by Bailey B
“The Oreos are in my car,” Logan hitches his thumb behind him. “I wasn’t sure if I still needed them. You changed your mind like three times.”
“Right. Sorry about that.” I close the door and cross my arms. My thumb rubs against my skin where he can’t see, creating a dull throb that’s distracting me from how nervous I am. “I’ve...um… I have some in the kitchen if we need them. They’re her favorite.”
Logan reaches out and squeezes my arm, simultaneously threading his fingers with mine. “Relax, Dani. If today doesn’t go well, there’s always tomorrow.”
Warm flutters fill my stomach, bringing back memories and emotions I’ve worked hard to push away. I twist my body, freeing myself from his touch. “Don’t do that.”
Logan shoves his hand into his pocket, a worry line appearing between his brows. “Don’t do what?”
“Pretend like we’re friends. We’re not. I’m Molly’s mom. You’re just the guy who knocked me up and got away with not paying child support the last few years.”
Logan’s jaw hardens, the little vein by his eye pulsating. It was a low blow on my part, but I need to hold onto something. Hate is easier to manage than flutters. He got me pregnant. He wasn’t there until it was too late. And now, when I’d finally begun to see progress with Molly’s therapist, he forces me to move home.
Logan steps closer, invading my personal space. His scent fills my nostrils, memories of long nights and warm cuddles flicker like a movie. “I could have been so much more than a fucking sperm donor. You’re just a bitch who wouldn’t give me the chance.”
21
Logan
Goddamn Danika. I’m trying so hard to do things the right way, and she has to bust my balls. Had I known Molly existed, I would have fought for her. Paid child support. Spent every available minute with her. Hell, the way Dani and I were back in high school, and as cosmic as we were at the wedding, I probably would have married her already and we’d be one big happy family.
But Danika took the easy way out. She left me and took our baby with her. I’ve missed every milestone of Molly’s life because of that woman.
That’s.
Not.
My.
Fault.
Was threatening Danika with kidnapping charges, knowing she couldn’t afford legal representation, a dick move? Ab-so-fucking-lutely, but I don’t care. I played nice. I called. I texted. I tried to visit. Outside of snatching my own kid and bringing her across state lines myself (which my lawyer father said was frowned upon), I was out of options.
So, here we are.
I take a breath and try to get a handle on my emotions. Kids are like sharks, they can sense fear and frustration. I need to calm down and relax before trying to talk to Molly. I lean against the partition separating the front entrance from the living room and just watch.
Molly is beautiful. Long caramel curls are pulled into a ponytail, but still fall over her shoulder as she leans down to put the last piece of the puzzle in its place. She looks up at Sarah, eyes wide with excitement. Eyes whose color I can’t make out from where I’m standing.
“Good job, Molly,” Sarah encourages in her fake, cheerleader voice. I get it though, kids feed off that energy. Off the happiness.
I clear my throat, announcing my presence without scaring anyone. Sarah turns her gaze to me. Molly does the same, her beautiful smile falling the moment she sees me—the strange man who has come into her new house. She scoots herself back, using Sarah as a human shield.
I wave and take slow, careful steps. Danika warned me Molly was shy and not much of a talker. I thought kids were supposed to be chatterboxes, but I was quiet too at this age. Maybe she gets that from me.
Danika also told me not to get my feelings hurt if Molly doesn’t respond to me today. I like that she’s got the stranger-danger thing, but I’m her dad. It’ll be hard not to get my feelings hurt if the kid doesn’t at least smile at me by the end of this visit.
I sit on the ground a couple feet away from them. I point at the puzzle, making sure to smile but not in a holy-fuck-you’re-my-kid kind of way. “Did you do this?”
Molly peeks around Sarah’s shoulder. Her eyes, which I can now see are a hazel-like color, scan me from head to toe. She studies my face a moment, never looking me in the eye, then hides behind Sarah again. Baby steps. “I couldn’t do something like this.” I shake my head for show. I could totally do it. “Who is this? Doctor toy?”
“It’s Doc Mcstuffins,” Sarah chides.
