Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 82524 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 413(@200wpm)___ 330(@250wpm)___ 275(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82524 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 413(@200wpm)___ 330(@250wpm)___ 275(@300wpm)
There it is again.
Our daughter.
“There you two are,” I say when I spot them. Hattie and the nanny, a woman in her early thirties named Priya Raval. “How are things going?”
“Oh, lovely as always, right, Hattie?” Priya beams at my daughter and nudges her gently. “Say hello, dear.”
“Hi, Mommy.” Hattie barely looks up from her drawing.
“What’s that?” I come over to take a look.
“We’re having free draw time.” Priya stands and stretches. “Would you mind sitting with her for a few minutes? I could use a quick bathroom break.”
“Of course, please go ahead.” I take her seat when she’s gone and lean down to study the paper in front of Hattie.
There are several different drawings. They’re all in crayon. I expect ponies, unicorns, laser beams, spaceships, that sort of thing, but instead they show the same scene.
It’s a room, a big one, with different furniture in each version. At one end is a woman that looks like me and at the other is what’s clearly supposed to be Rafe. She drew him with all black and he’s got big muscular arms, which is funny, but a strange sinking stone rolls around in my stomach.
Each picture is the same. Me at one end, Rafe at the other, with plenty of space between us.
“Hattie, what’s going on with this?” I lift up one picture and point at it. “That’s me and that’s Rafe, right?”
“Mommy and Rafey,” she confirms, not looking up from her latest work. Another variation on the theme.
“What are we doing?”
“Standing.” She looks up and wrinkles her nose. “Duh.”
“Hattie, that isn’t nice. Please don’t talk to me that way.”
“Sorry.” She colors some more.
“Do you know why Mommy and Rafey aren’t standing next to each other?”
“Not really.”
“Is this about how you feel? About Mommy and Rafey?”
“Maybe. I don’t know.” She stops and looks at me. There’s no anger in her face. She isn’t remotely upset. There’s only that simple, childish matter-of-factness, like life is simple and obvious. “You hate Daddy Rafey.”
I sit back in surprise. It feels like getting slapped. “Why do you think that?”
“Because you do.” She goes back to coloring. “It’s okay. I hate Princess Slimecorn.”
“No, hold on a second. I don’t hate Rafe.” The words slide quickly out so smoothly that I’m shocked at how easy it is to say. When I first came here, I thought I did despise him.
“Okay,” she says, still finishing up her rendition of what I’m thinking is a bed of some sort, though it has crab legs and a unicorn horn.
“No, really. I don’t hate Rafe at all.”
“I like Daddy Rafey.”
She normally says only Rafey and this daddy thing is new.
But it’s not wrong. He is her father.
“I do too, honey.”
“He’s scary.” She smiles to herself. “I like it.”
I do too. “Rafe cares about you a lot, you know. He always has. It’s sometimes hard for him to show it—“
“I know. He shows. I don’t need hugs. You give me hugs.”
I hardly know what’s happening. My heart’s racing and a lump forms in my throat. “Do you want hugs from Rafe?”
“That’d be okay.”
“Do you want me to tell him that?”
“Okay.”
“Alright honey, I will.” I lean down and kiss her hair. “I love you, sweetie.”
“Okay. Mom, can I have apples?”
“Sure. I’ll tell Byron.” I wipe my eyes and stand. Priya’s coming back. “Honey, I really do like Rafe. I like him a lot. I’m happy we got married.”
“Good. Me too.”
Priya stops a few feet away, hands folded in front of her. “Thanks for taking over. Everything okay?”
“Totally fine. Me and Hattie were just chatting.” I hurry from the room before she realizes how emotionally devastated I feel. I have to pause in the hallway and pull myself together.
Hattie really likes Rafe. That girl is falling for her father way faster than I ever imagined. She’s always been slightly standoffish and shy with adults she doesn’t know, but she took to Rafe like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Like she’s his daughter.
I can’t keep pretending. It’s killing me, acting like things aren’t vastly different, like Rafe and Hattie haven’t deeply bonded, like he’s not taking a position in our lives that I never wanted or thought could even happen.
I wasn’t lying to her when I said I like Rafe a lot.
I like the way he touches me. The way he holds me, kisses me, whispers in my ear. I like how protective he is, how much he cares about Hattie, how far he’ll go to provide. He took Marnie in without question. He found Priya to help Hattie deal with her trauma.
Emotions don’t come naturally to him, but he’s trying anyway.
That says so much about what kind of man he is.
I make my way to the kitchen. Byron’s busy helping the food shipment get unloaded so I figure I’ll find and slice Hattie’s apples myself. There was a time when I did all my own cooking and cleaning; pretty sure I can still take care of myself.