Page 10

When I jolt awake, the room is filled with brightness.

Too much brightness.

Too much pink.

Wayyyy too much pink.

It’s every shade of pink, which the dimness of night sort of masked when we walked in last night, but her walls are painted—or is that wallpaper?—in a sort of a rainbow of different shades of pink all blended together.

Where the fuck am I?

It takes me a second to gain my bearings, and then I see the little girl sleeping quietly beside me.

My little girl.

I must’ve fallen asleep right after she did, and I didn’t move all night as I held onto her.

She needed me, but in a strange way I still haven’t come to terms with yet, I needed her, too.

The sun is up, but I have no idea what time it is. There’s no clock in this room, and I left my phone downstairs. I check my smart watch, but it’s blank. The battery must’ve died overnight.

I slowly ease myself out of bed so as not to wake her, and I head downstairs.

My father sits at the kitchen table with his laptop, and he glances over the top of the screen at me when I walk in. I spy my phone on the kitchen counter, and I head over to grab it and check the time.

I rub my eyes blearily when I realize it’s only a little after eight.

I don’t really do mornings, but I also went to bed at probably nine last night.

“Good morning, son,” my father says.

“Morning,” I murmur. I walk over toward the pantry to find something to eat. Your boy needs his morning peanut butter, but as I glance through the pantry, I don’t find any.

There’s sun butter, so I take it out and grab a spoon. I shove it into my mouth before I run over to the sink to spit it out.

What the fuck is this shit?

“How’s Harper?” my dad asks, ignoring my dramatics.

“Sleeping.” I head toward the fridge and find a dozen eggs, so I decide to make some for myself. “She asked me if I wouldn’t mind laying on her floor while she fell asleep, and then she was crying so I got in with her to comfort her, and…” I trail off and lower my voice to a whisper. I turn toward my dad and lean against the counter. “I don’t know if that’s what I was supposed to do. I don’t know how to do any of this.”

“Sounds like you handled it just fine.”

“Yeah, but is it okay?” I press. “Or is it weird that I held her all night?”

“Is it weird that you held your grieving daughter to comfort her? No. You sacrificed your own comfort and security to make her feel better. Sounds like you’re already learning what fatherhood should be about.”

Should be . Did he make sacrifices for me? Maybe sending me away was the sacrifice. I never thought of it from that angle.

I nod and turn back toward my pan. “Okay. So what’s next? When— how do we tell Harper that I’m her father?”

The question has barely left my mouth when I hear a gasp behind me.

The color drains from my face and my heart drops down to my stomach at the sound.

I turn slowly around, and I find little Harper standing there in her cupcake pajamas, her hair a knotted mess and her eyes sleepy but wide and her hand slapped over her mouth.

“Oh Jesus,” I mutter.

My father stands, his eyes wide as he rounds the table, and I walk over toward her.

“Harper?” I say gently.

Her hand lowers painfully slowly as the truth plows into me that she definitely heard what I just said.

“My father…my fath—my dad was in an accident,” she says, her voice trembling. “Daddy and Mom. They’re gone. But you…you…”

I blow out a breath and glance at my father, and he nods.

I kneel down in front of her so I’m on her level for this conversation.

I’m not sure how much to say. I’m not sure what she will or won’t understand.

But she deserves the truth.

“Your dad—uh, Simon, he loved you very much. He and your mom, they both loved you so, so much,” I begin. I draw in a breath. “It’s all very confusing, but as it turns out, I’m your biological father.”

“You’re my…my father? What about my dad?”

“It means that Simon was your dad, but I am, too,” I say.

“You’re my dad ?” she repeats, and I nod. “So I just…what, move to wherever you live when I just met you yesterday?”

I glance over at my father for some help here, and he comes through for me.

“Your mother named Travis your custodian in her will. That means she wanted him to raise you if anything ever happened to your parents.”

“You said I wouldn’t be sent away to live with people I don’t know,” she says, her tone both sassy and accusatory.

“And I’m not sending you to live with people you don’t know. You know me. You know my parents,” I point out.

Her eyes edge over to my father.

“I don’t know you know you,” she protests. “I just met you yesterday.”

“But you said it’s like you already know me,” I remind her, and then I realize I’m trying to reason with a grieving child.

“Liliana and I would be glad to help ease the transition,” my father says.

“What does that mean?” she asks.

“It means we’ll help get you settled in your new home. You can’t stay here, Harper,” he says softly, gently. More gently than I think I’ve ever seen him. “I know this is an abrupt change for you, and you have many people who care about you. We all want to make this as simple as we can.”

“So you’re telling me both my parents just died and now I have to move away to live with a stranger?” she asks flatly.

“We can take all the time you need,” I assure her. “We can stay here for a few days or a few weeks.”

My father clears his throat. “A few days,” he corrects. “You’ll need to get back to school.”

My brows dip as I glance at him. “She can take a little time, don’t you think?”

“A week is typical bereavement. It’s best to get back to routine as soon as possible.”

Like he knows what’s best.

I take in a breath before I say that. I take in another breath before I disagree with him, and it helps.

He might be right on that. He might not have been the sort of father I needed, but that doesn’t give me the right to ignore all his advice.

Maybe he can stand in my corner now that I need him more than ever, and maybe part of being a good parent to Harper is allowing him to be there…especially since she knows him and my mother and she’s comfortable with the two of them.

“Where do you even live?” she asks me.

“Las Vegas, Nevada,” I say.

“And I have to move there?”

I shrug and nod at the same time as if to say sorry, but yeah.

I want to jump over this part. I want to get to the part where we’re back at my place and everything’s okay.

But we’re not there yet.

And as she breaks into tears and runs sobbing from the room, I can’t help but think it’s going to be quite a long road before we do get there.