“Grant . . .” I followed him a few steps into the parking lot.
“No, that’s not the way this works.” He spun around on me, throwing his arms out at his sides. He looked angry. Chernobyl angry. “You don’t get to hide my daughter from me, surprise me with her like this, then decide how this is going to work.”
Something that felt like a sob lodged in my throat. “I’m sorry.”
A sharp sound came from him as he put more distance between us. “Yeah, so am I. I’m fucking sorry I missed out on seven years of my child’s life. Sorry I spent those years missing the shit out of you.” He stopped, remorse settling into his expression with the anger. “Goddammit. This is why I need to leave, Ryan. Before I say anything else I regret.” Without another word, he disappeared inside his truck and tore out of the parking lot.
I stood there for a forever longer. Waiting. Wondering. Doubting.
Terrified that everything I’d tried to get right had gone all wrong.
SPACE. WHAT DID that mean? How much space? How long would he need that space? Did space mean he wanted nothing to do with either of us? Did it mean he needed time to get a lawyer?
Or did it just mean that he needed some time alone to process the bomb I’d dropped on him?
That was what I guessed it was. That was what I was hoping it was. That was what I needed it to be.
Grant had stormed out of the motel on Tuesday night, and now it was Saturday. The waiting had killed me. I wasn’t sure how much more I could take, but I’d have to accept whatever amount of time Grant needed. Because he was right. I didn’t get to call the shots after what I’d done. I didn’t get to decide how this was going to work. I didn’t get to orchestrate how he’d react to the news or how he’d respond to the future.
I’d done enough, and god knew I’d done plenty of it wrong. It was his choice how this would work from here. I just hoped he wanted to be a part of it.
“Mom, your phone’s ringing!” Charlie called from the living room where she was working on some math problems. She’d finished kindergarten in a public school back in Oregon, but with all of the changes, I was homeschooling her now that she would have started first grade. It worked out well though, since I wasn’t working and Charlie read at a fourth-grade level and was already doing third-grade math.
“On my way.” I wiped my hands clean of tomato sauce splatter and hustled as fast as my body would let me into the living room.
The call was about to go to voicemail, but I caught it right in time. I realized a moment after saying hello who the number belonged to.
“Ryan?”
My face flattened, my hand going to my chest when I heard his voice. Charlie didn’t know about anything that had happened last week, and I wasn’t going to tell her until I knew where Grant stood on it all. She knew she had a dad, of course, and she even knew who he was, but she didn’t know he was the reason I’d come back here.
“I’m here,” I said after a minute, slowly making my way back into the kitchen, so the most perceptive child to have ever been born didn’t pick up on her mom acting strangely.
“I was wondering if I could come by tomorrow night?” His words were slow and controlled, but I could just make out the emotion he was trying to keep from his tone. “I’ve got a game at one in Dallas, and was thinking I could stop by after? You know, if you’re still at the Starlight.”
“We’re still here. That’s a long drive though,” was all I could think to say. I was just so relieved and surprised and pick-an-adjective that he’d called. That he’d had his space and now he was ready . . . for whatever came next.
“I’ll take a flight.”
“Do you think you can find one last minute like that?” I absently went back to the saucepan to stir the marinara, though I should have been beating myself over the head with the wooden spoon for discussing logistics instead of rejoicing that he was communicating with me, with words and everything.
“I’ll charter a plane. It’s a short flight, but I might not make it in until later. Maybe seven? Eight o’clock?” There was a carefulness in his words, like he was picking each one deliberately.
“We’ll be here.”
On the other end, Grant cleared his throat. “Okay. See you then.”
A moment later, the line went dead.
I was still smiling into the saucepan when Charlie poked her head in the kitchen a few minutes later. “I’m all done with my math. Can we go to the park and play now?”
Giving the sauce one more taste, I turned off the burner and decided dinner could wait. My seven-year-old daughter asking me to take her to the park could not.