Page 22 of Trusting You
“Show us the way then, dear,” Eden says, then lays her palm on my back, a subtle clue to keep going through the motions. That I could have Lily for now, but eventually, I won’t.
Everyone’s quiet as we walk to short-term parking, even Lily. Air travel has made her drowsy, and a full bottle on top of it has virtually guaranteed a nap. Once we get in the car, I know she’s going to conk out. This is disappointing because it means the three of us will have to make small talk.
Turns out, my nervousness goes unheeded, because nobody wants to talk once I’ve secured Lily in her car seat and take the spot beside her. Eden sits in the front passenger seat, and Locke starts the car without a peep. He does, however, continuously look back in the rearview, glancing at his kid.
His kid.
I draw in a breath and stare out the window, but my hand won’t leave Lily’s chest.
Locke chooses a restaurant nearby his place. He parallel parks with surprising ease, and the three of us step out into a sunny, cool day. I hear kids laughing somewhere, that musical peal that all crowds of children can maintain.
“There’s a playground nearby,” Locke says as he meets me on Lily’s side of the car. “I checked.”
“Ah.” It’s all I can think to say because I don’t expect him to read me or my concerns that well.
“Do you mind if I get her out?”
I clench at the thought but don’t need Eden’s grounding stare to spit out the right answer. “Sure. Go ahead.”
It kills every fiber in me to step aside.
Locke opens the door and bends down, his shirt riding up and his jeans sliding down, showing off a peek of Calvin Klein boxer briefs.
I don’t know why, but it seems so juvenile to me, so out of place for a father to be reaching for his child.
Stop. Lily’s his. It’s been proven. Suck it up, already.
I hear Lily’s whimpering while Locke gently prods her, soon to become wails because she hates being woken up.
And yes, right there, when he unbuckles her harness and reaches for her, are the screams I expect.
It takes every rationale I possess not to shove him aside and reach for her, but I notice his wide eyes, his hand's frozen mid embrace as he debates what to do with a child who, such a sleeping angel a minute ago, is turning into a fast-second nightmare.
“She likes it when you sing,” I say over wails that hurt my soul.
“Sing?” he echoes, still bent over the car seat like some ghoul.
“Nursery rhymes, Twinkle Twinkle, something like that. Do you know any?”
He’s got that stunned look like he’s frantically trying to recall his childhood, and before I can intervene, because fuck this, he starts belting out Mary Had a Little Lamb.
In an instant, Lily, the traitor, trails off into happy babbles, the tears not even dry on her cheeks. She reaches her chubby arms for him as he continues to sing, making up words at this point because he only knows the chorus, bumbling as he rests her on his hips, then bursting at the seams when he tickles her tummy and makes her laugh.
“They have a table for us,” Eden says as her heels clip-clop over. I didn’t even register that she’d gone into the restaurant and found us seats.
“Great,” Locke replies, but he doesn’t tear his eyes off Lily.
“Let’s go!” he says with extra cheer. He puts some air into his steps as he makes his way to the restaurant’s stoop and Lily screeches with mirth.
Grumbling, sinking into despair, I follow with way less bounce.