by Monica James
The restaurant is not far from my hotel, so London suggested we meet here and go together. I thought I should meet Emily on common ground—not my home turf, so to speak—but he said she’d be fine.
She may be fine, but when there is a knock on my door, I am anything but.
“You can do this,” I say to my mirror image, hoping the encouragement will stop my knees from knocking together. It doesn’t.
I am hyperventilating by the time I make it from the bathroom to the front door, so I take three calming breaths. Feeling slightly better, I pray to whatever god is watching over me and open the door.
The first thing that strikes me is how small Emily’s hand looks nestled in London’s. She either holds her father’s hand with pride or protection, I can’t be too sure. “Hi!” I say with way too much enthusiasm.
London smirks.
I rein in the pep and try again. “Hi, Emily. I’m Holland. We met at your house,” I add in case she doesn’t remember. She looks up at London, biting her lip.
Now that I know the full story, her resemblance of Lincoln is undoubtable. Though she has her mother’s eyes.
“Hi…Holland,” London says when it’s clear Emily has no interest in saying hello. The pause is because he’s so accustomed to calling me Princess. It feels strange for him to call me by my name, but I suppose it’s fitting for our current situation.
“Are you going to say hello?” he says to Emily playfully, tapping the end of her button nose. “I know you’re not shy.”
“It’s okay.” I don’t want to force her. I used to hate when my parents did that to me when I was her age. “Let’s go eat.”
Closing the door behind me, I look at London, not sure what to do. Do we hug? Kiss? Shake hands? Fist bump? Jesus, I’m so out of my element here.
London senses my mini breakdown and puts my mind at ease. He kisses me on the cheek tenderly, instantly calming my nerves. When we lock eyes, what I see speaks a thousand words.
It’ll be okay. This isn’t going to be easy, but the best things never are.
It’s exactly what I need to chill the fuck out and not force something which will hopefully find its own way. “I hope you like Italian,” I say to them as we walk down the hallway. “They have the best pizza in all of New York.”
When I press the call button for the elevator, Emily chooses this moment to speak. “How do you know?”
“How do I know?” I ask, suddenly sounding like I’m moments away from breaking into my own version of a Whitney Houston classic.
Emily nods, her hand still nestled in London’s. “Yes, how do you know they have the best pizza in all of New York?” she clarifies. “Have you tried every pizza restaurant in New York? How do you know the one near my friend Sally’s house isn’t the best?”
“Emily,” London gently scolds. “Don’t be rude.”
“What, Daddy? I’m asking a question. You told me I can ask questions,” she replies, peering up at him.
He looks at me apologetically, but I shake my head once, hinting it’s okay. I knew this was going to be awkward. “I’ve eaten my fair share of pizza,” I say with a smile, hoping to break the ice. “And this pizza is definitely the best. Besides, whatever pizzeria allows you to choose your own toppings has to be the best, right?”
“What if I wanted M&M’s and pickles?” she counters quickly, tilting her head, challenging me.
She is definitely London’s daughter.
“Then you’ve come to the right place.” The elevator arrives, putting me out of my misery. Emily appears appeased with my reply, but I know this is just the beginning of things to come.
We step in, and I make sure to keep my distance from London. Every part of my body is weeping, but I don’t want to give Emily more of a reason to hate me.
“How was work?” London asks. A hint of a smirk plays at his lips.
“It was very…satisfying,” I smartly reply, and he chuckles.
As we’re waiting for our floor, London covertly reaches out to stroke the small of my back with his thumb. I can’t stop the shiver that spreads from head to toe. The doors open, giving me the fresh air I need.
The hustle and bustle of New York is in full swing, animating the city in a way only this magical place can do. I love living here, and even though I was born in LA, New York City is definitely my home.
I peer over at London, wondering what he sees. He mentioned he’s never been here before, so I’m curious to know his thoughts. Once this shitstorm with Lincoln is over with, we have yet another hurdle to face—where do we, as a couple, call our home. If he loves it here, then maybe this will be easier than I thought.
