Beach Glass

by Suzan Colon

  I can’t look at him anymore. Not because I don’t believe him. I do. I know Daniel, and this is the kind of person he is. He wouldn’t stare down his past and face challenges bravely for himself, but he’d do anything for someone else. Especially me. No, that’s not why I can’t hold his intense gaze anymore or see the emotion in his smile. It’s that this beautiful, gentle man I once knew and loved is breaking my heart all over again.

  “Please,” I whisper, tears filling my eyes, my hands trying to push him away. “Please, Daniel, just let me go.”

  “Oh, Katy. I didn’t mean to upset you.” He puts his cheek to the top of my head. “I love you. I always have, and I always will. I’m sorry, my sweetheart.”

  He tips my chin up, making me look into his eyes, and I prepare myself to say goodbye again.

  “Katy,” he says, “I’m going to earn you back.”

  Daniel frames my face with his hands, just as he always used to, leans down, and kisses me. His lips land softly on my mouth, but just for the briefest of moments, because Daniel knows me so well, knows that anything more than this sweet touch would be too much for me right now. And maybe, because Daniel knows me like no one else in this world, he wants me to want to kiss him back.

  He’s already at his car, smiling at me, when I realize that I do.

  43.

  I WONDER IF I’ve been trying to break Amanda of the habit of demanding to sleep with me, calling to me in the middle of the night until I wake up and get her, or if I’m trying to break myself of the habit of giving in. After what just happened with Daniel, I don’t even wait for my daughter to wake up. I go into the little room next to my bedroom, where a nightlight shines a happy yellow duck family on the wall. As gently as I can, I reach into the crib and take Amanda in my arms, and she gives me a sleepy smile as I cuddle her in the big bed. I need her. I’m so stunned at Daniel’s declaration of love and of wanting to earn me back and of the conviction in his voice that is new, while his kiss was so wonderfully familiar. It’s all so confusing and overwhelming. I need a refuge, someplace safe I can go to think, or stop thinking.

  That place is in the curl of my daughter’s pinky finger. It’s miraculous, really. Carson and I fell in love, and we created this being who has this tiny little finger curled around one of my own as she sleeps. If only he were here to see her. If only he were here to be the daddy she keeps asking me for.

  That baby pinky finger is as reassuring a thing as there is in a world that has empty spaces. Tonight, Amanda fills those spaces for me. But I wonder if I can fill all the empty spaces in her life.

  IN THE MORNING, while trying to get Amanda more interested in eating her Cheerios than decorating her high chair tray with them, I pick up my cell without looking at the screen. “Hello?”

  “Hey.” I recognize the voice instantly, as soft and warm as a favorite blanket. “It’s me, Daniel.”

  I chuckle. “Duh. It hasn’t been that long.”

  “What, since last night? I wanted to call five minutes after I left,” Daniel says, “but I didn’t want to wake Amanda.”

  Wow, that was thoughtful of him. I hear the sound of a guitar, a slow, bluesy call, in the background. “You’re at the studio early.”

  “Yeah, these guys are pretty straight edge,” Daniel says. “They have families, so I get to work kind of normal hours for a change.”

  “That’s cool.” I don’t know what else to say, especially when Daniel follows with, “So, my evenings are usually free.”

  I don’t know how to respond, but I know that it’s okay for me to be quiet. This isn’t someone new, so I don’t have to immediately fill in the silences.

  After a moment, Daniel asks, “What are you thinking?”

  “I don’t know, Daniel. I heard what you said last night, and it was nice.” I catch myself. “It was beautiful. But like I said, so much has happened. Too much.”

  A few seconds pass before Daniel comes back with, “We’re just talking, Katy.”

  “Felt like more than that last night.”

  “Well . . . did some of that feel good?” His voice, deep and gentle, is reassuring.

  “Some of it,” I admit. “But it’s scary, too. I can’t do this dance with you again, Daniel. It’s not just about me protecting myself.” I look at my little Cheerio artist in her high chair. “I have Amanda to consider.”

