I stepped back and away from the railing, suddenly cold. Backwards I walked to my bedroom, one step, two steps … then I lurched forward, throwing myself against the railing to peer over into the space between me and the ground.
Oh my god. Had I really done that?
I had, and my heart was aching for a goddamn penny. You're an idiot, I told myself. Until tonight you didn't even know he still had the penny. But, that wasn't really true. I'd seen inside his Trojan horse when I'd broken into his house. He'd kept it all those years. But, he had a baby, and babies had a way of making people throw out the past and start new. I walked back to my bedroom and shut the door. I walked back into my bedroom and shut the door, and climbed into bed, and climbed into my life, and cried, cried, cried. Like a baby.
The next morning I took my coffee out there. I was dragging, and I told myself the fresh air would be good. What I really wanted was to stand at the site of where I murdered my penny. God, would I ever stop being so melodramatic? I was halfway to the balcony with my coffee clutched in my hands, when my foot passed over something cold. I backed up a step, looked down, and saw my penny.
Gah!
The wind. It must have blown it back toward me when I threw it. I didn't pick it up until I was through drinking my coffee. I just sort of stood there and stared at it. When I finally crouched down to retrieve it, I knew. You couldn't get rid of the past. You couldn't ignore it, or bury it, or throw it over the balcony. You just had to learn to live beside it. It had to peacefully co-exist with your present. If I could figure out how to do that, I could be okay. I took the penny inside and pulled my copy of Great Expectations off the bookshelf. I taped the penny to the title page and slid the book back in. There. Right where it belonged.
I kiss her as I slide my hand up her skirt. She pants into my mouth and her legs tense as she waits for my fingers to push past her panties. I let my hand linger at the place where the material meets her skin. I enjoy the chase. I don't have sex with easy women. She says my name, and I tug at the material. I'm going to have sex with her. She's beautiful. She's funny. She's intelligent.
"I'm sorry," I say. "I can't do this."
I pull away from her and drop my head in my hands. God.
"What is it?" She scoots closer to me on the couch and puts an arm around my shoulders. She's nice. That makes it worse.
"I'm in love with someone," I say. "She's not mine, but this still feels like I'm cheating on her."
She starts to giggle. My head jerks up to look at her.
"I'm sorry," she says, covering her mouth. "That's pathetic and a bit romantic, yeah?"
I smile.
"She in America, this girl?"
"Can we not talk about her?"
She rubs my back and pulls her dress down.
"It's okay. You're not really my type. I've just always wanted to bang an American. Like in the movies."
She gets up and wanders over to my fridge. "This is a nice flat. You should buy some furniture." She takes out two beers and carries one over to me. I look around the room guiltily. I've been here for two months and the only thing in the room is a couch the last owner left behind and a bed I purchased the day I got here. I need to make some purchases.
"We can be friends," she says, sitting down next to me. "Now, tell me her name so I can Facebook stalk the girl who cockblocked me."
I run a hand across my face. "She doesn't have a Facebook. I don't want to say her name."
"Caleb … " she whines.
"Sara."
"All right," she says, standing up. "I'll see you at the gym then. Call me if you want to get drinks. No sex attached."
I nod and walk her to the door. She's a nice girl. Even nicer to take that whole situation with such good humor.
When she's gone, I pull out my computer. I order a kitchen table, a bed, and a living room set. Then I go through my emails. Almost everything in my inbox is work related. My mother emails me daily, but I've yet to respond to any of them. When I see my father's name, I start. My mother must have told him I was back in London. I click on his name.
Caleb,
Heard you were back in town. Let's get together for dinner. Call me.
That's all he wrote to the son he hasn't seen in five years. Eh. Why not? I pull out my phone and text the number in the email. Might as well get the reunion over with. Maybe he'd surprise me and be less of an asshole than the last time I had dinner with him and he spent the entire two hours texting on his Blackberry.
He texts back almost immediately and says he'll meet me at a local pub tomorrow night. I wander over to my bed and fall into it, still dressed.
