. Her eyes are sleepy. But there’s a graze on her elbow.

“What did you do to your arm, pumpkin?”

“I fell off my bike.” And as she recounts the whole story of falling off her bike, from it being a boring day to the wobble off the curb, I realize that it wasn’t the fighting or the laughter that truly made me find some inner peace.

It was listening to my little girl tell me every single detail of her day.

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