  “I know, and I respect that. This is all a big shock to me, too, Katy. Seeing you again was something I’d always hoped for, but that’s different from it actually happening.” He lets a moment pass before he says, very directly for Daniel, “We should get together again. I don’t mean that casually, like, we should get together again someday. I mean, we should get together tonight. Or,” he adds, in more Daniel-like fashion, “whenever’s good for you, with the baby and all.”

  Somehow, everything is quiet. He’s in a recording studio with a rock band. I’m at home with a child who is now creating multi-media art, singing while decorating her cereal design with milk. Bethy and Celia are in the living room, doing some kind of dance DVD. Yet there seems to be a cocoon around Daniel and me that lets me hear him nearly holding his breath and my own heart pounding.

  “Why, Daniel?”

  “I meant what I said last night, Katy. I’m going to do what I never did before. I’m going to earn you.” When I don’t speak, because I really don’t know what to say, he goes on. “Katy, I know how lucky I am that you’re even talking to me. I don’t want to freak you out or anything. Please, just let me see you again. We can—”

  I hear someone talking in the background, and Daniel answers, “Great, be there in a minute. Sorry,” he says to me. “Apparently the guitarist has had a breakthrough about his solo.” Daniel scoffs in a good-natured way. “He’s only been working on it for five weeks.”

  The way he says it makes me laugh, a welcome break in the tension. “Well for heaven’s sake, don’t keep him waiting. Inspiration comes and goes, you know.”

  There’s a pause. “So can I come by and see you tonight?”

  “No,” I say too quickly. “I mean, we promised the kids we’d take them to see that new Pixar movie.”

  “Oh, that should be fun,” he says. “How about tomorrow?”

  “Daniel.” I sigh as I lean against the wall. “I really don’t know if this is a good idea.”

  “It’s a very good idea,” he says assertively. “Tomorrow at seven?”

  “Daniel—”

  “Perfect, tomorrow at seven. I’ll pick you up. Okay, gotta go see what the genius came up with. Talk to you then!”

  I could call him back, I think as I look at my phone. I could call him and say no. I should. Yes, I should definitely tell Daniel that this isn’t a good idea after all, that he should just go have a nice life.

  And I will do that. Later. I put down the phone and wander over to Amanda, who sings her little tune and offers me some of her cereal.

  “HEY, WHO WERE you talking to this morning?” my sister asks as she takes chicken nuggets for the kids out of the oven.

  “That was Daniel,” I say.

  “Again?” Bethy frowns. “What does he want?”

  “Look out, kids, hot stuff coming through,” Ray says, lifting a steaming pot of pasta. “Katy, can you herd the girls out of here before someone, probably me, gets hurt?”

  “Sorry, sure. Ladies, let’s go to the table,” I say, shooing Celia and Amanda out of the kitchen.

  When the five of us are sitting down to dinner, Bethy asks again, “So what’s going on with you and Daniel?”

  Actually, she’s not asking, she’s accusing. I already told her everything about last night, and of course she advised me to tell Daniel to skip the pretty scenic route full of promises and go straight to hell.

  “Nothing,” I say. “He wants to see me again.”

  “What? Why?” she demands.

  “Because he’s still in love with Katy,” Ray says, serving long strands of pasta out of the big bowl.

  Ce
lia makes a face. “I don’t like spaghetti.”

  “Yes, you do,” Bethy corrects. “You love spaghetti. This is just the kind with white sauce. Ray, I meant why would Katy bother seeing him again.”

  Celia is tapping her mother’s elbow, a beat of protest that goes on as she says, “I don’t like white sauce. Can I have red sauce, please, please, please, please?”

  “Red!” Amanda repeats, grinning at me.

  I smile back at her. “Good job, Peanut!”

  Bethy is glaring at me. “Well?”

  “Huh? Oh—Daniel. No, I mean, yeah, I think I am going to see him again,” I say. “He’s picking me up tomorrow night.”

  Bethy snorts. “How convenient. He’s coming when we’ll be away visiting Ray’s parents. He doesn’t dare face us.”

  “Sorry to bust your guilty conscience conspiracy theory,” I say, trying to feed Amanda, “But I don’t think I mentioned you were going away, because I forgot.”

  “Good,” Bethy says. “Without me to watch Amanda, you can’t go.”

  “I don’t like white sauce,” Celia murmurs.

