Page 76 of One Last Shot

“But at least come for ice cream, please,” Stella draws out the last word for a few seconds, and I hate to see her like this, begging for Petra’s attention. I equally hate watching Petra withhold it when she doesn’t want to, like she thinks it’ll be easier for Stella when she leaves if she starts pulling away now. I wish she understood that nothing will make her leaving easier.

If it’s possible to regret letting someone into your life and also wanting to hold them tightly and never let go, that’s how I’m feeling. And I’m pretty sure it’s how Stella is feeling too.

“I wish I could, cutie,” Petra says, then turns her head and gazes out the window.

“Why don’t we take a walk and get some ice cream,” I say to Stella, “and give Petra some time to pack. Then maybe when we get back, we can watch a show together before it’s time for bed.”

“Will you watch the show with us?” Stella asks Petra.

“Sure. I’ll go start packing now.”

The air is warm, and the sky is still quite blue as we head across Fifth Avenue and into Central Park. I’m confident Stella could find the ice cream cart with her eyes closed. As we take our treats and walk over to the playground where she sometimes likes to get her energy out at the end of the day, it occurs to me that soon I’ll need to start teaching her how to navigate the city. Not that she’ll be doing it on her own for about another decade, but just to make sure she always knows where she is and how to get where she wants to go. I never want her to feel lost or powerless.

I’ll also need to teach her how to keep herself safe, which has me thinking of Petra and how she’s the person I want to ask about this. I don’t know how women keep themselves safe in a city or how they should react under different circumstances, but I’m confident Petra will be an expert in this area. It’s interesting to me that the more deeply I think about it, the more I find that Petra fits well intoallparts of our life. Not only because I want to be with her every minute of the day, but also because Stella looks up to her and Petra is exactly the kind of woman I want Stella to grow into—strong, independent, thoughtful.

“What do you think things will be like when Petra is gone?” Stella asks as she leans back on the lip of the fountain overlooking the playground.

My throat feels tight and my eyes burn at the thought of answering this question. “Probably a lot like before she arrived.”

“I don’t want to go back to our life without her in it.” Stella’s normally confident voice is small and pinched, and her eyes look a little lost as she gazes past me at the trees.

Neither do I.The words almost slip off my tongue, but I bite them back just in time. I need to appear unified with Petra on this front or it will be confusing and even more painful for Stella when Petra leaves. “We’ll be okay,” I tell her instead. “And you’re going to love Raina. She’s like Natasha, but even nicer.”

“But do you think she’ll love me like Petra does?”

The question slices through the last of my willpower. “I don’t know.” My voice cracks with emotion. “You and Petra have a special bond. But that doesn’t mean you and Raina won’t have a different, special bond too.”

“But Raina will only be my nanny. I wanted Petra to stay and be my mom.”

I look at her in alarm, but her face is hard and certain. My throat is so tight I feel like I can’t speak, which is just as well because I don’t want to give her false hope, and I also don’t want to crush her dreams. Will Petra and I pursue the path of her being the one to adopt Stella? Will we stay married to make this all possible? Or will she leave for good, and I’ll pursue citizenship instead so I can adopt Stella without her help? I don’t know yet, and since Stella doesn’t even know that Petra and I are married, I can’t even begin to explain this possibility to her.

“I know,” I tell her and reach my arm around her shoulders to hug her to my side.

“Do you think that will ever happen?”

“A lot would have to change for that to happen,” I say tentatively. “I’d have to be your dad and—”

“But you already are my dad, aren’t you? I mean, now that Mama and Papa are dead and I live with you?”

Goose bumps rise on the back of my neck. I’m not sure how I thought this conversation was going to go, but this isn’t it. “I mean, yeah.” I shrug because I don’t want to make a big deal out of her questions and give her any reason to think maybe that isn’t what I want. It’s exactly what I’m trying to make happen.

“Can I call you Dada then, instead ofDyadya?”

“Sure.” Why does my voice sound like it’s being pushed out the spout of a steaming teakettle? “But even so, that doesn’t mean Petra would be your mom.” My chest feels so tight it’s painful.

“But she would be if you marry her,” Stella says, like it’s the most obvious and simple thing in the world.

The urge to confide in my six-year-old niece is astounding. I want to tell her that I don’t know how to be enough to make Petra want to stay, and the not knowing and the not being enough makes me feel so small and insignificant when Petra is such a huge part of my life already.

“That’s not really how marriage works,” I tell her. “You have to love the person, bein lovewith them. And you both have to feel the same way about each other.”

“But don’t you guys love each other?” she asks before shoving an enormous spoonful of ice cream into her mouth.

“We’ve been friends for a long time, and we do love each other. But that’s different than being in love.”

“What’s the difference?” she asks, her mouth full of ice cream.

“You can love someone like they’re family, you know, like I love you. But being in love with someone is ... more.”

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