Page 66 of Another Life

And on her second birthday, I finally get a response, in the form of a large check from Abraham Pugliesi, made out to me.

I wonder how he found me, but I figure a man of his means could find anyone. Could find his daughter. Could be present and learn what her favorite food is or that she is just as stubborn as he is.

I rip up the check.

I rip up every single one that comes for each of her birthdays afterward, too.

Fuck him.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

SHE MADE ME A MAN

PRESENT

It’s rare that Peter is able to surprise me. Even rarer that I’m unable to reach him.

So when he shows up on my doorstep this morning with two coffees in his hands, I wonder if he knows that Denise has the girls so I can run errands.

“They aren’t here,” I tell him. “I tried to call you and let you know but…” I shrug, trying not to rip his head off because what kind of parent goes missing in action?

“I know,” he says, having the decency to look contrite. “I’m here for you.”

I can’t help my anger. Peter left me to handle our children on my own. And while Iwasable to handle them, he signed up for this. He swore he was in this with me, whether we’re together or not.

Even if it was only for a week, he shirked his responsibility; reneged on his end of the deal.

I think about the promises we made each other at the altar all those years ago. I think about the promise I made to not tell Abraham.

I think of all the imperfections Peter has taken in stride, offering me the best of himself, even when I didn’t deserve it.

And I think about how it wasn’t enough for me.

I just want someone to love me big.

So big, I could float in the vastness of it.

I step aside to let him in, grabbing the coffee he holds out for me.

It’s a comfort, having someone who knows you well enough to know your coffee order. This is a learned thing, something I will miss.

But now it’s time for me to get my own fucking coffee.

“I’m sorry,” he tells me as we walk inside. He veers off to the living room and I follow him in, choosing to sit in the armchair while he settles on the couch. “It wasn’t my intention to leave you on your own, but I needed…time.”

I nod, setting the paper cup on the coffee table.

“Was your time able to give you what you needed?” I ask him, wondering where we now stand. If we’re going to maintain our peaceful separation and amicable co-parenting arrangement or if he fucking hates me.

“I think so,” he answers, tilting his head as he looks at me through thoughtful eyes. “I realized a lot.”

“Like?”

Like this was a mistake. Like I fucking hate you. Like I wish I never met you.

“Like I was willing to try to smother you with love just to keep you. I was willing to do things I didn’t like, things I never thought I could, just to make it work.” He tilts his head back to look at the ceiling and I pause, realizing how he feels so foreign in my home now. I never thought we’d get here.

“Isn’t that supposed to be love?” I think out loud.