Emily seems excited by the noise, her green eyes darting from left to right. London said she was clever, but something about her is almost mature. I can imagine her illness has forced her to grow up a lot quicker than other kids her age.
But I don’t feel sorry for her. She inspires me and has me appreciating everything I have. She is going to be a tough nut to crack, but she’s so worth it. And so is her father.
“Daddy, look!” Her referring to London this way warms my heart even though it’s still difficult to wrap my head around the fact he’s a dad. But the way his eyes light up when he sees the horse-drawn carriage she’s pointing at has me quickly quashing down those apprehensions.
The smell of golden mozzarella and delicious baked dough hits us before the flashing sign for Paulo’s Pizzeria comes into view. “This is us,” I say, leading the way.
Gracie, Paulo’s wife, greets us at the door. “Holland. Where have you been?” She kisses both my cheeks, before holding me at arm’s length. “You’re so skinny.”
I can’t help but laugh as I hear this every time I see her. “I headed back to LA, but I’m back now.”
Her wise eyes take in London and Emily beside me. The fact my engagement ring and Lincoln are missing have her nodding, but thankfully, she doesn’t ask where either are. “We reserved our best table for you. Follow me.”
We do as she says.
Paulo’s Pizzeria is small and homey. The tabletops are covered with red and white linen tablecloths. Pictures of Italy, where Paulo and Gracie are originally from, hang on the brick walls. A bottle of Italian wine in the traditional fiasco basket sits on each table; however, instead of wine, a candle is tucked in each bottle.
The vibe is cozy and relaxed. It’s also every foodie’s dream come true because the kitchen is in full view for one to watch their masterpiece as it’s created. The wood oven is fired up as Paulo tosses pizza dough high in the air.
Gracie leads the way to a red leather booth. “Is this okay?”
“It’s more than okay,” I reply, as a small table would have sufficed. “By the way, this is London and his daughter, Emily.”
Gracie smiles, kissing both their cheeks. “Nice to meet you both. What a beautiful bambina.” She strokes Emily’s mousy brown hair.
“Grazie,” Emily says, and I do a double take. She speaks Italian? London wasn’t kidding when he said she was smart.
Gracie places our menus on the table, then walks away to tend to the other guests.
I slide into the circular booth first, and just as London attempts to follow suit, Emily scoots in before him. I’m not an idiot. In a perfect world, one may think this was done so she could sit next to her new friend, but she’s done this so I’m nowhere near her dad.
London sighs but doesn’t say anything.
We look over the menus in silence, and I suddenly feel like I’m under the microscope. Emily watches me closely as she no doubt is wondering just who I am. I’m not sure what London has told her about me, but it doesn’t matter because in her eyes, I’m sitting in her mother’s seat.
I’ve lost my appetite.
“What kind of pizza do you want?” London asks Emily as he peruses the menu.
“I’m not hungry,” she replies, slouching in her seat. That makes two of us.
Maybe this was a bad idea. Emily clearly doesn�
��t want to be here, but London isn’t a quitter. “That’s too bad,” he says with staged sigh. “’Cause the pepperoni I’m going to order will be pretty incredible. But if you’re not hungry…”
His open-ended statement has Emily raising a curious brow as she sits taller to look at the menu London is holding. “How is it different from any other pepperoni we’ve had?”
I watch on with interest.
“Because this pepperoni has pineapple on it.”
Both Emily and I screw up our noses while London bursts into husky laughter.
“Ewww, that’s gross.”
“Pineapple does not belong on pizza,” I counter, supporting Emily’s claims.
Emily looks up at me, nodding, but soon realizes she’s siding with the enemy. She shuffles closer to London.
“What are you going to have, Princ—Holland?” London quickly corrects himself. The slipup doesn’t go unnoticed by Emily however.
“I think I’ll have roasted peppers.” My lips almost smack at the thought. “Much better than pineapple and pepperoni.” I playfully shudder.
