Oh boy. The look she gives me.
“Told him if he wanted to contact you, to go through me first.”
“You threatened him?”
“What? No! Of course not. I simply asked him to contact me if he wanted to talk to you.”
“Or else you'd...?”
“You make me sound like a gangster.”
“At best, what you did was paternalistic and infantilizing of me.”
“Excuse me? I was protecting you.”
“I didn't ask you to insert yourself into my relationship with my father.”
“Yes, you did.”
“When?”
“The day you married me.”
“See? Paternalistic!”
“I didn't want to see you get hurt.”
“But you did hurt me, Andrew. You took away my choice. I can handle being contacted by Leo just fine.”
“I wanted to keep you safe.”
“No, you wanted to control the outcome.”
“Same thing.”
“NOT the same thing! And I've wondered why my father stopped contacting me. Now I know!”
I am so confused. “What?”
“Leo used to write me. Here and there. It wasn't more than every six or eight months, but it was something. And then the letters stopped.” She thinks for a moment, suspicion growing in her expression. “Right around when we got married.”
My shoulders drop. “Damn.”
“You kept his letters from me?”
“I don't understand what you're asking.”
“You've been blocking me from seeing Leo's letters,” she says slowly, anger building.
Oh, no. She's got this all wrong. “No.” I shake my head. “I haven't received anything from him until today.”
“Why should I believe you?”
“Because I don't lie to you.”
Silence ticks by like hope dying. How did we get to this point? I take in her gorgeous form, so big and round, her body a sacrifice to my own blood. Nothing in the world allows me to give to her what she is offering me in the form of our children, but I have to try.
And being her shield is all I can offer.
“Honey.” I walk over and take her hand, which hangs in mine. The pit of my stomach drops as she looks away from me. This is a new level of anger, uncharted emotional waters. I'm treading water. I've capsized my own boat and have no idea where to find land.
Better figure out how to stay above water before I lose my strength.
Her silence makes the waters choppier.
“I haven't received any other letters from him, Amanda,” I say softly, my heart pleading with hers for connection. “Just this one. And I'm coming to you about it.”
“You have a father,” she says, her voice hollowing out my gut. “Our children get James as a grandfather. You see your dad every week. He's a blowhard and has some seriously controlling tendencies, but he's here. He's around. He's engaged. Our kids will know him.” Those last two words come out hard, raw, and her voice shakes at the end. “I don't even know my own father.”
Her hand squeezes mine.
“I'm sorry.” A part of me wants to mention that our children only have one grandmother–her mother–but now isn’t the time for that. Amanda needs to say her piece.
I need to just listen.
This isn't something I can protect her from, is it? I was wrong.
And I should have realized it sooner.
“I don't even know how to process this, Andrew. It's bad enough my father crawls out of the woodwork after years of not hearing from him, but,” she gestures at her midsection, “now we have two babies coming soon, and my own husband isn't who I thought he was.”
A discordant note clangs through my brain.
“No.” I pull her to me, wrapping my arms around her. She doesn't fight the contact, but she doesn't look up at me, either. Her hands hang by her side. “Amanda, no. That's not where this needs to go.”
“It's not? Then where does it go, Andrew?” She finally looks up, and I hate what I see in her eyes.
Disappointment.
All of it for me.
“I–”
“Do you remember, when we were first dating, how you handed me that manila envelope with the research you did on my father? How horrified I was to know you went snooping into my past?”
“And you already knew where he was. And that he had three years to go.”
“Sure. I knew he was out but didn't know where he was. And here we are. Nothing changes, does it? You were intrusive and paternalistic then, and now you're still the same. Except I'm even more vulnerable.” Her hand pushes me away and she rubs her belly.
“That's not true.”
“Of course it is! My entire body is being stretched from the inside out–I'm growing two babies! Your babies! And you treat me like I'm some kind of child who can't handle the realities of her own life!”
“I do not.”
“You do! Why would you screen my contact with my own father?”
“Because I knew it would be painful.”
“This is more painful, Andrew.”
“I'll never do it again. Ever. You have my word.”
“Your word?” She lets out a scoffing sound that damn near breaks me.
“I promise that I will never, ever try to protect you without talking to you about it. Without making sure you are an equal partner in whatever worries I have about keeping you and your heart safe.”
“That's a start. But you did the same thing when we first met and here you are, doing it again.”
“I didn't make a promise to you then. I am now.”
She takes a moment to think about it, then concedes. “Fair point. You didn't promise then.” The hard look in her eyes loosens, but barely. “I've been so sad my father didn't answer my letters.”
“I'm sorry, honey. If it's my fault, I'll fix it.”
“How?”
“By talking to Leo.”
“No.”
“Fine. I won't.”
“No–I mean...” She sighs, then puts both hands on her belly, rubbing. All her attention is on the babies as seconds tick by, the beat of time making me feel pregnant, too.
“I'll do whatever you want.”
Suddenly, she looks up, tears making her eyes shine.
“He wants to see me?”
“Yes.”
“Does he know about them?”
“No.”
Squaring her shoulders, she stands as tall as she can while holding forty-five pounds of baby in her torso. “Well, then, he's about to find out.”
“Huh?'
“Do you have his number?”
“Yes.”
“Text him.”
“Now?”
“Yes.”
“You want to see him now?”
“I am thirty-eight weeks pregnant with twins, Andrew. It's now or never.”
“But–”
The glare I get tells me I'm in the doghouse, so don't argue.
So I don't.
Amanda says she'd like to see you, I type to Leo's number. I slip the phone in my breast pocket and look at her.