say to him, I need to be alone. Could you go home, please? “I’m really tired. I might just go to bed.”
He dropped the paper again. “It’s six o’clock.”
I rounded the table and offered him a quick peck on the top of his thick dark waves. “It’s been a long one.”
“I’ll leave.” He stood up, straightened his paper. “You get some rest.”
He left without prying.
A few minutes later, I sat Ayla down on her bed, grabbed onto both of her skinny shoulders, and squared into a big fat lie for the sake of her sanity and emotional well-being for the years and decades that would follow. “Sweetheart, do you really want to know who your father is?”
She nodded, her face stoic and strong.
“The truth is,” I tightened my grip, prepping for the launch, “You’re a test tube baby.”
She stared off to the side, contemplating my words and probably assessing how this should weigh on her. She stretched her eyes back to me; squinted and said in pure Ayla fashion, “Don’t lie to me. I’m not fragile. I can handle the truth.”
I had a choice. My girl’s brain operated at a higher level than most fifty-year-olds I knew. I could save her from a lifetime of pain and insecurity by standing firm to my lie. She’d never wrestle with the inadequacies of abandonment carved out of being unwanted by someone in this world. On the flip side, didn’t she deserve to know? Maybe one day, her father would come around and want to meet her. Then she’d know I lied to her, and she’d hate me. I couldn’t have her not trust me, too. I owed her at least a partial truth. “He’s a boy I used to hang out with in high school.” Oh yeah, and he saved my life so I repaid him by fucking him. So pretty much, you’re the result of a traumatic situation that we’d both rather forget ever happened. I love you so much, though, sweetheart. Me, the good mother, would spare my little girl the sad details of the moment I conceived her. “He’s a very nice guy who helped me through a rough time.” Some things were better left unstated. You are not the product of a debt collection.
“We were both so young,” I continued. “He had plans to go away to college.” He chose a football, uniform and a fraternity over you. “He wanted to help. I told him to go study at college.” I wanted to spare her the unnecessary pain of being unwanted. I’d take this brunt for her sake.
“Has he ever tried to contact you about me?”
“We lost touch.” Another lie. I pouted along with her, two souls caught up in a riptide of uncontrollable mishaps.
“Was he a nice person?”
I smiled at my twelve-year-old daughter. “Very nice. And, smart. And handsome.”
Chapter Four
Olivia
I loved working with dogs, especially Snowball. My heart always melted at that moment when her eyes locked on mine, reaching out to me, friend-to-friend. I opened her kennel and sat beside her on her bed. Her tail wagged and she bowed her head in reverence, and then climbed onto my lap. She curled into a ball, shutting the rest of the world out. Cocooned in my breathing pattern, she relaxed into a zone where all her pain and suffering melted away. I petted her soft fur and she snuggled up closer, this time burying her nose under her paw.
I could sit for hours soothing her spirit, taking on her burden, and snuffing out its power. She snored like a baby. I liked to think that her big heart, weak from the strains of parvovirus, swelled with gratitude for this sliver of time where safety and comfort enveloped her and allowed her to drift off to sweet dreams.
I fought back anguish, not wanting to concern her with my fears. The tears rolled down my cheeks anyway. I wanted to take Snowball on a walk and let her run freely in the park behind Wilbur Road where dandelions bloomed and butterflies flew. I wanted her to frolic amongst the long grass and roll around on her back, all fours up in the air, dancing with the sweet meadow breeze. Most of all, I
He dropped the paper again. “It’s six o’clock.”
I rounded the table and offered him a quick peck on the top of his thick dark waves. “It’s been a long one.”
“I’ll leave.” He stood up, straightened his paper. “You get some rest.”
He left without prying.
A few minutes later, I sat Ayla down on her bed, grabbed onto both of her skinny shoulders, and squared into a big fat lie for the sake of her sanity and emotional well-being for the years and decades that would follow. “Sweetheart, do you really want to know who your father is?”
She nodded, her face stoic and strong.
“The truth is,” I tightened my grip, prepping for the launch, “You’re a test tube baby.”
She stared off to the side, contemplating my words and probably assessing how this should weigh on her. She stretched her eyes back to me; squinted and said in pure Ayla fashion, “Don’t lie to me. I’m not fragile. I can handle the truth.”
I had a choice. My girl’s brain operated at a higher level than most fifty-year-olds I knew. I could save her from a lifetime of pain and insecurity by standing firm to my lie. She’d never wrestle with the inadequacies of abandonment carved out of being unwanted by someone in this world. On the flip side, didn’t she deserve to know? Maybe one day, her father would come around and want to meet her. Then she’d know I lied to her, and she’d hate me. I couldn’t have her not trust me, too. I owed her at least a partial truth. “He’s a boy I used to hang out with in high school.” Oh yeah, and he saved my life so I repaid him by fucking him. So pretty much, you’re the result of a traumatic situation that we’d both rather forget ever happened. I love you so much, though, sweetheart. Me, the good mother, would spare my little girl the sad details of the moment I conceived her. “He’s a very nice guy who helped me through a rough time.” Some things were better left unstated. You are not the product of a debt collection.
“We were both so young,” I continued. “He had plans to go away to college.” He chose a football, uniform and a fraternity over you. “He wanted to help. I told him to go study at college.” I wanted to spare her the unnecessary pain of being unwanted. I’d take this brunt for her sake.
“Has he ever tried to contact you about me?”
“We lost touch.” Another lie. I pouted along with her, two souls caught up in a riptide of uncontrollable mishaps.
“Was he a nice person?”
I smiled at my twelve-year-old daughter. “Very nice. And, smart. And handsome.”
Chapter Four
Olivia
I loved working with dogs, especially Snowball. My heart always melted at that moment when her eyes locked on mine, reaching out to me, friend-to-friend. I opened her kennel and sat beside her on her bed. Her tail wagged and she bowed her head in reverence, and then climbed onto my lap. She curled into a ball, shutting the rest of the world out. Cocooned in my breathing pattern, she relaxed into a zone where all her pain and suffering melted away. I petted her soft fur and she snuggled up closer, this time burying her nose under her paw.
I could sit for hours soothing her spirit, taking on her burden, and snuffing out its power. She snored like a baby. I liked to think that her big heart, weak from the strains of parvovirus, swelled with gratitude for this sliver of time where safety and comfort enveloped her and allowed her to drift off to sweet dreams.
I fought back anguish, not wanting to concern her with my fears. The tears rolled down my cheeks anyway. I wanted to take Snowball on a walk and let her run freely in the park behind Wilbur Road where dandelions bloomed and butterflies flew. I wanted her to frolic amongst the long grass and roll around on her back, all fours up in the air, dancing with the sweet meadow breeze. Most of all, I
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