Everything I Want

by MacMillan, Jerica

  I can’t suppress the smile that splits my face. She used to always blush like that for me. I used to go out of my way to make her blush because I loved the way she’d get all pink and shy and duck her head, just like she’s doing now.

  But this Sam isn’t the shy teenager I used to know. She doesn’t hide like she used to, instead raising her head and meeting my gaze head on, like she’s daring me to make her feel embarrassed about her obvious examination of my body even while the spots of color in her cheeks remain just as pink.

  The rattling of the pot on the stove breaks our staring contest, and I reach over to turn the knob to low so it doesn’t boil over, set a timer on my phone, and head back to the living room.

  There are so many things I want to say to her. The questions about her sex life burning like embers on my tongue. Questions about what she sees when she looks at me. How she feels about having me in her life again. Why she doesn’t trust me. But I can’t ask any of that with Maddie tucked up against her, sick and sad looking. She doesn’t need me pissing off her mom when all she wants is comfort.

  She needs medicine and rest and snuggles and movies while wrapped in blankets.

  I nod at her. “How’s she doing?” I ask quietly, since that seems like the only safe topic at the moment.

  Sam shrugs one shoulder. “She’s thrown up twice now. Once at my parents and once shortly after we got home. Mom fed her chicken noodle soup.” She makes a face, sticking out her tongue. “Cleaning those little pieces of noodle out of the carpet will haunt me for the rest of my life.” I chuckle, and she gives me the stink eye. “Next time you get to do it.”

  “Deal,” I return easily. If it means I can be here with them, be here for them, I’ll pick regurgitated soup noodles out of the carpet for her.

  It’s her turn to chuckle. “You say that now. Just wait …”

  I let that hang, not having anything to say to that. “What else do you need?”

  She shakes her head. “Nothing right now. I’ll get the tea when the timer goes off.”

  “Sure.” It’s a noncommittal agreement, and from the look she gives me, she knows it. But that’s the best she’s getting out of me right now. I don’t want to argue. But I also don’t want her to think I’m just going to sit on my ass and watch her do everything while I do nothing.

  Not when my daughter needs me. Even if she doesn’t want me.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Samantha

  I can’t keep my eyes off Aaron. He moves around my apartment like he belongs here, only the occasional opening and closing of multiple kitchen cabinets to find where things are—because of course he can’t just ask where I keep a pan or a strainer or a cup—giving away that he’s never been here before.

  It’s sexy in the most ridiculous way, watching my scruffy, tatted-up, boyish-pianist-turned-hot-rockstar ex take care of everything so I can sit and hold my daughter. She’s a pretty snuggly kid anyway, but when she’s sick, she’s a class one clinger, with her arms and legs wrapped around me twenty-four-seven like a baby monkey. I could stand up without hanging onto her and she’d come with me anyway, just because she wouldn’t let go. It’d be funny, except she’d cry since she’s sick and miserable.

  Sometimes when we’re playing around, and she’s not sick, I tell her to hang on like a monkey and will get up and walk around the living room with her like that. She giggles and laughs like it’s the greatest game ever. Little kids are easily entertained sometimes. Of course it’s a dangerous game to start, because she wants me to do it again and again and again until I have to protest that I’m too tired and I can’t anymore.

  For now, we snuggle under a blanket, an empty plastic Folgers container next to me in case she pukes again. Aaron strains the ginger tea despite my protests that I can do it. Once Maddie started in with, “Mommy, nooo, staaay,” in the saddest voice in the known universe, Aaron gave me a look like Are you serious right now? and calmly got up and rummaged until he found the wire strainer and a mug.

  I watch him carefully pour the contents of the saucepan into the strainer held over the mug, his brow furrowed in concentration, the long hair on the top of his head falling forward over his forehead, the dim light over the stove catching and highlighting the blond whiskers mixed in with the darker hues of his scruff.

