Unexpected Family. Jill Kemerer
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Tom pressed the intercom and shifted the enormous white stuffed rabbit complete with pink bow to his other arm. The old apartment complex a mile from campus didn’t exactly look seedy, but brown paint peeled from the exterior, bare spots riddled the patches of grass and potholes and cracks dismembered the pavement. He shifted his jaw. College students didn’t mill about—a relief—but the junky cars had him questioning the neighbors. Was his daughter safe living here? Was Stephanie?
The door buzzed, and he stepped inside. Soiled, worn indoor/outdoor carpet greeted him. A half flight of stairs stood at his right, a hallway with closed doors to his left. The scent of laundry detergent mingled with spices—foreign, curry? He climbed the stairs, turned, jogged up another set and landed on the third floor.
Stephanie ushered him inside. “Thanks for coming.” She dead-bolted the door behind him and nodded at the stuffed animal. “Macy will love this. Why don’t you have a seat?”
She waved to the small living room to his right. White walls, an old forest green couch, an upholstered rocking chair covered with a quilt and a bin of toys furnished the room. Lamps glowed, and the end tables held neat stacks of children’s books. Sheer curtains flanked a glass door leading to a balcony. Not luxurious but welcoming enough.
“Can I get you something to drink?” She flitted to the tiny kitchen and opened the fridge. Her jeans and slouchy lavender sweater made her appear younger, more beautiful than he remembered. Or was it her expression? The Stephanie who’d walked out on him rarely smiled, always nibbled on the corner of her lip and had a nervous air. This woman reminded him of the Steph he fell in love with.
Don’t go there. Focus on now. On Macy.
“Water would be good.” He set the bunny on the floor and lowered his tall frame onto the couch. “Where’s Macy?”
She returned with two glasses of ice water and set one on a coaster next to him before sitting in the rocking chair and tucking one foot under her body. “She’s still at day care. I wanted to talk to you in private.”
Warmth pooled through his core. She wanted to talk to him? In private? He straightened and shifted forward. “What about?”
A crease grew in her forehead. “Isn’t it obvious?”
Libby’s words sang in his mind, She’s going to start calling you nonstop. She’ll want you back. The thought wasn’t as unwelcome as it should be.
“I guess I thought...” She blinked twice. Enticing brown eyes. “You acted like you wanted to get to know Macy.”
His jaw relaxed. Dummy. Stephanie didn’t want him—still didn’t want him. “I do.”
“Of course.”
Was she disappointed? If yes, why had she invited him over?
She stood next to the balcony door, staring outside. “I don’t want Macy to be caught in our problems the way I was with Mom and her husbands.”
“Well, I’m not like them.”
“True.” She tapped her chin with her finger. “From my experience, though, lots of adults don’t think about their kids in these situations. They give in to their petty dramas, not caring who they hurt. I’d move mountains to protect Macy.”
“So I didn’t even get a chance?”
“We’ve been over this. Your parting words, the whiplash speed of the divorce papers and my own experience in a split home forced me to make a decision. The wrong one, obviously.”
Tom stared at a stain in the carpet. The night she left rushed back. He could still feel the blood churning in his veins. Tears streaked her face as she told him there was nothing between her and that guy, that she wasn’t cheating and would never cheat on him. But his vision had blurred and all he could see was her holding hands with the jerk. He’d lost all trust in her. Refused marriage counseling. Rushed to the lawyer for a divorce.
Hotheaded. Since then he’d worked hard to tame his impulsive side.
She picked at her sleeve. “I know what it’s like to be neglected by a parent who doesn’t want you.”
“You think I would neglect my own child?” he asked quietly.
“I don’t know. Honestly, Tom, I felt very neglected in our marriage.”
He grabbed the glass of water and drank. It didn’t surprise him to hear those words, but they hurt. The truth hurt.
“Macy’s my whole world,” she said. “It hasn’t been easy doing this on my own.”
The sadness in her eyes tore at his conscience, but sympathizing would get him in trouble. The kind of trouble that started with forgiveness and ended with... “That was your choice. To do it on your own.”
“You act like I wanted to get pregnant and live with my dad.”
A retort begged to come out, but he counted to three. “Well, what’s done is done. I want to tell Macy I’m her dad. I’m ready to be her father now.”
“This isn’t all about you. Think about her.”
He leaned back, at a complete loss for words. He had agreed to her charade last night, and now she wanted to continue it? Not going to happen. If she refused to bend about this, he’d call his lawyer. Work out a visitation schedule where he could have Macy to himself.
“I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing, but I pass.” He stood, flexing his hands. “I’m Macy’s father. I’m telling her, I’m spending time with her and there’s nothing you can do to stop me.”
“Wait. Tom—” Stephanie rushed to him, blocking his path.
What was wrong with her? She knew better than to come out guns firing, and yet she had. If she wasn’t careful, blame would get tossed back and forth like a twisted game of hot potato. She summoned every ounce of patience and lifted her chin.
“Please sit down.” She sighed. “I didn’t call you here to fight. And I don’t expect you to believe it, but I’ve changed. Part of that change has been trying to become someone trustworthy.”
He lifted his eyebrows but sat.
“Before you take matters into your hands,” she continued, “would you agree to spend some time with Macy first?”
“Is this a trick?” His gaze dropped to the stuffed bunny.
“No, it’s not a trick. Think about it.” She smoothed her sweater over her hips. Tom didn’t know Macy, didn’t know she sang “I Am Jesus’ Little Lamb” before bed each night, loved noodles, hated peas, refused to wear socks with stripes and wouldn’t brush her teeth unless she could use her Oscar the Grouch toothbrush. Learning those details took time.
“Why should I?” he asked.
Of all the clueless things to say. The response was so Tom, she had to bite back a retort. But she wasn’t surprised. He wanted his daughter now, whether Macy was ready or not. Why would he bother to get to know anyone—his daughter included—when he’d made zero effort to get to know his own wife?
Stephanie returned to the chair and sat. “It would be easier if she felt comfortable with you before telling her you’re her dad.” She waited for him to disagree and storm out, but he lifted his gaze to hers. Nervous. Scared?
Impossible. Not him.
“I think you’re right.” He grimaced, ducking his chin.
Wait, had he just told her she was right? She almost did a double take.
“Good,” she said. “I don’t think it will take long, either. She’s