  “Aw, Beth, what’s the big deal?” Ray asks. “Like Katy said, it’s just dinner between old friends.”

  “Why should she—Celia, no, Mommy’s not making red sauce now, just try it the way it is—why should she keep seeing him? It will only encourage him, and she doesn’t want to do that.”

  “Daniel’s an okay guy,” Ray says. “Celia, just try a bite before you say no. Watch Daddy.” Ray holds a long strand of spaghetti over his mouth, lowering it slowly, as dramatically as a sword swallower. Celia laughs and claps.

  “A nice guy?” Bethy exclaims. “How long did he keep Katy waiting around for nothing before he dumped her on her birthday?”

  “Technically, I dumped him,” I say, trying to get Amanda to eat even half as much food as she’s tossing off her plate.

  “You did not. You told him to man up and marry you, and he wouldn’t, so he dumped you by default,” Bethy says. “Celia, babe, you’re killing me here. Just try it.”

  “I think Katy’s right. She dumped him,” Ray says as he takes the fork from Bethy and feeds the suddenly willing Celia a bite of spaghetti. “Why not give the guy another chance?”

  Bethy is incredulous. “Another chance? To do what, waste five more years of her life?”

  “It’s not another chance,” I say, “It’s just dinner.”

  “Aunt Katy, Amanda’s throwing chicken nuggets on the floor,” Celia reports.

  “Maybe he’s different now,” Ray says. “Maybe things have changed.”

  “Oh, Peanut, please don’t do that,” I say, leaning over to pick up pieces of nugget, trying to hold onto bits of conversation.

  “I’ll bet he’s not different,” Bethy says, “but things sure have changed. You want something that’ll help you decide whether you should give Daniel the time of day, Katy? Let him come over here for dinner. He has no idea what your life is really like with a toddler, chicken nuggets on the floor, tantrums, exhaustion, and not being able to have a whole, continuous adult conversation. Let him see that. Then she’ll know,” she says to Ray, who rolls his eyes and sighs in male sympathy for Daniel. “Then she’ll see what Daniel’s really made of.”

  Amanda squishes a chicken nugget in her little fist and deposits it on my plate. “Oh, thank you, Peanut.” And to Bethy, I say, “You know, I think you’re right.”

  44.

  I HAD MY EVENING with Daniel all planned out.

  I envisioned a night exactly like the one when Bethy had unintentionally encouraged me to invite him over, with all the usual mayhem of a child and toys everywhere and un-fancy food and constantly interrupted conversations. Ray, Bethy, and Celia were heading up to Santa Cruz to visit Ray’s parents for the weekend, so it would just be me, Amanda, and Daniel. Before they leave, my sister makes me take the strongest oath we know, the double crossed-wrist pinky-swear, that I will not sleep with Daniel. I wrap my little fingers around hers without hesitation, for sex with my ex is not part of my plan.

  No, I simply want him to see my life in all its beautiful normalcy. I’m not sure what his reaction will be, whether he’ll set a new speed record to get away from us or go back to his hotel and weep that all of this could have been his if he’d just been man enough to go for it. Either way, he’s going home tonight for good, because he’s just too risky.

  Daniel is a wonderful man. I know he thinks he can show up for me, but it’s not just me anymore. Despite all those pretty words he said, I don’t believe he’s up for my new reality as a mother with another man’s child. He’s still in love with a memory of me. I have a memory of him, too, and I know it’s only a matter of time before this gets too serious and he freaks out and runs.

  My plan is to have him over for a normal evening of me cooking and Amanda being either charming or a small, cuter version of The Exorcist. She’s either or these days, very little in between. Then I’ll tell him it’s been nice to see him, but we might as well say goodbye. We’re going to get there soon enough anyway.

  MY PLANS, HOWEVER, never come together the way I want them to.

  I wanted Daniel to see my real life, but things are a little too real, even for me. Amanda has been cutting a new tooth and was up all last night, so that meant I was up all last night, too. Neither of us took a nap today—she, because she didn’t want to and screamed every time I put her down, and me, because she didn’t want me to and screamed every time I tried to lie down.