The air settles a fraction…until I decide to address Emily.
“How was Sally’s?” I ask her, trying to find common ground. She shrugs, not interested in my olive branch. But I don’t let that deter me. “Your daddy told me she’s your pen pal. That’s pretty cool. When I was your age…”
She isn’t interested in small talk. “How do you know my daddy?”
“Emily…” London cautions gently. “I’ve told you. Holland and I have known one another since we were kids.”
“I know, but why is she here now?”
This just goes from bad to worse.
“She’s here because she’s Daddy’s friend.”
“Is that why her name is on you?”
Raising my hand, I alert Gracie I need a bottle of wine—pronto.
London meets my eyes, and I wonder if it’s best I leave. “I have her name on me because Holland is very special to me.”
“What about Mommy’s name? Or mine?” Her questions aren’t malicious. They are simply curious. She is an inquisitive little girl. She also isn’t stupid by any means.
“Baby”—London rubs her small shoulder—“I haven’t seen Holland for a very long time, and it’s because of this that I decided to get a tattoo with her name. It was to remind me how special she is. And no matter that I hadn’t seen her, she was never far from my thoughts.
“I don’t need a tattoo with your name because you’re in here. Always.” He rubs over his heart. “And I’ve seen you for almost every day of your life. Holland has been missing from here”—his fist still lays over his chest—“and I needed her close. I needed to remember her.”
She looks back and forth between me and her father as I try my best to remain unaffected.
It’s a lot for a ten-year-old to take in, but by the way he speaks to her, it’s clear he doesn’t shield her from the world. It’s easy to see why she’s so smart.
I smile, unsure what to say.
Gracie’s timing is perfect as she comes over with my favorite bottle of wine. As she pours me a glass, she asks London what they’d like to drink. Emily asks for apple juice, and London opts for a beer. We give Gracie our orders. As she’s about to leave, Emily asks in a small voice, “Can I please have a cheese pizza. Extra mozzarella.”
My mouth parts slightly because this is progress. It may be small, but it seems extra mozzarella was the key to breaking bread. London remains stone-faced, but I know he’s happy. Relieved even.
Emily finally lets me in a smidge, asking if I like New York better than LA. She shares with me that she wants to be a dancer when she grows up. She takes ballet. She also owns two goldfish. The conversation isn’t forced, and just when I think this will maybe work, London’s cell rings.
He reaches into his back pocket, frowning when he sees who the caller is. “Hi, Belle.” My stomach drops, and my wine almost comes back up.
He nods, listening to whatever Belle is saying, while Emily smiles. “That’s my mommy,” she explains to me, revealing that neither Belle nor London have told her that, once upon a time, Belle was my friend. One step at a time, I suppose.
“Sure, that’s fine.”
“What’s she saying?” Emily asks, smiling a toothless smile.
“Mommy wanted to let me know the date of your ballet recital.”
“Yes!” she replies, fist pumping in excitement. “My tutu is so cool. It’s black.” I nod, trying my best to seem happy when, in reality, I feel like the third wheel.
“We can talk about it when I come home,” London says, looking at me with apology. I wave him off. I understand Emily is their linkage, and nothing will ever change that. “Here, baby, Mommy wants to talk to you.” He quickly passes her the phone.
“Hi, Mommy!” Emily bounces up and down in her seat. Belle may be a shitty friend, but it’s clear she’s an excellent mother. “Yes, I’m having so much fun. I saw Sally!” As Emily begins to detail her day to Belle, London and I lock eyes across the table.
He is sorry that I overheard he and Belle talking parent stuff, but I have to get used to it. If I want to be a part of London’s life, I will be subjected to this until Emily is an adult. The thought is daunting, but there is no other way.
“We’re out to dinner with Daddy’s friend. Holland,” she explains, as Belle has clearly asked her who. I reach for my wine, throwing it back quickly.
She looks at me, curiosity swimming in her eyes. She then looks at London. I can’t help but wonder what Belle has said.
