Rubbing my tired eyes with the heel of my palms, I remind myself I’ve done everything I can. That’s all I can do.
Knock, knock. The knock at the door makes me hold my breath as I quickly turn around to stare down the hall. My eyes are laser focused on Bridget’s bedroom. As if I can see through the walls and know instantly if she woke up.
Shoot, shoot, shoot. I’m quick to set the laptop on the coffee table, nearly tossing it down to get to the door before whoever’s there can knock again.
Who would come over this late at night? The question makes me feel more annoyed as I unlock the lock and pull open the door.
Until I see Brody standing there.
The anxiousness from work? Nonexistent.
The annoyance that someone would wake up Bridget? Dulled.
Guilt-ridden nerves spread through every inch of me as I wrap my robe tighter around myself and feel the salty night breeze shift my hair off my shoulders … yup, that’s what takes over. Guilt.
All because of the look in his eyes. There’s a worry there, a knowing look. I can barely breathe as I swallow thickly. “Brody, you’re here late.”
My murmur is even and then, glancing behind me to check Bridget’s door one last time, I step outside and gently close the door behind me.
The stars are out tonight, the moon too and its light filters through the leaves of the overgrown trees that line the park out front. “You couldn’t call?”
My heart hammers, slowly but with precision at the sight of him. His black T-shirt is stretched across his broad shoulders, his striped shorts making him look like a model for some overpriced store at the mall a town over. But his hair is rumpled, and his expression lacking any charm, only hurt. His eyes tell me everything I need to know.
Still, I wait for him. “Bridget is sleeping… so,” I say and don’t bother finishing. The crickets from the park have made their presence known and it’s just them and us out here on my porch.
“You have a daughter?”
“Yes … I told you.” Even to my own ears, it sounds like an excuse.
“Who’s three?” he asks, and the light in his eyes dims.
“Yes,” I answer and swallow a lump of spikes in my throat. The unspoken question surrounds us and it threatens to be spoken if I don’t speak up myself: How could you not tell me?
“I don’t know … who the father is,” I say and it hurts to admit the truth. Brody’s sneakers smack down on the pavement as he turns his back to me. At first, I think he’s leaving, and it kills something inside I wanted to protect, but he’s only moved to sit on the porch step.
Tears leak from the corner of my eyes and I’m quick to brush them away, grateful he doesn’t see. I dealt with this shame years ago; I don’t want to go back to the girl I was back then.
“I was getting over my ex when we met at the bar.”
“Robert.” Brody says the name, clearly up to date.
“Yes,” I say and slowly, very slowly, I join him on the porch, taking a seat next to him and using the railing to lower me down.
His shoulders are hunched and the crickets pipe up once again in our silence.
“How could you not tell me?” I knew he would ask, but I still wasn’t prepared for how much it would hurt to hear him say it like an accusation.
“I left that week and I didn’t find out for two more months …” I still remember that moment. Having nothing, having no one and then realizing I hadn’t gotten my period since I’d been back. “I was shocked and I didn’t have your number or—”
“You knew where I was staying,” Brody cuts me off to insist, allowing both disappointment and anger to leak into the accusation.
“I didn’t. I was drunk, Brody. I didn’t even know your last name. I … was reckless and—” My throat tightens, explaining everything all over again. Feeling the shame and the remorse. I shouldn’t feel those emotions about my baby girl. I hate that I’m back in that place I was years ago. Feeling just as alone and like the scarlet letter on my chest is burning brighter than it did back then.
I sniffle, fighting back the tears, knowing that this is what it was all leading to, and it’s only then that Brody touches me. His large hand settles down on my thigh, half resting on the edge of my cotton nightgown and half on my bare skin. I’m grateful for the small bit of mercy and I’m quick to put my left hand over his. My right is busy brushing away the tears.
“Is she mine?”
“I don’t know. If I knew for sure, I’d tell you—but I don’t …” A long moment passes of quiet and I pull my hand away, in case he wants his own back. “It doesn’t matter because I’m not asking for anything if she is. I don’t want to put that pressure on you.”
His response comes with an edge when he says, “I have a right to know.”
“I know,” I say and my voice is just as defensive. “I know you do. But I thought I would never see you again.” I swallow down the next words that beg to tumble out. The ones that explain how I prayed and wished on every star that he would come to my rescue years ago. Like how little girls wish for their Prince Charming to take care of all their problems. I hoped that he would magically find me. I could tell him everything and that he would love me at a time in my life when so many people hated me. That he would see I was pregnant and that he’d want to know and help me through it all. But all the prayers and wishes were only words whispered at night that sometimes helped me sleep. Come every morning, I was alone. Robert was there too, sometimes. But Brody? I learned to accept I would never see him again.
I settle on a simple truth when he pulls his hand away. “I wanted to tell you for months, but you weren’t there to tell. So I just … I just learned to accept that it was never going to happen. Years later, you show up out of nowhere and expect me to be able to tell you. I don’t think you understand everything that it comes with. It’s not so simple, Brody.” I don’t realize that I have officially lost it, the tears streaming and my nose running until I sniffle and recognize that I need a tissue.
I’m only vaguely aware that Brody stands up with me, his hand gracing the small of my back for a fraction of a second as I hurry inside. I leave the door open for him and from the hall half bath, I know he shut the door from the thud that echoes back here.
Bracing a hand on the counter on each side of the sink, I gather my courage, not knowing if he came inside or simply left.
I don’t know which would be easier to take right now, because all I feel like doing is sagging into my bed and letting all of this out. Just to get it over with and move on.
With a gentle knock, the bathroom door creaks open and Brody stands behind me in the mirror. “You all right?” he asks and my shoulders hunch, my hands cover my face and I can only shake my head no.
I give myself a full second, maybe two, before reaching for the tissue box again only to find it empty and relying on toilet paper in its place. “I just need a moment and I’ll tell you everything.” My reddened eyes stare at his in the mirror as I say, “I promise. I’ll tell you anything you want to know. I just need a moment.”
Brody