Page 62 of His Playground
“About me needing you. I need you more than I’ve ever needed anyone, Antonia.”
“Mhmm,” she mumbles but doesn’t say anything more. I know she doesn’t believe me. That’s okay, because I will find a way to show her I mean it.
I’m sitting across from my daughter, my wife next to me, and the words I need nowhere to be found.
“Jazzy, honey, did you know that your mom was sick?” Antonia asks.
Jazzy looks from Antonia to me and nods her head.
“I… She passed away, sweetheart. I’m sorry. I had someone looking for her, and he found her. She died,” I explain as delicately as I can.
“It’s okay, Daddy. I knew Mama was going to die. That’s why she brought me to you.” Jazzy stands and hugs me. “You don’t need to be sad. She’s in heaven now. Mama says it’s a happy place and that one day I’ll see her there.”
She’s trying to comfort me? I’m the one who’s supposed to comfort her.
“I’m sad that you don’t have her anymore, sweetheart,” I say. “Do you want to visit her at the cemetery?”
“Can we take her flowers?” Jazzy asks.
“We can take her whatever you want,” Antonia replies.
“Okay. She likes daisies.”
“Then we will get her lots of them.” Antonia nods.
“Thanks.” Jazzy runs off, appearing unbothered.
“You think she’s okay?”
“I think she has already had time to process her mother’s death. But I also worry that she doesn’t want you to know she’s sad,” Antonia says. “You should go talk to her. Let her know it’s okay for her to be sad. That it’s okay for her to be scared or angry or whatever she feels.”
“I’m not cut out for this.” My fingers run through my hair. I want to be everything that my daughter needs. Except I can’t be the one thing she lost. I can’t be her mother.
“Carlo, don’t sell yourself short. I wish I had a father half as caring as you are with her,” Antonia says.
Leaning across the sofa, I press my lips to hers. “Thank you.” Then I push to my feet and make my way down the hall.
When I walk into my daughter’s room, I find her sitting on the floor, a pile of dolls in front of her. She’s not playing with them, though. She’s wiping at her face. Tears. Fucking tears.
“Sweetheart?” I scoop her into my arms. “It’s going to be okay.”
“I’m sorry, Daddy. I didn’t mean to cry,” she says.
“It’s okay to cry. You cry as much as you want,” I tell her. Even though the mere sight of her tears is ripping me apart on the inside. “It’s okay to be sad.”
“Mama said I should be happy to be with you. And I am. But I miss her.”
“I know. That’s okay too, Jazzy. You don’t have to pretend with me. Whatever you’re feeling, I want you to tell me. I’m not going anywhere,” I assure her.
“Promise?” she asks.
“Promise.”
“Can we go visit her now? I want Mama to meet Antonia. I think she’ll like her. She’s not an evil stepmother at all.” Jazzy peers up at me with watery eyes, and I nod.
“Sure we can.”
After stopping at a florist and buying every daisy they had in stock, we’re now standing in front of a small simple plaque in the middle of the cemetery. I make a mental note to replace it. Penelope should have a nicer memorial.
