“Griffin.” She frowns over my shoulder, and I don’t have to look to know what’s happening. “What are we filming?”
“My apology.” Might as well cut to the chase. “I wanted to document the whole thing, including the moment where you tell me to go to hell if that’s what feels right. I mean, I hope it’s not, but you’d have every right to.”
This isn’t coming out like I planned, but maybe that’s the point. I’m here to speak from the heart and to let the whole damn world hear it if it comes to that. They can do what they want with this footage. I made that clear when I called Lauren last night.
But just as important is that Soph sees this. That she witnesses what it looks like when her dad screws up and does his best to fix it.
Dragging a hand through my hair, I start again. “Mari, I messed up. I was angry and hurt, and I took it out on you. I’m sorry. Truly, deeply sorry.”
“It’s okay.” Her voice is guarded and barely a whisper. “It’s fine, Griff. You’re entitled to your feelings.”
“But I’m not entitled to behave like a kid throwing a fit.” I glance at Soph. “Sorry. That’s an insult to kids.”
“It’s okay.” She grins. “Keep going, Dad.”
God, I love my daughter.
And I also love this woman standing on her doorstep looking at me like she’s unsure whether to kick me or hear me out. I take a deep breath and start again.
“I’m a grown-ass man who knows better than to lash out like that. I’m sorry, and you have every right to think I’m a grade-A jerk.” I reach for her hand, hoping like hell she’ll let me take it. Her fingers are soft and cool as I lace them together with mine. “I’m sorry, Mari. I felt embarrassed and surprised, and I didn’t respond well to either of those things. You deserve better.”
Tears glitter in her eyes, but she blinks them back. Glancing at the cameras, she gives a quick nod. “All right. Thank you.”
“Jesus, I’ve missed you.” I’m going off script here, but I don’t care. This isn’t about apologizing anymore. It’s about making sure she understands how much she means to me.
“For a long time, I’ve been afraid of feeling things. Afraid of putting myself in a situation to be blindsided and hurt again.” My voice shakes a little, a sign I’m getting into painful territory.
A sign I’m being my truest, most honest self. That’s what Mari deserves.
“I’ve been so damn scared of letting anyone see me be vulnerable,” I continue. “It was the part of this show that terrified the crap out of me, and I thought I could skate around it. But you called me on my bullshit and let me see it’s not so scary to put myself out there.” Laughing, I correct myself. “Actually, that’s a lie. It’s scary as hell, but it’s better than the alternative.”
Her fingers clench in mine. “Which is what?”
“Living without you. Not hearing your voice or seeing you smile or listening to you spout psychology at the dinner table like the smartest fucking person I know.” I glance at Soph. “Sorry.”
“Say ‘blimey,’ next time,” she suggests. “Or ‘bollocks.’”
“Good idea.” I squeeze Mari’s hands. “I can’t imagine a world where I can’t talk with you about things that matter. Where I can’t kiss you or hold your hand or tell you how much you mean to me.”
I swallow hard, conscious of the cameras, but no longer caring. “We’re good together, Mari. You make me want to be a better guy, not just for you, but for Soph, too.”
My kid steps closer and leans into my arm. “You should probably forgive him,” Soph says. “And maybe kiss or something.”
Mari smiles and swipes at her eye. “You think so, huh?”
“That’s up to Mari,” I say. “You can’t make someone forgive you. But you still apologize because it’s the right thing to do.”
I didn’t mean to make this into a teaching moment, but Soph nods. “You did screw up pretty bad.”
“Not helping, Soph.”
“Sorry.”
Mari’s smiling, but the hurt’s still in her eyes. I don’t blame her a bit. I did screw up badly. “Thank you,” she says. “That means a lot to me. I know it wasn’t easy to say.”
“There’s one more thing.”
“What’s that?” She licks her lips, and I fight the urge to get lost staring at her mouth.
“I made an appointment,” I say. “For myself. With a shrink Soph’s therapist referred me to. Someone who works with divorced guys.”
Her brow furrows. “You’re seeing a therapist?”
“Yeah.” I realize now this sounds like a gimmick, but that’s not what it’s about. “You were right,” I continue. “Therapy isn’t the devil. I have stuff I need to work through. Anger over how the divorce went down. Feelings of embarrassment and inadequacy.”
Saying these words out loud doesn’t sting like I thought it would. It’s like Mari said.
“Admitting you messed up doesn’t make you dumb or weak. It makes you strong and kind and self-aware.”
Right now, I’m very aware of Mari. The way her chest rises and falls with her breathing. The softness of her hand in mine. The way she’s looking at me like she just might give me another shot.
“But—” She hesitates. “You don’t trust psychologists.”
“Not true.” I draw her hand to my mouth, brushing a kiss over her knuckles. “I happen to be in love with one. Mari, I love you. So much.”
She blinks at me. Slowly, a smile spreads over her face. It gets bigger and bigger until she throws her arms around me. “I love you, too.” She sniffles in my ear, and it’s the best sound I’ve heard for days. “I’m sorry, too. If I could have told you about Gabrielle—”
“I know.” I squeeze her tighter, reveling in how good it feels to have her in my arms. “You don’t owe me any apologies. I’m the one who screwed up.”
She draws back, swiping at her eyes. “You know what?”
“What?”
“I think we both screwed up. But that’s the beauty of being human—we can learn from it and move on to become smarter and stronger and better partners for each other.”
“God.” I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. “So you’ll give me another chance?”
“I’ll give us another chance.” She smiles at Soph. “How’d we do with the apologies?”
“Good.” My daughter grins up at us. “You can send me to get a cupcake if you want to be alone.”
With a laugh, I snake out an arm and drag her into our hug. As Mari wraps an arm around her, the three of us rock together like some strange, three-headed beast.
I don’t know how long we embrace like that before applause erupts behind us. I don’t need to turn to know it’s Lana and Gabe and Lauren clapping like lunatics with the cameras rolling.
Mari’s door is still open behind her, and Leonard chooses that moment to interject himself.