  Now I’m completely exhausted, and she’s still going strong. I barely get my jeans and a decent peasant top on, run a brush through my hair, and throw on some mascara—a sport of Olympic difficulty as my overtired kid keeps batting my arm—before I hear the door chimes ring.

  Oh, how I wanted to be calm, rested, and able to string a sentence together. One last hasty look in the mirror reveals a woman who was probably pretty in another life, who now needs a large glass of wine and some sleep. Crap.

  “Let go, let go, let go!” Amanda fusses as I carry her with me. She tries to struggle out of my arms, so I deposit her in a Boppy on the living room floor on my way to get the door.

  I know what I look like, but Daniel gazes at me like I’m a beauty pageant winner. I even feel the part when he hands me a huge bouquet of roses wrapped in a pink silk ribbon.

  “Hey pretty Katy,” he says, his dimple-revealing grin sweet and a little shy. Even dressed casually, he looks amazing, in dark jeans, a long-sleeved white shirt, and a cool black leather blazer.

  “Wow, these are gorgeous,” I say, taking the bouquet of what must be two dozen long-stemmed roses. “Thank you.”

  “Thank you for having me over for dinner,” he says as he comes in.

  “Believe me, it’s not going to be anything special,” I mutter, wondering whether I should call for pizza or Chinese since I never had time to make anything.

  “Daddy!” Amanda squeals. She bounces in the Boppy, holding her arms up to be lifted. “Daddy!”

  “Hey, little princess,” Daniel says, setting the bottle of wine he brought on the table and scooping her up. He gives her a loud mmmm-wah kiss on the forehead, making her laugh, and he carries her as he walks around the living room, chatting with her easily, asking to see her new teeth, making a big deal about them.

  “Daddy,” she says again.

  It’s such a natural scene, yet to me it seems supernatural, a dream-product of my over-tired mind. It’s beautiful . . . and it makes me grit my teeth. I carelessly put the huge bouquet of roses on the side table as I stride over to them. “Amanda, that’s not Daddy. This is Daniel. Say ‘Daniel,’ Amanda.”

  “Daddy,” she repeats, patting his cheek.

  Daniel looks at me and smiles sheepishly.

  “Try ‘Danny,’ Amanda,” I say. No, I order. There’s an edge in my voice. Carson is her father. Carson, who couldn’t wait to marry me. Carson, who wanted to spend the rest of his life with me—and did, only neither of us knew it would be s
o short.

  “Daddy,” Amanda repeats obstinately.

  I can tell from the look on her face, pouty and challenging, that she understood the distinction just fine and is telling me how it’s going to go. It makes me mad. I can’t believe how attached my daughter is to Daniel, who is nearly a stranger to her. She doesn’t even glom on to her Uncle Ray the way she’s tucking herself into Daniel’s neck right now. It’s not fair. Carson never even got to meet his daughter, and now Amanda is calling Daniel her daddy. Maybe it’s not right that I feel this way, but I do.

  “Peanut, come here,” I say, reaching for her.

  “No,” she says, turning away from me and wrapping her arms around Daniel’s neck.

  “Amanda, he’s not your father,” I say, trying to pry her off of him. “Come to Mommy.”

  “Katy,” Daniel says, “It’s fine.”

  “No, it’s not! Just give her to me!” I try again to pull Amanda off of him, but she screams “No, no, no!” in that piercing way that only small children can, nearing a tantrum. As am I. “Amanda, come here now!”

  “Katy,” Daniel says softly, “She’s fine, it’s okay—”

  “It’s not okay!”

  “But why?”

  “Because I don’t want her to get attached to you!” I scream. “I don’t want her calling you ‘Daddy’ and getting used to you being around when you’re just going to leave and break both of our hearts this time!”

  Amanda begins shrieking, her cheeks red and wet with tears as she clings to Daniel. My own tears, hot with anger and pain, spill onto my face. Daniel is looking at me with a sad, but not surprised, expression. Somehow, even through Amanda’s screams, I hear him quietly say, “I’m not going to leave you. Either of you.”

  “You will,” I seethe through a sob. “You’ll make me think you’re here and that you love me, but you’ll go. You did, my father did, even Carson left me!” I want to say more, to yell, to scream like Amanda is screaming, but I can’t because I’m sobbing so hard I can’t breathe.