I shoot Sarah a look and she instantly shuts her trap. I don’t care who the damn cartoon is. I’m trying to bond with my kid here! Molly runs from behind Sarah deeper into the house. Every fiber in my body wants to chase after her, but I force myself to stay put. I need her to come to me.
“Great job, dad,” Sarah mocks. She’s clearly not on my team.
“Suck a—”
Molly runs back into the room carrying a stuffed doll of the same character from the puzzle. She stops beside Sarah and holds it out to me. I extend my hand and she gives me the toy. I bring it to my chest and hug it like I want to be hugging her. “Thank you, Molly.”
Molly smiles again, bouncing on her toes a bit then sits. She holds her arms out, likely for the doll and not me, so I hand it back. She turns to look behind her at the sound of footsteps. Danika enters the room clutching an I wish I was sleeping mug between both hands. Molly raises her hand. She places the tip of her thumb on her chin with her index finger extended. Then bends her index finger twice.
“This,” Danika says settling onto the couch, “is your dad, Logan. You can call him Dad or Logan. Whichever you’re comfortable with, sweetie.”
Molly looks at me again, then begins to sign what I assume are the letters of my name. She smiles and claps her hands.
There’s a pang of disappointment that Molly won’t call me Dad, but I ignore it. Like her mother, this girl is going to make me earn my title. I tear my gaze away from my daughter and focus on Danika. “She doesn’t talk?”
Danika exhales loudly, a small frown falling upon her face. She quickly hides it with a sip of her drink then says, “She can, but chooses not to. I thought she might be autistic but her doctor said the tests were inconclusive. Her therapists have gotten her to say a handful of words, but it’s slow coming.”
I nod, not fully understanding. I’ve heard of autism, but don’t personally know anyone with it. A heads up about Molly’s potential condition would have been nice. I could have done some research and better prepared myself.
“She could understand us, but refused to speak to anyone. Listening to her scream when she was unhappy, or watching her destroy a classroom because we didn’t understand what she wanted was heartbreaking.” Danika hides another sad smile with her coffee. Sarah reaches back and squeezes Danika’s knee, comforting her in a way I’m not allowed.
I wish I had been there to help shoulder the burden. Babies aren’t easy.
“Molly had a great teacher last year who introduced us to sign language. My little princess soaked it up like a sponge. You wouldn’t believe how smart she is, Logan.” A proud smile curls Danika’s lips. “But her therapist said I shouldn’t sign to her. I need to talk and encourage Molly to use her words or else she may never speak.”
Molly’s still sitting beside Sarah, signing what I’m almost positive are the letters of my name over and over again. I pull out my phone and do a quick Google search. Satisfied I understand what I’m supposed to do, I scoot a little closer. “Molly?”
She looks up at me, her gaze settling on my nose. I use my hands to sign “I am Logan” despite her mother’s disapproval. I need an in with my kid. If being the only person to sign with her is what it takes to bond, then so be it.
Molly gasps and bounces in her seat, her hands flapping like a bird at her side. She signs hello, then looks down at her lap. Her little throat bobs with a big swallow. She clenches and unclenches her fists. Her tiny mouth opens a fraction of an inch then closes.
She opens it again, eyes still trained on the floor, and lets out a soft, breathy, “H...h...hi.”
Danika drops her mug. Dark liquid spills all over the tile floor, but it doesn’t shatter. I smile, a feeling of pride so powerful flooding my body that tears pool in my eyes. My daughter, who doesn’t speak, spoke to me. She’s quiet, and breathy, and stutters. Just like I did as a kid.
Molly stands, her gaze still focused on her feet, and takes small careful steps towards me. My heart races in my chest faster than Pierre Gasly when he set the record for the fastest lap at the 2019 Chinese Grand Prix.
Molly sits herself in my lap, her tiny head resting against my chest.
I look up at Danika for confirmation that it’s okay to hug Molly. She nods, and I wrap my arms around her. Molly snuggles into me, getting herself comfortable. I blink back tears because for the first time, I am hugging my daughter.