“She’s so pretty, Mommy,” she whispers loudly as she cradles the phone. She’s done a poor job at muting her supposed secret, but I’m touched. That soon turns to sadness however. “Okay, I will. Bye. I love you too.” She hands the phone back to London, erecting the wall back up between us as she turns her back to me.
Great.
London doesn’t have a chance to say goodbye because the moment he presses the phone to his ear, I hear Belle’s raised voice over the speaker. I can’t distinguish what she’s saying, but it doesn’t sound good.
The need to flee is real.
“I need to use the bathroom,” Emily announces, which is the perfect opportunity to give London some privacy.
“I’ll take you,” I offer, sliding out of the booth.
London is attempting to multi-task—listening to Belle and ensuring Emily is okay.
“I can go by myself,” she says, standing tall. At this moment, she looks so much like Belle. I look at London, not sure what the protocol is here.
“Let Holland take you, baby,” he says, phone pressed to his ear. Belle is clearly not done, and I have a feeling the reason for her verbal diarrhea is me.
“No, I don’t want her to. She’s not my mommy.” And just like that, any progress we’ve made goes up in flames.
I swallow down my tears because this is normal. It’s not her fault. But it still hurts like hell.
“Emily!” London scolds. “Belle, I’ve got to go. I’ll talk to you later.” He hangs up, shaking his head in disappointment. “That’s not nice, Emily. Apologize to Holland.”
“No,” she stubbornly replies while I stand on the sidelines, not sure what to say. London opens his mouth, but Emily storms off, thankfully in the right way toward the bathrooms. Gracie sees the commotion and probably the stunned look on my face and chases after Emily.
London groans, running a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry, Princess. She’s never behaved this way before.”
“Don’t worry about it. She’s upset. I get it.” And I do. It just fucking sucks. I wasn’t expecting us to bond like the Brady Bunch, but I thought she’d at least give me a chance.
“I’ve never introduced her to anyone before,” he reveals, reaching for me over the table and dragging me back into the booth.
The moment we connect, he wraps me into his warm arms. He kisses the top of my head. My temple. And lastly, my lips. It’s chaste, but i
t’s what I needed to anchor me back. “She’ll come around,” he says, kissing my forehead.
“I doubt that. She hates me.” I’m not trying to be negative, only realistic.
“No, she doesn’t. She’s just confused.”
“I thought we were making progress. But whatever Belle said…” I leave the sentence unfinished, not wanting to cross a line.
I’m pretty sure her words were along the lines of, “She’s not your mommy, I am…”
London’s cheeks billow as he exhales. “I know, Princess. I know.”
I don’t want to state the obvious, but I’m scared.
“When he became an adult, he had responsibilities…to his daughter and Belle. He chose them, Holland, so really, you wouldn’t have to ask him to choose because there isn’t a choice to be made.”
Kayla’s cruel words echo loudly, and I suddenly wonder if maybe she’s right. London is honorable, and his love for Emily will always come first.
“I can go?” I question, hooking my thumb toward the door. But he shakes his head firmly.
Pressing our foreheads together, he whispers, “Where you go, I go.”
For now, I will let this slide, but what happens tomorrow? And the day after that? It seems we’ve reached another impasse, but this one has the ability to change everything I thought I knew.
Yesterday was a disaster.
Once Emily finally unlocked herself from the bathroom, she begged London to take her back to the hotel. He was torn, but in the end, he decided it was best they go. He apologized profusely, promising that it would get better, but the fact Emily wouldn’t look at me has me doubting that very much.
I went back to my hotel, too exhausted to even think, but throwing myself into work was a welcome distraction. Being an attorney is easy but being a friend to my boyfriend’s daughter is not.
London called me this morning, asking for another chance. He said he’d spoken to Emily and that she was sorry for her behavior. I didn’t blame her for acting the way she did. I can only imagine how confusing this is for her, and the fact her mother is probably spewing ugliness into her ear doesn’t help.
