Page 25 of The Infiniteness of Yesterday
“For what?” I ask hesitantly.
“For what you were going through.” He clears his throat, folding his hands together. “I … I was so caught up with life, being a young dad with this new baby, trying to make ends meet and figure things out that I didn’t notice just how bad it had gotten for you.”
I blow out a heavy breath. I try not to dwell on those days too much. I know I had no control over things, postpartum depression is no joke, but I still blame myself for it. Like I could’ve, or should’ve, done something different. Things got better eventually, but the guilt lingers to this day over my worries that I wasn’t a good enough mom to Roe in her early days and I definitely wasn’t a good partner to Spencer then. I worry it’ll happen to me again when I have another child one day. Apparently it doesn’t work that way, but I can’t help but worry about it.
“It’s okay. It was a long time ago.”
“It wasn’t that long ago.” He laces his fingers together, settling them on the table. “I can’t go back in time and do things over as much as I wish I could, but I want you to know I’m sorry for not pushing you to get help. I could’ve?—”
“Spencer,” I plead, closing my eyes. Opening them slowly, I exhale a breath. “I appreciate you apologizing, even though I don’t think it’s necessary. It’s no one’s fault, it’s just something that happens.”
“Okay.” He presses his lips together. “Okay,” he repeats, looking out the window and I know he’s far away in his head.
I’ve enjoyed myself here with him, and I don’t want to leave with things in an awkward place.
“Can I see Roe’s room?”
He looks back at me, rubbing his fingers over his lips. “I should’ve offered you a tour when you got here.”
“I don’t need a tour,” I insist with a shake of my head. “But I would like to see her room.”
I’ve seen it in photos, but never in person. Usually, Spencer picks her up from my place, or school, when he has her. On the occasions I have brought her, I walk her to the front door and leave.
I’ve always been careful to draw a line in the sand and never cross it. Not until today.
He nods and gets up, pushing his half-eaten plate away. I do the same with mine, my appetite having disappeared with the talk of my postpartum depression.
Following Spencer up the grand staircase I hold onto the black wrought iron railing, looking around at the beautiful home. Most of the walls are white or a light taupe, with hints of black like in the railing, and rich dark woods from the floors to the beams crisscrossing the vaulted ceiling. It’s both bright and warm.
At the top of the stairs, he turns down a wide hallway and opens the first door on the left.
The room is large with a massive floor to ceiling French door that leads to a balcony.
“Don’t worry,” he says, when he sees where I’m looking, “I keep it locked with a key so she can’t get out, not that I think she’d do anything stupid, but better safe than sorry.”
To my right, the wall is painted with a pastel rainbow. A low, pale pink loveseat sits there lined with stuffed animals. Walking over, I pick up a cockatoo and brush my fingers over the top of its head before putting it back in its rightful spot.
The opposite wall is stucco, with a queen-sized bed, the frame a dark colored wood that nearly matches the floor with four posts and a canopy going around it. The bed covers are pale pink and just like her room with me, it’s covered in numerous pillows. On the floor is a large fluffy rug, pink too. There are the other basics—dresser, chest, and toys. A beautiful wooden dollhouse takes up residence in the corner near the balcony.
“I built that for her.”
I look at him in surprise. “You did?”
He chuckles, scratching the back of his head. “Yeah, it was a bitch to put together but I got it done. She plays with it all the time.”
“It’s beautiful.” He tips his head at the compliment. “This whole room is beautiful.” I spin in a circle, smiling at the chandelier dangling above. It must be handmade, designed to look like vines and flowers. It’s a work of art. “Did you have a designer?”
He grins. “Our daughter.” Chuckling he looks around like he’s trying to see it all again for the first time. “I browsed websites and she picked out things she wanted and told me she wanted a rainbow somewhere on the walls, and this is how it turned out.”
“I bet she never wants to leave.” The words leave me before I even think about what they mean. I swallow down the lump in my throat. I know our breakup was necessary—for my sanity and his career, but it doesn’t make it easier knowing my young daughter has to live in two separate homes because of it.
He clears his throat, frowning a tiny bit. “Nah, don’t get me wrong, I know she’s happy when she’s here, and she loves me, but … she loves you more.” He looks away. A muscle in his jaw twitches.
He slides his hands into his shorts and looks at the floor as his shoulders hunch upwards.
His obvious pain over what he’s deemed a fact is hard for me to see. I’ve always had Monroe most of the time and then I met Jameson. I’ve never been alone, not really, the way Spencer has. It hits me like a ton of bricks, how lonely he must’ve been without us, and I feel like shit for it.
“That’s not true.”