22
Danika
I want to be mad at Logan. I mean, I am mad at him for making me move back to this oven of a state, but I wish I was angry with him for signing to Molly. For all of ten seconds, I was. But then she spoke. It’s the first word I’ve heard her say that wasn’t probed from therapy.
I’ve tried all week since to get Molly to talk to me, but she would only sign and most of what she signed was asking where Logan was. For the record, he’s been working. Three nights on, two nights off. Apparently his schedule rotates every two weeks and it’s set to switch again on Monday.
Molly screams from her booster seat at the table. She doesn’t like being strapped in but I don’t want her wandering this house alone. Sarah has a lot of expensive knickknacks. Until I can finish wrapping them up, I don’t want to take any chances of Molly breaking them. Lord knows I can’t afford to replace anything.
I turn around from the counter and jump, nearly dropping Molly’s lunch. “For heaven’s sake, Logan, don’t sneak up on me like that!”
He chuckles and steps into the kitchen. “Sorry. I knocked but you didn’t answer. When I heard Molly crying I thought something might be wrong.”
Molly opens her eyes at the sound of Logan’s voice. She dries her tears and smiles up at him. She makes each hand into a fist then crosses her arms over her chest in the form of an X. When Logan doesn’t immediately respond, Molly begins to cry again.
“What’s wrong with her?” he asks, crouching down to rub circles on Molly’s back.
“She wants a hug.” I set Molly’s plate on the table and run my hands down my face. Things with Molly have become almost unbearable since moving here. I don’t have insurance, so I can’t continue Molly’s speech therapy. She signs “Teacher” everyday, asking when she can see Ms. Tabb again, then gets mad and screams when I tell her we aren’t going to school. On top of that, she’s refusing to eat anything except apples and peanut butter because Nona would make most of Molly’s meals and she misses her.
Needless to say, I am exhausted.
“Oh.” Logan unclasps the buckle around Molly’s waist and lifts her into his arms.
Molly stops crying and wraps her tiny legs around his waist and clings onto his neck. Her breaths are shaky from all her screaming and it kills me how easily Logan is able to soothe her. When I pick Molly up in that state, she thrashes and refuses to let me comfort her.
“Isn’t she a little old for a booster seat?” Logan asks, rocking Molly in his arms.
“What? Did you read a parenting book and suddenly become an expert?” My words are harsh, but if he did, I want that book. Logan is a natural with Molly. I sag into one of Sarah’s dining room chairs and take a peanut butter covered apple slice from Molly’s tray. “The short answer, yes, but I need to know Molly is safe when I’m in the kitchen.”
“Are you hungry?” he asks Molly. She nods and he places her in the chair beside me. Not the booster seat. I slide the plate I fixed in front of her as Logan moves the booster out of the way and sits on her other side. “You look tired.”
“Gee. Thanks.” Of course I’m tired. I spend all day trying to keep Molly happy. Playing therapist because I can’t afford one by making her do her speech exercises, which are going horribly. Trying to keep Sarah’s house from being destroyed because all kids do is make messes. And then, at night, I’m up late completing my assignments so I can graduate virtually in December.
“I don’t mean that in a bad way.” Logan grabs Molly’s water bottle off the floor and sets it on the table. “I’m just saying, you look like you could use some help.”
I grab the water bottle and take it to the sink. You can’t give a kid something off the floor without rinsing it, but of course Logan doesn’t know these things. “I’m fine. We just have to find our groove here. That’s all.”
I hand Molly her water and she greedily snatches it from me. Logan watches her with amusement, while I clear my throat. Molly looks up at me, places four fingers over her lips, then moves her hand forward and down.
“You’re welcome,” I say, taking my seat again.
“Let me help, Danika. I’m her dad.”
I know he’s trying to be nice, but I hate hearing that word. Dad. My dad hasn’t come by once since I moved back and it hurts. I know it’s wrong to take my frustrations out on Logan, but I can’t help it. “You don’t know the first thing about being a dad, Logan. You haven’t been around.”