  Don’t get used to this, I tell myself, trying to force sternness into my inner voice. This is temporary. He’s not staying long term. He’ll eventually go back on tour. He mentioned once that he’d be in town for a couple of months, but I haven’t actually asked when he has to leave again. I should. I know I should. But I haven’t wanted to do anything to disrupt the tenuous bubble of … whatever agreement we’ve come to. I know we need to hash out more details and get it in writing for legal purposes. I know it’ll be in Maddie’s best interest and probably mine as well to do so.

  But I’m afraid he’ll want to take her with him when he goes. And if he decides to take me to court over it, I don’t know who the judge would side with—the mother, who she’s known her whole life, or the wronged father who’s been kept in the dark about his child’s existence?

  I’m terrified to find out.

  So every time Aaron brings up meeting with a mediator, I panic and put it off, change the subject, distract him with Maddie. It’s stupid and cowardly, but I don’t have a plan yet, and I hate going into anything without a plan. Too much of the time since I came face-to-face with him again, I’ve been flying by the seat of my pants. And I hate that. More than I have the words to express.

  He’s a complete disruption to all my plans. Always has been. I had a plan in high school, and it didn’t include a boyfriend my senior year at all. I was going places. Working hard, getting scholarships, getting my life all set up and on track to be amazing.

  My plan definitely didn’t include said boyfriend getting me pregnant weeks before we were both supposed to leave for our separate colleges.

  Aaron knew my planning tendencies all along. I’d been planning on going to Virginia since before we even started hanging out, much less dating that summer between junior and senior year of high school. Which is why he never pressured me to apply to school in New York City, even after he got accepted to Juilliard. I could’ve. We could’ve been together there. Stayed together there. I could’ve applied to NYU or so many other schools. I had the grades, the test scores. They have good writing programs.

  But I’d set my heart on the program at Virginia, which so excellently covers all aspects of writing, so I could put off choosing if I wanted to focus on poetry or fiction or journalism. At least for a little while.

  Not that any of that mattered in the end. I didn’t go. And my life is so different from what I’d planned, but I wouldn’t trade it for the world at this point. I have family and friends who love me, and the sweetest little girl in the world, even if being a single mom is beyond exhausting at times.

  Maybe that’s why Aaron competently taking care of everything is making my girl parts wake up in ways they haven’t in years. In ways they shouldn’t while I’m snuggling a sick four-year-old.

  But he’s here. He’s the only boy I’ve ever loved. The father of my child. And he just wants to take care of us.

  How could that not be sexy?

  He rummages in the pantry, coming out with the small canister of brown sugar, dumping two generous spoonfuls into the mug and stirring before tasting it. His face looks pleasantly surprised, like he didn’t actually expect it to taste good. Which is ridiculous because ginger tea with brown sugar is delicious, and especially helpful for upset tummies.

  “Grab a straw and bring it over,” I tell him from my place on the couch.

  He turns to me with an amused glint in his eye. “Yes, ma’am.”

  I stick out my tongue at him, but he just chuckles and finds the straws in the pantry before coming back to the living room, mug in hand.

  Pulling Maddie more upright, I make room for Aaron on the other side of her. He perches on the edge of the couc
h and offers her the mug. “Here you go, Mads. Your mommy says this’ll help your tummy.”

  She leans forward and takes a few sips of the tea before pushing it away. “C’mon, sweetie,” I cajole. “Drink a little more.”

  But she shakes her head and turns away from the straw that Aaron’s still holding out to her.

  Sighing, I meet his eyes and shake my head. “We’ll try again later.”

  He nods and sets the mug on the end table next to him, then strokes a hand over Maddie’s tangled hair and down her back, his face soft with concern and affection. My heart thuds in my chest, wishing that somehow she could have this type of care all the time. Hell, that I could have this all the time. Another person here to help, to support me, to take over for me even. My parents are awesome, and they help a ton. And when she was a newborn, we lived with them and they helped with so much. But the decisions and the responsibility rests squarely on my shoulders.

