Proving Paul's Promise
Page 48
“We’ll talk about it,” he assures her.
“Oh, and she has a recital next week!” She rushes out the door.
“I’ll be there,” Paul says to her back. The door closes, and Paul sits down on his haunches in front of Hayley. “What did we say about that word?”
She hangs her head and goes into her room. She comes back with a quarter and holds it up. Paul takes it and puts it in a jar on top of the fridge. I give him a crazy look.
“The swear jar,” he whispers. “Every time she says a bad word, she has to put in a quarter. And if she catches me saying a bad word, I have to put in a quarter.” I see a ten-dollar bill in there. He laughs. “Sam paid in advance.”
“I’m going to go broke,” I say. I do watch my mouth around Hayley, although that’s really the only time I even think about what a potty mouth I have.
“Probably.” He laughs and sets the table. Hayley climbs in a chair, and he fixes a plate for her. We all sit down and have a really nice meal, and Hayley chatters with him about her week. I watch the two of them together, and my heart twitches and my insides do that melty thing they do when I’m moved by the awesomeness that is Paul and Hayley
“You okay?” he asks after we clear the table and put the dishes in the dishwasher. Hayley runs to play in her room for a few minutes, and we move to the couch. He sinks down beside me and drapes his arm around my shoulders. It’s nice, so I lean into him.
“I’m great.” We sit silently for a little while, and then I have a thought. “Can I show you something?” I wince to myself because I am not sure what he’ll do with this situation.
“You can show me anything you want after Hayley’s in bed,” he says quietly. My tummy drops toward my toes. He kisses the tip of my nose.
“No, it’s not that,” I say. Although I plan on showing him some of that later, too. Now that he’s not going to hold his love hostage, I’m ready to take him inside me. And I think he’s ready to be taken. “It’s something else. Are you up for it?”
He nods, looking at me curiously.
I go to my room and reach onto my shelf, taking down a small shoebox. My hands tremble as I lower it. I’m afraid. I’m terribly afraid. But I take it down, tuck it under my arm, take a deep breath, and go back out to the living room. I sit down next to him, and he eyes the box with a worried expression.
“What’s this?” he asks, sitting forward.
I remove the top off the box and take out a pile of pictures. I hand him one. “This is Jacob,” I say. My eyes fill with tears, and I don’t even try to blink them back. I let them fall over my lashes and onto my cheeks. Paul brushes them away, but I really don’t want him to. I want to feel all of this because I have forced myself not to feel it for so very long.
“This is when he was born.” I point to the squirmy little ball of red skin and dark hair. Paul looks from me to it.
“He looks like you,” he says.
I shake my head. “He looks more like his dad, I think.” These f**king tears keep falling. I’m not crying. It’s like someone opened an emotional dam in me and I can’t get it to close. I don’t want it to.
“What happened to his dad?” Paul asks.
“He died,” I say. I have to stop and clear my throat. “Drug overdose a few years after Jacob was born. I read about it in the paper.”
“I’m so sorry.”
I sniff. “I am, too.” I feel like I need to explain, and for the first time ever, I want to. “We were young, and we played around with marijuana and stuff. But I cut it all out when I found out I was pregnant with Jacob. He didn’t. He wasn’t able. It was really sad when I couldn’t be with him anymore. I didn’t have anyone else. But I didn’t really have him, either. The drugs had him, you know?”
He nods. I hand him more pictures, and he flips through them. I have looked at them so much that they’re dog-eared in places. He holds one up from when Jacob was about three. “You can’t tell me he doesn’t look like you. Look at those eyes! He’s so handsome.”
My eyes fill with tears again, but I smile through them. He is perfect. And I should be able to hear someone say so.
“Look at that smirk!” Paul cries when he sees the most recent one. “That is so you!”
I grin. I guess he’s right.
“Where is your family, Friday?” he asks.
“I don’t know,” I tell him. I lay my head on his shoulder and watch as he takes in the photos over and over, poring through the stack so he can point out ways that Jacob looks like me. “They kicked me out when I got pregnant. Terminated their rights.”
Paul presses his lips to my forehead and doesn’t say anything.
“I thought I knew everything back then.” I laugh and wipe my eyes with the hem of my dress. “Turns out I didn’t know shit.”
“Do you ever think about looking for them?”
I shake my head. “No. Never.” I point to special pictures of my son. “His mom—her name is Jill—she sometimes sends me special milestone pictures. This is his first tooth he got and the first tooth he lost. And this one is from his first step. That wasn’t even part of the agreement. She just does it because she wants me to know how he’s doing.” I try to grin through the tears. “He’s doing so great. He’s smart. And they can send him to college and to special schools. He takes piano, and he plays sports. And Jill says he likes to paint.” My voice cracks, and I don’t hate that it does. I just let it.
