Silence fills the air again, and we both sigh.
“She’s fine. She’s a perfectly normal, healthy one-year-old.” He turns his attention back to the picture with a slight smile at first, then it spreads widely. It’s almost as if half the worry from his expression is gone. It’s the first time he’s smiled since… well, in a long time.
Actually, it’s the first smile I’ve seen from him… from Chris, but it’s still one that I’ve missed. He sits down on the sofa again, and I cautiously sit beside him, looking at Caylen’s picture in his hand.
“She has your eyes. They turn like yours do,” I say cautiously, almost as if the comment is too personal to be allowed.
He looks uncomfortable. Maybe I shouldn’t have said that. I knew I shouldn’t have…
“I-I mean I…” I stumble further, embarrassing us both until he looks up from the picture and smiles at me.
Butterflies start to go crazy in my stomach. I silently pray that my cheeks aren’t as red as I think they are. He turns his attention away from me, pretending not to notice, then his smile disappears into an almost worried stare.
“How are we supposed to deal with this?” he asks quietly, as though he is uncertain of what more to say. “I-I don’t know how to deal with this…” He wrings his hands as he lets out a sigh of frustration before standing again. “You don’t know anything about me. I don’t know anything about you. And this Cal guy…” He covers his face, exasperated. “I mean… I have a daughter I don’t even remember…” He laughs angrily. “Years of my life. All of these things happened, and I don’t remember any of it. No one bothered to tell me. What am I supposed to do with this?” He anxiously begins pacing the room. “I’m trying. I really am. I thought if I could make the first step in talking to you that I could do it, but…”
I can see the confusion in his face, the worry, the uncertainty. He’s just as lost as I am, maybe even more. I don’t know what to say to change that, or if I can say anything to change it. I’m not used to seeing him so frantic and on edge. This isn’t the him I’m used to at all.
“I know this is hard for you. I can’t begin to imagine what you’re going through right now,” I say honestly, trying to comfort him in some form.
“I don’t know anything about you.” His tone is apologetic, but his eyes and expression are compassionate.
Still his words hurt; they feel like a knife penetrating my heart. That familiar face is looking back at me, but his eyes show no sign of recognition, nor do his words.
“But when you look at me, it’s like you know everything about me,” he says. His eyes are on me, staring into mine as if he’s trying to see inside me, as though if he stared hard enough, he’d have the answers to all his questions. “I have enough trouble with one life. How am I supposed to deal with one I don’t know anything about? One that… that isn’t really mine?”
I open my mouth to respond to him then realize that he thinks this is easier for me. He doesn’t realize what I’ve been through… what I’m going through. I pause, trying to carefully choose my words so as not to agitate or overwhelm him.
“When your parents told me about you,” I begin warily, “it was the hardest thing I’ve ever experienced, the most difficult thing I’ve ever had to listen to. I was hurt and confused; I didn’t even believe them… I didn’t want to believe them.” I clench my wrist as I continue. “I’m still hurt. I am still confused. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to say to…to you.” I hear my voice crack.
He turns around to face me.
“I can’t compromise with someone I don’t know either.” I take a few breaths to try to steady my heartbeat, but it’s futile as my pulse continues to race. I can feel his eyes on me and I continue to stare at the floor. “When you look at me… it’s as if I’m a burden… a problem, and you have no idea how much that hurts.” I swallow the lump in my throat, hot tears in my eyes as I finally look up at him.
He looks as if he’s going to say something then doesn’t. His eyes take my place and become glued to the floor.
“I don’t blame you for it,” I quickly add. “I can’t… but you have to understand that you have Cal’s…” I laugh as the tears are unavoidable, but I try to maintain a steady voice as I continue. “You… you have his smile, his voice, his eyes…”
I feel myself smile through my tears when I think back to when Cal would smile at me, without being condescending, manipulative, or arrogant—those rare moments when he’d truly smile.
“When I look at you… I can’t help but see him. And it hurts knowing that you weren’t the one who stole my heart when you first smiled at me, who took me bungee jumping on our first date, that you weren’t the one who told me I’m the only woman you’ve ever loved. But you’re… you’re not him, and you’re in love with someone else.” I feel embarrassed as tears stream down my cheeks, but he needs to see them, to know that I’m a person. “So I’m sort of having a hard time with this.” I chuckle, finally wiping away some of the fallen tears.
“Even knowing all of it, I don’t how I’m supposed to get past it,” I explain. “How I’m supposed to deal with this… if I even can, but I’m willing to try because of that little girl in that picture. I’d do anything for her, including giving up the only person I’ve ever been in love with…”
He looks at me, dumbfounded. I feel myself starting to break down, and I take a deep breath, wiping away all of my tears once more, commanding my eyes to stop it. I walk over to him, forcing myself to see someone new, to not see Cal, but to see… Chris.
“I-I’m sorry. Please don’t cry.” His voice is shaky, his expression one I’ve never seen before.
I see him looking around nervously. He searches his pocket and pulls out a napkin, the rough kind that usually comes from a fast food restaurant. I take it and wipe my eyes.
“I know you didn’t ask for this,” I say. “I know this isn’t your fault. And I know that you want to believe none of this is your problem, but it is, and it’s mine too… but it’s not Caylen’s. I’m willing to accept that you’re not Cal, that you aren’t my husband; I can learn to do that. But I can’t relieve you of being Caylen’s father. You’re part of her.” I speak sternly enough to get the point across, yet tenderly enough to not frighten him. “And that’s all I’m really sure about. That’s all that I can think of to say to you.”
The silence returns.
I walk over to the sofa and sit down, resting my head in my hands. A few minutes later, I feel him sit beside me. I look over at him. He’s in deep thought with his hands clasped together. I’ve never seen him… Cal… like this before. Cal never let me know when anything was wrong except that one occasion; when he was upset about anything, he always tried to hide it. He was very good at doing that.
“My parents say that he’s… they describe him like…” He trails off as if he’s trying to find the right words, afraid of offending me.