Page 71 of Offside and Off-Limits
He plants a kiss on Benny’s check and then sets him on the floor. “These are for you,” he says, thrusting the flowers at me.
More out of reflex than anything, I take them.
“They’re your favorite,” he tells me.
I look down at the bunch of white roses. They were never my favorite, but Dwayne never bothered to learn that.
I don’t point it out. There’s no point in being petty.
“Thank you,” I say through tight lips.
Hannah darts into the hallway and immediately throws herself at her father. “Daddy!”
“How are you, sweetheart?” Dwayne plants a kiss on Hannah’s cheek.
“What are you doing here, Dwayne?” I repeat.
“I was in town for work and stayed over last night. Hey, I caught the Drench for Defense thing. You were filming for your new job, right?”
“That’s right.”
“Anyway, I thought I’d pop by to see my favorite people.”
His favorite people? Didn’t he give up that position when he walked out on us all those years ago?
Dwayne produces a lollipop for each of our kids, and they grab them gleefully.
“Thanks, Daddy,” they both say.
“Why don’t you two go to the playroom and I’ll be down there soon? I need to talk with your mommy first.”
The kids take off excitedly, dropping the lollipop wrappers on the floor, leaving the two of us in the hallway. I pick up the wrappers and turn and walk into the living room, where I offer him a seat, placing the white roses on the coffee table.
“What is it, Dwayne?” I ask without preamble.
“Come on, Clars,” he says, using his old nickname for me. “We’re both adults. We can talk amicably, can’t we?”
I force the tension in my shoulders to ease. “Of course. Sorry. I was in the middle of something when you got here and I wasn’t expecting you. That’s all.”
His lips lift into the smile I once fell for when I was a naïve nineteen-year-old, away from home at college, his confidenceand good looks pulling me in from the moment I laid eyes on him.
To my surprise, he reaches for my hand. “May I?”
“You want to hold hands with me?” I ask, incredulous. This is the man who’s barely spoken a civil word to me for years, the man who only turns up every month or two to see his kids, despite the divorce agreement that allowed him a weekend every fortnight.
“Is that so wrong? You’re the mother of my children, Clars, the woman I should never have left.”
I blink at him in shock. “What did you just say?” I ask, my voice like a thin reed.
He collects my hand in his. “Look. I made mistakes when you got sick. I was scared, and I didn't know how to help you. But I've grown, I've changed.”
I look down at my hand in his like it’s not a part of me, totally disassociated from the rest of my body.
“I need to tell you something,” he continues.
Warily, I look back at him. “I’m still dealing with the first thing you said, Dwayne.”
“Look, I knew if I reached out as me, you'd never give me a chance. But we connected so well once more. That was the real us, without all the baggage.”
