We stare at each other again, something we seem to be doing a lot of lately. It's hard to explain, but seeing someone you used to know so well after so long, after they've become a stranger, it's a weird feeling. I imagine it'd be easier to start a brand new relationship than repair one that's deteriorated to this level.
“It's been good having you around,” Gill says and my lips purse. “Even if you hate me,” he adds which just irritates me. I know he's trying to make light of his first comment, but it isn't working.
“I don't hate you, Gill. I just don't understand you, don't understand what it is that you want from me. You keep sending mixed signals. One moment, you couldn't care less, and the next, you're just staring at me.”
“Is Solène your daughter?” he asks suddenly, and I feel lightheaded, like the restaurant is spinning in circles around me and I'm the one sitting still. Gill stares hard at me, his blue eyes open and locked onto their target. “I've been watching you with her, and I can't get past the resemblance.”
“I …” It takes me a moment to figure out the expression on his face, understand the anger resting there, realize what his exact words were. Your daughter. He doesn't think she's his. Whether it's because of the false birthday or because he's so unwilling to face the truth of his life, I don't know.
I feel sick.
I stand up and the room shifts around me.
“Please don't walk way,” Gill says just before the waitress sets my espresso and his orange juice down on the table. She gives me a look and then scurries away like she'd rather not get involved. I decide to sit down, but not because Gill asked me to, because I have nowhere else to go. I don't have a car, don't have the money he promised me yet, don't have a phone.
“What are you asking exactly?” I ask, my voice breathy.
“Is Solène your biological daughter?”
“Yes.” That one single word burns across my tongue as I say it, and I find that I can't look at Gill, can only look down at the place setting in front of me, the cup and plate with the word espresso stamped all over them in cursive writing.
When I glance up, I see Gill nodding, the muscles in his shoulders tight and stiff, his teeth clenched.
“I thought so,” he says and my stomach drops. I pick up my coffee with shaking fingers and take a scalding sip, not caring that it sears over my tongue. “I'm sorry to call you out like that, but I'm … I'm not usually this caught off guard by things.” How's this for catching you off guard—she's your daughter, too, you asshole. “Maybe this wasn't the right way to go about it, but I needed to hear it from you.”
“Damn straight it wasn't the right way,” I whisper fiercely, my temper flaring as I clench my own teeth and squeeze the espresso mug in my hand. “You brought me here to interrogate me about it, not to talk.”
“I'm not interrogating you, Regi. I'm just surprised is all.”
“Surprised?” I blurt, feeling a rush of white hot pain as I switch my gaze to his tattoos instead of his face. I can't look at him anymore without feeling sick. “How are you surprised? You've been gone for ten years, Gill. You don't know anything about me. I could have a half dozen kids for all you'd know.”
“I …” Gill sounds like he's about to say something and then changes his mind. “I just didn't expect you to go out and meet someone three months after I left.”
I stare at him across the table, completely aghast at his statement and his reasoning.
Gill is mad. He's upset. He's jealous. And all because he thinks I went out and fucked some guy a few months after he abandoned me.
“You really have changed, haven't you?” I say, standing up again. I have to fight the urge to throw my espresso in his face. But I, I am a fucking grown-up, and I will handle this like one. “The Gilleon Marchal I used to know was kind and sensitive and strong, not some stone hearted asshole who was quick to judge and even quicker to condemn.” I spread my fingers and stare at my palm for a moment before turning and walking away, right out the front doors of the restaurant and into the rain.
Droplets splatter against my hair, against my bare arms and the exposed skin on my back, but I don't care. I step out of my heels, grab them, and start walking down the street, right through the puddles and the scattered yellow leaves.
I know the second he starts after me, can feel his presence like a whirlwind chasing along the sidewalk.
“Regi, wait,” he says, catching up to me and slinging his jacket over my shoulders. “Please don't walk away. I'm sorry I said that. I …” His jaw clenches again and the next words come out in a low growl. “I'm just jealous.”