Page 13 of Protecting the Boundary
I’ve never been that guy. I’m the nice guy. I’ve always been polite, respectful, even-tempered. Then Meredith shows up and suddenly I can’t stop questioning everything she does and frowning at her all the damn time.
What the hell is wrong with me?
I try to figure it out, but when I hear a door open upstairs, I know my time for self-reflection is over. It’s time to focus on being everything my daughter needs, especially since I have to remind her this morning that I have practice today. I’m bracing myself for the silent tears she’s given more often than not lately. It makes it harder to leave her because she’s not normally so emotional. She’s always been close to me, but this last year, she’s become more aware of me being away. It’s as if she thinks if I leave, I’ll never come back.
Which may be a valid fear for a kid who’s already lost one parent.
She walks into the kitchen wearing her pink unicorn pajamas and holding her favorite wolf stuffy that my mom bought her the last time she was in town. She smiles wide and runs around the island to my open arms as I squat down to pick her up.
“Morning, Daddy,” she says, squeezing her arms around me, her voice still groggy from sleep.
This little girl has no idea what I would do for her, or how much her simple “Morning, Daddy” always makes my day. As angry as I was at Sydney for not fighting, for letting the cancer progress because she wasn’t willing to risk her pregnancy, I understand her decision whenever I look at our daughter. I didn’t have the same connection Syd did with our daughter—not at the time—but I do now and I would never trade Kay for anyone or anything. While I wish I could’ve had them both, I’m thankful every day that Sydney and I made this beautiful, brave, and brilliant little girl.
“What would you say to pancakes for breakfast?”
“Unicorn Pancakes!” she shouts before bursting into a fit of giggles that bring a smile to my face.
“Anything for you, baby girl.” I set her down. “Go grab the step stool and you can help, okay?”
“Okay,” she says before running to the hall closet where we keep the step stool for when she wants to help with cooking.
The back door opens and Meredith steps through, her posture more timid and reserved than it was yesterday, and it only reminds me again about what a giant asshole I’ve been to her.
“Hey,” she says with a weak wave. “Is Kay up yet?”
“Miss Mere!” my daughter shouts as she comes back into the room with the step stool in her hands. She holds it a bit awkwardly, but I know how important it is for her sense of independence to do it on her own. “We’re making unicorn pancakes!”
Meredith’s face lights up with a smile as she gives all her attention to Kay. The room seems to get noticeably colder with her ignoring my presence. “Unicorn pancakes? I don’t think I’ve ever had those before.”
Kay looks at her, stunned, and then stands next to me and hands me the stool to open for her. “Daddy makes them.”
Meredith doesn’t look at me, but stays focused on Kay, and I can’t blame her. “That’s so nice of him.”
“Yeah,” Kay says and then steps up onto the top step of the stool. “I help, Daddy?”
I drop a kiss to the top of her head. “Of course. I can’t make unicorn pancakes without my helper.”
Needing to thaw the ice that has formed between Meredith and me, I try to offer an olive branch. “You’re welcome to help yourself to some coffee, if you’d like. We’ve got half and half in the fridge, sugar right over there,” I say, gesturing to the sugar tin. “Or some coffee creamer that I buy for when Larissa comes over to watch Kay.”
She takes a seat at one of the island stools and folds her arms before resting her forearms on the counter. “I’m okay. Thanks.” She still doesn’t look at me, her gaze set on watching Kaylee’s every movement.
Well, shoot. So much for an olive branch.
EIGHT
Larissa already warned me that Kay had two reactions when Romel left for practice or work. She would either shut down and fold in on herself, or she would have a total and complete meltdown.
I was thankful that Larissa shared this information with me since Romel did not.
I’m not sure if it’s because of our awkward interaction this morning or what, but he walks out the door after breakfast with barely a glance in my direction—simply a hug and a kiss to Kaylee, and then he’s gone.
As soon as the door clicks shut, I see what Larissa meant about Kaylee shutting down.
Her tiny little shoulders droop and her face goes blank, her eyes filling with a kind of despondency that doesn’t seem normal for a three-year-old.
“Hey, KayBear,” I say. “What do you want to do today while your dad’s at work?”
A shrug is her only response.