“That’s not my fault!” Logan’s voice drops two octaves. He’s mad, rightfully so, but is probably trying not to yell for Molly’s sake.
“I’m sorry, that was a low blow.” I owe him that apology, but that doesn’t mean what I said untrue. Logan has gotten a tiny glimpse of what the last four years have been like. He wasn’t there for the late nights or early mornings. He didn’t sit in the rocking chair all night, because that was the only way Molly would sleep. He has no idea the sacrifices it takes to be a parent. “You can’t walk away when you decide things are too hard or that you miss your old life.”
“I wasn’t the one who walked away, Danika. You were.”
I bite the inside of my cheek, refusing to let him get me worked up. Yes, I left. Yes, in hindsight, it probably wasn’t the best decision to have made, but there’s nothing I can do about that now. “You’re never going to let me forget that. Are you?”
“Not if you keep throwing it in my face how I wasn’t there the first four years of her life. It’s not fair. I can be a good dad, Danika. Just give me the chance.”
23
Danika
“Well if it isn’t my favorite wedding-goer,” a deep voice purrs from behind me. I ignore it, not sure if the man is talking to me until he chuckles and says, “So, how is it having your ex for a brother? As creepy as you thought?”
I look over my shoulder, past the display of fruit on aisle three, heat rushing to my cheeks, and grin. “Super creepy. How are you…? You know, I never caught your name.”
“Travis.” He walks around a stack of bananas to extend his hand and I shake it. “I looked for you, you know. Called you a few times, too.”
I push my buggy down the cereal aisle, grabbing a box of Lucky Charms because it used to be Molly’s favorite. Travis arches an eyebrow but doesn’t ask about my sugary sweet choice. “Did you now?”
“Yup,” he says, putting a box of maple oatmeal in his basket. “Truth be told, I’d completely given up on seeing you again.”
I grab a box of granola bars then head down the baby aisle. “Lucky for you, I just moved back to town.” I pause, letting his grin stretch ear to ear then add, “with my daughter.”
His smile falters for a blip of a second before he asks, “Did the dad move back too?”
I laugh. “Dad is said ‘brother-in-law’ and we aren’t really on the best terms at this moment.”
“So, he won’t care if I take you out to dinner Friday night?”
I bat my lashes and attempt to flirt. It’s been so long, I don’t know If I’m doing it right. I either look really cute or completely stupid. I’m hoping for the former. “Don’t
know. Don’t really care. Where did you have in mind?”
I sit in front of the full length mirror in Sarah’s room, watching her curl the ends of my hair with her wand. We never had these moments in high school, where we fixed each other's hair and makeup before dates. It’s been nice having her fawn over me, and she did an amazing job with my makeup, but my stomach’s twisting. I feel like I’m on the upward climb of a roller coaster.
“I can’t do this,” I groan, wrapping my arms around my waist.
Sarah releases the last bit of hair she was working on, then runs her fingers through my curls for what she calls a loose bedroom look. “Relax, you’ve got this.”
I stand and look at myself again. Sarah’s picked out my favorite dress, a black number that flares at the hips with ¾ sleeves. It’s got a vintage swing look to it, but falls above the knee instead of mid-thigh. “I don’t know. What about Molly? How are you going to handle bedtime by yourself?”
“Dani,” Sarah huffs, hands on her hips. “She’s a four year old girl, not Hitler. Go before you’re late and Travis thinks you stood him up.” The doorbell rings and Sarah tilts her head. “I didn’t know he was picking you up.”
I slip my matching black converse on and follow her down the stairs. “He’s not.”
“Interesting,” Sarah says, the corner of her lip lifting. “You get that. I’m going to put Molly in the bath. Have fun tonight, girlie.”
“Love you!” I shout over my shoulder, opening the door.
There’s a chuckle I’d recognize anywhere and the tiny hairs on the back of my neck stand on edge. “I didn’t know—” Logan cuts himself off and stares at me, jaw slack. His eyes roam over my body, sending a nervous shiver through me. “You look stunning, Danika.”