  Letting Aaron take some of that on is … tempting. Attractive.

  Necessary.

  He wants it. He’s doing it. And if I don’t let him, he’ll force the issue. He’s already said as much.

  Once we have a few minutes to talk without Maddie, I need to pull up my big girl panties and have the hard conversation. Figure out what he wants. When he’s leaving. How we’re going to handle him being away and visitation around his touring schedule. If and when he wants to bring her along.

  Even if the thought of my daughter being away from me for months at a time makes my blood run cold and a rock settle in my gut, I need to face the possibility. And make plans.

  Because we’ll all feel better with a plan.

  Especially me.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Aaron

  I startle awake, having dozed off to the soothing sounds of Barbie Dreamhouse Adventures at some point after ten.

  The sound that wakes me isn’t soothing, though.

  It’s Maddie hurling. All over the blanket and carpet in front of her.

  Sam scrambles for the bucket next to her, holding it in front of Maddie’s face in time to catch the next wave of water and regurgitated Saltines. Sam rubs her back, and I reach out to pull Maddie’s hair out of her face, realizing that I’m too late to stop her from getting puke in her hair as I do it and my fingers slip over a particularly nasty-feeling slimy substance.

  This parenting gig isn’t for people with weak stomachs, that’s for damn sure.

  Maddie cries and spits and vomits, her little body shuddering with the force of its need to empty itself. All I can do is sit there and watch her, unable to do a thing to ease her suffering.

  When she’s done, she sags against Sam, tears and snot running down her face. Sam grabs a tissue and wipes off the worst of it, then turns to survey the damage. With a sigh, she sets the puke bucket on the floor and carefully pulls the blanket off of Maddie, folding the mess on the inside. I sit there like a moron, Maddie’s hair still pulled back in my fist.

  “It got in her hair,” I say after the blanket is set aside.

  Sam nods and reaches for Maddie, who clings to her, still crying softly. “Come on, baby girl,” she whispers. “Let’s take a quick bath and get you cleaned up. Does your tummy feel better or worse?”

  I can’t make out her answer. Staring at the mess, I try to decide what to do. The blanket obviously needs to be washed. Probably Maddie’s PJs do too. But I don’t think the last load ever made it into the dryer, so I’ll start there.

  After washing my hands, I head back to the laundry closet and set about switching the laundry while Sam gets Maddie into the bath.

  She appears in the bathroom doorway across the hall from me. “You don’t have to do that.”

  I straighten from putting the last handful of towels into the dryer. “I don’t mind. I told you I’m here to help.”

  “Right,” she says, but it sounds more like she’s talking to herself. She disappears into the bathroom, and I hear the splash of toys falling into the bath, then Sam’s back, standing close enough to me that I can smell the lavender bubble bath clinging to her, overlaying the scent of her that’s still imprinted on my memory after all these years. She goes up on tiptoe to open a cabinet and pulls out a stack of rags and a spray bottle.

  Without a word, she heads to the living room. I start the dryer then grab my own handful of rags from the cupboard and follow Sam.

  When I get out there, she’s on her knees in front of the couch, carefully gathering up the partially digested food with a rag, then spraying the whole area with the spray bottle.

  “What’s in there?” I ask, more to alert her that I’m right here than anything else.

  “OxiClean and water. It’s good for getting out stains.”

  Kneeling next to her, I mop up a spot that she missed, then snag the water bottle to spray that part.

  She stops mid-scrub and looks up at me. “I can do it.” Her voice is imbued with all the steel and quiet resolve that’s obviously seen her through these last few years on her own. The same determination that made her keep my daughter from me.

  But fuck that. She’s not pushing me away again. It was easy before because I was a clueless kid, and then I lost my dad so I wasn’t in any position to pursue her for any reason. And I just assumed that she’d done as she’d planned, and since she’d already moved on by Christmas of freshman year—or so she led me to believe—she had no more use for me.