“Oh, and she has a recital next week!” She rushes out the door.
“I’ll be there,” Paul says to her back. The door closes, and Paul sits down on his haunches in front of Hayley. “What did we say about that word?”
She hangs her head and goes into her room. She comes back with a quarter and holds it up. Paul takes it and puts it in a jar on top of the fridge. I give him a crazy look.
“The swear jar,” he whispers. “Every time she says a bad word, she has to put in a quarter. And if she catches me saying a bad word, I have to put in a quarter.” I see a ten-dollar bill in there. He laughs. “Sam paid in advance.”
“I’m going to go broke,” I say. I do watch my mouth around Hayley, although that’s really the only time I even think about what a potty mouth I have.
“Probably.” He laughs and sets the table. Hayley climbs in a chair, and he fixes a plate for her. We all sit down and have a really nice meal, and Hayley chatters with him about her week. I watch the two of them together, and my heart twitches and my insides do that melty thing they do when I’m moved by the awesomeness that is Paul and Hayley
“You okay?” he asks after we clear the table and put the dishes in the dishwasher. Hayley runs to play in her room for a few minutes, and we move to the couch. He sinks down beside me and drapes his arm around my shoulders. It’s nice, so I lean into him.
“I’m great.” We sit silently for a little while, and then I have a thought. “Can I show you something?” I wince to myself because I am not sure what he’ll do with this situation.
“You can show me anything you want after Hayley’s in bed,” he says quietly. My tummy drops toward my toes. He kisses the tip of my nose.
“No, it’s not that,” I say. Although I plan on showing him some of that later, too. Now that he’s not going to hold his love hostage, I’m ready to take him inside me. And I think he’s ready to be taken. “It’s something else. Are you up for it?”
He nods, looking at me curiously.
I go to my room and reach onto my shelf, taking down a small shoebox. My hands tremble as I lower it. I’m afraid. I’m terribly afraid. But I take it down, tuck it under my arm, take a deep breath, and go back out to the living room. I sit down next to him, and he eyes the box with a worried expression.
“What’s this?” he asks, sitting forward.
I remove the top off the box and take out a pile of pictures. I hand him one. “This is Jacob,” I say. My eyes fill with tears, and I don’t even try to blink them back. I let them fall over my lashes and onto my cheeks. Paul brushes them away, but I really don’t want him to. I want to feel all of this because I have forced myself not to feel it for so very long.
“This is when he was born.” I point to the squirmy little ball of red skin and dark hair. Paul looks from me to it.
“He looks like you,” he says.
I shake my head. “He looks more like his dad, I think.” These f**king tears keep falling. I’m not crying. It’s like someone opened an emotional dam in me and I can’t get it to close. I don’t want it to.
“What happened to his dad?” Paul asks.
“He died,” I say. I have to stop and clear my throat. “Drug overdose a few years after Jacob was born. I read about it in the paper.”
“I’m so sorry.”
I sniff. “I am, too.” I feel like I need to explain, and for the first time ever, I want to. “We were young, and we played around with marijuana and stuff. But I cut it all out when I found out I was pregnant with Jacob. He didn’t. He wasn’t able. It was really sad when I couldn’t be with him anymore. I didn’t have anyone else. But I didn’t really have him, either. The drugs had him, you know?”
He nods. I hand him more pictures, and he flips through them. I have looked at them so much that they’re dog-eared in places. He holds one up from when Jacob was about three. “You can’t tell me he doesn’t look like you. Look at those eyes! He’s so handsome.”
My eyes fill with tears again, but I smile through them. He is perfect. And I should be able to hear someone say so.
“Look at that smirk!” Paul cries when he sees the most recent one. “That is so you!”
I grin. I guess he’s right.
“Where is your family, Friday?” he asks.
“I don’t know,” I tell him. I lay my head on his shoulder and watch as he takes in the photos over and over, poring through the stack so he can point out ways that Jacob looks like me. “They kicked me out when I got pregnant. Terminated their rights.”
Paul presses his lips to my forehead and doesn’t say anything.
“I thought I knew everything back then.” I laugh and wipe my eyes with the hem of my dress. “Turns out I didn’t know shit.”
“Do you ever think about looking for them?”
I shake my head. “No. Never.” I point to special pictures of my son. “His mom—her name is Jill—she sometimes sends me special milestone pictures. This is his first tooth he got and the first tooth he lost. And this one is from his first step. That wasn’t even part of the agreement. She just does it because she wants me to know how he’s doing.” I try to grin through the tears. “He’s doing so great. He’s smart. And they can send him to college and to special schools. He takes piano, and he plays sports. And Jill says he likes to paint.” My voice cracks, and I don’t hate that it does. I just let it.