My father hasn't changed much in the five years since I've seen him. He's greyer … maybe. And what gray he's chosen to keep is probably as planned out as his tan - which I know has to be spray because he turns bright red in God's sun.
"You look like me!" he says, before embracing me in a man hug.
I pat his back and sit down, grinning. God, I hate this bastard, but it's good to see him.
He acts like we've been together every day for the last five years. It's all an act. My father is a salesman. He could make a terrorist feel at home in an electric chair. I let him do his thing and drink heavily.
Finally, he gets down to why I'm here.
"It's right up your alley, actually," I tell him. "A woman I wanted who didn't want me, and a kid I wanted to be mine and wasn't."
He grimaces. "That's not up my alley, son. I get the women I want."
I laugh.
"She must have had quite an effect on you to chase you out of your beloved America."
I don't answer that.
Suddenly, he sobers up. "I wanted to see my granddaughter. When I thought she was my granddaughter, that is."
I watch his face for lack of sincerity but find none. He's not blowing smoke up my ass or saying something to be polite. He's aging and getting a taste of his mortality. He genuinely wanted to meet Estella.
"I heard your ex-wife is worst than my first ex-wife." He smirks. "How did you manage that deal?"
"I'm the same type of fool as you, I guess."
He smirks.
"Come over to the house for dinner. Meet my new wife."
"Sure," I say.
"She has a younger sister … "
"Ugh. You're so sick." I shake my head and he laughs.
My phone rings. It's an American number. I look at my father, and he motions for me to take the call. "I'll be back," I say, standing up. When I answer, I immediately recognize the voice.
"Moira," I say.
"Hello, my dear. I have news."
"Okay … " My mind is spinning. I glance at my watch. It's around two o'clock stateside.
"Are you sitting down?"
"Out with it, Moira."
"When your ex-wife took Estella into the clinic to get the blood work done, she used Leah Smith on her paperwork instead of Johanna. There was another Leah Smith in the database-"
I cut her off. "What are you saying?"
"You got someone else's results, Caleb. Estella is yours. Ninety-nine point nine percent yours."
"Oh my god."
It turns out Leah was in the process of getting another test when the clinic found their mistake. She hadn't wanted me to think Estella wasn't mine. That would ruin her long-term plan of making me battle her in court for custody, all the while looking like I abandoned my daughter. And I had abandoned her. I hadn't fought to know the truth. I had been so blinded by my hurt that I never looked at the situation hard enough. I hate myself for that. I've missed so many important milestones in her life, and why? Because I'm an idiot.
Since I'm living in another country, Moira tells me I won't have to be there for all the court dates. I fly back anyway. Leah looks genuinely surprised to see me in court. I fly back three times in three months. I signed a one-year contract with the company in London, or I would have moved back already. When the judge sees me appear at all three hearings, he grants me three weeks a year, and since I am living in England, he will allow Estella to spend the time there as long as she is accompanied by a family member. It's a small victory. Leah is pissed. Three weeks. Twenty-one days out of three hundred and sixty-five. I try not to focus on that. I get my daughter for three uninterrupted weeks. And the year is almost over. Next year Moira will go for joint. I just have to finish out my contract and I can move back. It's settled that my mother will fly with Estella to London. When I ask if I can see Estella before I fly back, Leah says she has the stomach flu and it would be too traumatic for her. I'm forced to wait. I fly home and start getting things ready. I buy a twin bed and put it in the spare bedroom. I'll only get her for a week the first time, but I want her to feel like my flat is her home. So, I buy little girl looking things - a duvet with ponies and flowers, a dollhouse, a fluffy pink chair with its own ottoman. Two days before my mother is scheduled to fly in with her, I fill my fridge with kid food. I can barely sleep. I am so excited.
I spend forty minutes in a toy store trying to decide what to get Estella. In the movies when parents are reunited with their children, they have a pastel-colored stuffed animal in their hands - usually a bunny. Since a cliché is the worst thing a person can be, I browse the aisles until I find a stuffed llama. I hold it in my hands for a few minutes, smiling like a fool. Then I carry it to the register.