Page 55 of Made for You

The final picture in the album is a magazine cutout of Josh proposing to me on the show. He’s in a light gray suit, kneeling, looking up. I’m in a blush-colored mermaid-cut evening gown with my hair in a loose knot at my neck, looking down, one hand covering my mouth.

Two people in the throes of their exciting new beginning...and not so far from their disastrous end.

I snap the book shut.

“Oh, you found the photo album!” Vanessa has returned with an armful of blankets.

“I hope you don’t mind...” I return the album to the shelf. My fingers are trembling.

“No! It’s okay! I actually made it for Phil, as a surprise. I just thought it was weird he didn’t have pictures of Josh around, so for his sixty-ninth birthday...”

Ah. The sweet image of Phil scouring the internet for information about his son crumbles.

“Where did you find all those pictures, though?” I say. “Josh got rid of his social media way before he met me.”

She titters. “I have a friend who works for Facebook. You know they never delete any of that stuff, right? I took him out for sushi as a thank-you.”

Okay, that’s slightly creepy...but nice, too. As judgy as I felt toward Vanessa minutes ago, I’m starting to feel like, given time, the two of us might really like each other.

After I construct Annaleigh’s nest, we return to the living room, where Phil is wrapping up his phone call.

“Well, her bed is set up,” I announce. “The diaper bag is there. I’d better go.”

“You sure you want to rush off?” says Phil. “You must be hungry. Vanessa can make us a quick dinner.” At his gesture, she scurries into the kitchen.

“Do you like bulgur?” She opens the fridge. “I also have tempeh...”

“No, please—I shouldn’t linger.” With one stop for dinner and gas, I should be home no later than ten. “Thank you for taking care of Annaleigh. I’ll call to check in. You have my number. Call me with any questions. Anything at all, at any time.”

“She’ll be right here waiting for you,” says Phil.

I nod. Glance at my baby, who’s blissfully asleep in the car seat, eyes buttoned, fingers closed into small pink fists. Completely trusting. With no idea that when she wakes up, her mama will be gone. There’s a rock in my heart. Or my heart has become a rock.

Phil heaves himself up from his chair. “Good luck. I’ll see you out.” Transactional. Dry.

At the door, I’m so tempted to turn back and wake my baby up to say a proper goodbye. Nurse her one last time, kiss her sweet cheeks, give her all my promises that this is going to turn out alright and Mama will be back for her. But she wouldn’t understand. Anyway, this isn’t goodbye, I remind myself. This is temporary.

“One more thing,” I say to Phil at the front door. “Why didn’t you come to our wedding?”

He doesn’t even flinch. Actually, he smiles, just a little. “We’re not all cut out to be parents.”

“He deserved better,” I say with a tremble of passion.

“Listen, Julia,” Phil says. “I may be a selfish bastard, but I own that. I decided what I wanted, and I got it.” He gestures behind us, to the condo, Vanessa, the view of Chicago. “You want to know what Josh’s problem is? He’s never been honest with himself. He’s too in love with what he wants to be. I say, life’s too short. Be what you are. That’s all you can be.”

Be what you are? What a fatalistic, asshole cop-out. Likely, the words Phil LaSala stroked his own ego with as he drove away from the heartbroken eight-year-old that was Josh. What’s wrong with striving to be better?

“How would you know that about Josh when you weren’t even around?” I challenge.

“A father knows,” he says. Then he narrows his eyes and nods, like he’s making his assessment of me. “I like you, Julia. And if my son left you, screw him. Move on.”

“He didn’t leave me,” I whisper angrily.

Phil’s smile is light. “It’s only a guess.”

“He loves me. And I love him.”

“Good for you.”

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