“Okay. Text me when you get on and off the train, yeah? I want to know you’re safe.”
“I will. Maxie, can we talk ‘bout things tonight?”
My heart drops into my colon. “Yes. Of course.”
“I’z go now. See you soon?”
“Yeah, baby. See you soon.”
She hangs up and while that’s so much better than saying goodbye, sitting here for an hour contemplating what she wants to “talk” about isn’t.
fifteen
By the time Cynnie arrives,I’m pacing, my phone in hand, on a video call with Sammi’s daddy, Jack.
“Deep breath. You got this. Remember the plan. Get her settled. Give her a drink,notin a sippy cup. Comfortable place to sit,notin your lap. Let her talk first. Just listen if you can. Wrap it up in a half-hour at most, then take her to the park and let her be little. You can solve relationship problems tomorrow.”
“Right,” I say feverishly. “Little today. Big tomorrow.”
“That’s right. Go get your baby girl.”
“Going. Thanks, Jack.”
“De nada. You’ll be fine, man.”
I force myself to say goodbye to avoid alienating him when he’s been so generous with his time and daddy-wisdom. Then I thumb my phone over to set a timer and buzz Cynnie up.
I follow the plan. I take her overnight bag and the black tent, smiling at the sweet, floral dress she’s wearing underneath. I give her a hug but don’t scoop her up and carry her up to the loft the way my balls demand. I give her a drink in a regular glass and sit on my hands to keep from rushing back into the kitchen for her sippy cup when she pouts. I sit on the futon while she sitson the couch and ruthlessly suppress the urge to pull her into my lap.
She ends up there in less than five minutes anyway.
She wraps her arms around my neck and sniffles into my shoulder. “Missed you.”
I rub her back and press her to me. “I missed you, too.”
I bite my tongue to keep from barraging her with questions and grip the slivers of my patience tighter than I grip her.
“Things all went wrong. I’z in trouble when I get home. Everyone mad at me. Everyone yellin’. I’z so sad.”
I cradle her, feeling discordant notes bubble in my gut like indigestion. This is wrong. It’s not that she’s lying; she’s using littlespace to shield herself. Not from her family and whoever else was angry with her when she got home, but from me. She’s using how adorable she knows I find her lisp and how irresistible I find her cuddles to keep me from expressing any of my anger over her ghosting me.
Silently, still listening to her as she tells me about a project for her family business she failed to deliver on time because she was with me, I count backwards from a thousand. In prime numbers.
I smooth her silken hair back from her face and kiss her forehead. “I’m sorry you got in trouble when you got home. Are you caught up with work now?”
She nods and blinks her dark eyes at me. “But I can’t stay away three days again.”
“No, I wasn’t going to suggest that. Have you apologized to your family for ignoring them and not communicating where you were?”
Her eyes shift right and left before falling to rest somewhere near the collar of my T-shirt. “Yeth.”
“I didn’t know you were doing that, baby. I wouldn’t have been happy with you if I’d known.”
She hunches her shoulders. “Youz mad at me, too?”
“We can talk about my feelings later. I want to hear from you first.”
She hangs her head. “Gots nothin’ more to say.”