  Now, though? Now I know the truth. And I won’t be pushed aside again.

  “I know you can,” I say, careful to keep my voice light. “But I told you. I’m here to help.” Maybe if I say it often enough, she’ll start to believe me. She’ll let me help instead of trying to keep me away. If she’ll trust me again, then maybe Maddie will start calling me dad instead of Aaron.

  She sits back on her heels, staring at me. “You didn’t sign up for this, though.”

  I sit back too, meeting her gaze. “And you did?”

  A firm nod. “I did. I made the choice. For me.” She gestures at the doorway to the hall. “To have her. To keep her. And all that it entails. Which means that yes, I signed up for this.”

  I examine her, taking in the lift of her chin, the stiff set of her shoulders as she waits for my answer. “I’m signing up for it now.”

  Her chin lowers a fraction of an inch and her nostrils flare as she takes me in without speaking.

  “You did say that next time it was my turn,” I offer with a half smile.

  She doesn’t smile back, but her expression softens. “I did.”

  “And I’m her dad. If this is your job, then it’s equally mine. She wouldn’t be here without me.”

  She opens her mouth like she might protest, but Maddie’s voice calls her from the bathroom.

  “Go. I can finish this. And I’ll start the laundry too.”

  She doesn’t get up right away, still staring at me without speaking.

  “Mommy,” comes Maddie’s wail.

  Sam stands. “Thank you.” And then she goes to tend to our daughter while I clean up the mess. For the first time in Maddie’s life, I get to be there for her. In some small way.

  After our conversation over cleaning puke out of the carpet, there seems to be a shift in Sam. She’s calmer. More relaxed with me, actually going so far as to ask me to get her a snack while she cuddles a clean Maddie on the couch.

  It’s nothing difficult—a protein bar from the pantry—but I didn’t have to pull the fact that she’s hungry out of her like it’s precious information. And she didn’t try to insist that she could get it herself. It’s a start.

  We settle back onto the couch and restart Dreamhouse Adventures. It doesn’t take long for Maddie to fall asleep. She’s actually angled more toward me than Sam right now, her hair leaving a damp spot on my T-shirt. But I couldn’t care less. This is the first time she’s cuddled against me.

  Ever.

  And there’s no way I’m going to move because of a wet spot on my shirt. She can dump a bucke
t of water over me, or—more likely—puke on me, and I’d take it just so I could cuddle with her for longer.

  After ten minutes or so, Sam lifts her head and blinks down at Maddie, her eyes barely able to stay open. “I should get her into bed,” she murmurs, “but I really don’t want to have to change sheets in the middle of the night if she pukes again.”

  “You think she will?”

  She shrugs. “Anything’s possible. I hope not, because all she’s had is a few sips of water since the last time, so it’d be bile and dry heaves, which are miserable. But who knows?”

  I survey the nest of blankets and towels surrounding us. “Just stay here. You’re comfortable, right? You’re barely keeping your eyes open as it is. Go to sleep. I’ll be here if you need anything.”

  She focuses her bleary gaze on me. “You’re staying?”

  I swallow, suddenly worried she’d rather I left. “If that’s okay.”

  “Yeah,” she croaks. “I actually really appreciate all your help. It’s … nice.” She makes a face like that’s a lame word, but she’s too tired to come up with anything better.

  I crack a grin. “Happy to help.”

  She pulls a throw pillow from her end of the couch and tucks it under her face, then grabs another and passes it to me. “Here. You might need this at some point.”

  “Thanks.” I put it behind my head, more because she’s trying to help me be comfortable than because I think I’ll actually use it. I’ve never been good at sleeping sitting up. But I’m not about to bitch about that right now.

  No, I’m going to relish this rare opportunity to hold my girls, because with Maddie snuggled into my side, my arm along the back of the couch, and Sam lying next to Maddie, all I’d have to do is drop my arm and I’d be holding Sam too.