Maddox stares at me in disbelief. In curiosity. In . . . excitement? He looks between me and Callie, who is here for moral support. Over the past thirty minutes, I’ve tried my best to explain everything to him in terms a child would comprehend. I decided to tell him right away. Give him time to absorb the news about Gavin before the big meeting. So as soon as he came home from school today, I sat him down.
“Do you understand everything I’ve told you?” I ask him, thinking how completely overwhelming this must be for a seven-year-old.
“Yeah,” he says. “That man at the swimming pool at the hotel is my dad. But he didn’t know he was my dad until he saw me.” He frowns. “But then why didn’t he tell me he was my dad?”
I look guiltily at Callie and then back at Maddox. “Well, there was a big misunderstanding a long time ago, before you were born. And because of that misunderstanding, I thought that your dad might not want to meet you, so I asked Callie to get you out of the pool before he could tell you he was your dad. Then we left the hotel and it took him a few weeks to find me and tell me that he really does want to meet you and do some fun things with you, if that’s okay.”
He looks at Callie. I may be his mom, but she’s more like his best friend than his nanny. He runs everything past her. Last week when I wanted to trim his hair because I thought it was getting a little too unruly and Gavin-like, he insisted on waiting until Callie got home to see what she thought about the idea.
She nods her head at him in reassurance.
Maddox narrows his eyes and looks back at me. “You promise I won’t have to leave you and Callie to go live with him?”
“I promise,” I say, hoping to God the words are true.
“I guess it’s okay then,” he says, with an unmistakable McBride grin.
“Alright then, it’s settled. He will come to the house on Saturday.” It’s not lost on me that we keep referring to Gavin as ‘he’ or ‘him.’ At this point, I’m not yet comfortable calling him Maddox’s dad in front of Maddox. Understandably, Maddox feels the same way. Maybe in time.
“But I have a game Saturday,” Maddox whines.
I almost roll my eyes at how important soccer has become to him. Gavin will be over the moon.
“Well, then he’ll simply have to come watch you play. He was once pretty good at soccer himself, you know. He was the starting something-or-other on our college soccer team.”
Maddox’s eyes grow wide. “He would come to my game?”
I’m pretty good at reading him, but those words, I’m just not sure if he spoke them in terror or excitement. “Sure he would,” I say. “Why don’t I invite him to the house first, so you can talk and get acquainted, and then we’ll all go to your game.”
“Can I go play now?” he asks, getting all fidgety. I’m sure he must be nervous about the enormity of the situation.
“Of course you can, buddy.” I ruffle his hair and plant a kiss on the top of his head.
Callie and I watch him take off out the back door and run to the end of our large yard that boasts a soccer goal in the corner. He lines up six soccer balls and takes shots into the net.
Callie smiles. “That’s adorable. He wants to impress Gavin at the game.”
I raise my eyebrows at her.
“What?” she says. “Since when has Max ever run out to play before snack time?”
I watch my son through the large picture window in the living room. My heart skips a few beats at the thought of him meeting Gavin.
As if on cue, my phone pings.
Gavin: Have you told him yet?
Me: Just now, as a matter of fact.
Gavin: You’re killin’ me, woman. How did it go?
Me: He ran outside to practice soccer. Callie thinks it’s because he wants to impress you. BTW-he has a game Saturday afternoon if you can come.
He doesn’t immediately text back and I get nervous. Maybe he really doesn’t want to be here for the day-to-day stuff. Maybe he wants to be a dad in name only. I try to remind myself of everything he told me last night and this morning, about how he wants me, wants Maddox.
Was that just all talk?
Gavin: Darlin’, going to a soccer game with you to watch our son play would be like a dream come true. Tell me when to be there and I’m yours.
I breathe an unexpected sigh of relief and then I re-read the last few words of his text. I’m yours. My heart flutters for a second. But only for a second. Only until my brain regains focus on my priorities.
Me: Why don’t you come to the house at 2 so you can meet and talk for a while before we have to leave for the game.
Gavin: 2 on Saturday? Do I have to wait that long to see you?
Me: See me?
Gavin: Yes, you, Baylor. I haven’t stopped thinking about you since you left the hotel this morning. It was torture not being able to text or call you from my flight. I wanted to make sure you knew what a great time I had last night. My flight arrives at 10 PM your time Friday night, can I see you at the hotel right after?
My pulse quickens and my insides get all gooey, spreading dampness between my thighs just thinking about what he might do to me if I see him Friday night. What I know he will do, because he did it all to me last night. And this morning. Over and over.
No. I should wait until Maddox and Gavin meet. What if they don’t get along? What if Gavin decides having a kid is not like he thought it would be? What if Maddox is uncomfortable with him?
What if Gavin is lying to me to get to him?
Gavin: Bay?
Me: I have plans Friday.
Gavin: I thought you weren’t seeing anyone.
Me: I’m not. I’m going out with the girls.
Gavin: Unless I can change your mind.
Me: Not likely.
Gavin: You underestimate my charm, Baylor.
Me: But not your ego, apparently.
Gavin: Ouch! That hurt, Mitchell.
Me: See you Saturday, McBride.
Gavin: Not if I see you first.
I laugh at the same phrase he used on me back in college.
Maddox was unusually quiet during dinner and I tried to give him time to get used to this and come to terms with it on his own. He exhausted himself with soccer, falling asleep even before I could read him the next installment of his favorite series: Harry Potter.
I stand in the doorway, watching my perfect little boy sleep in the soft glow of the nightlight by his bed. He’s tucked under a comforter adorned with black-and-white soccer balls. I can’t help but wonder if what is about to happen to him will be the best thing in his life or the worst. I’ve seen kids put in the middle of a divorcing couple. It happened to Chris and his little sister. It was awful. The arguing over who gets to spend what holidays and birthdays and summer vacations with them. Forcing the kids to pick sides when parents can’t come to terms. Is that the life I’m inflicting on Maddox? Because, let’s face it, even if Gavin and I end up together, it will be a long-distance relationship at best. He owns a production company in California. Everything I have and everyone I love is here. In Maple Creek. Three thousand miles away.
I tried to explain to Maddox that Gavin wouldn’t be here all of the time; most of the time, in fact. I don’t want Maddox getting too attached too quickly. I don’t want him thinking we’re going to become one big happy family. Because it’s not going to happen.
Even so, a part of me hopes that maybe we can find some kind of middle ground. A way to make things work for Maddox. For us. But those kinds of happy-endings only happen in books. I should know. I write them.
I’ve often heard that relationship problems are the backbone of the music industry. If you listen to the words of the majority of songs, they are about one of two things: falling in love or getting dumped. Apparently, when a musician is experiencing either one of those, writing songs comes easily to them. Not so for writers. Or at least for this writer. I haven’t been able to put two sentences together for weeks. Not that I’m experiencing love or loss, but admittedly, I’m on an emotional roller coaster right now. Scenes should be flowing out of me. Love scenes. Fight scenes. They should be coming to me without much thought at all. But whenever I sit down to write, it’s pure crap. I can’t concentrate. Every love scene morphs into a re-creation of the night I lost my virginity. Every fight scene reminds me of why Gavin and I once fought—Karen.
There is a knock on my front door, offering me a welcome break from my writer’s block. I open the door to a large bouquet of my favorite flowers being held by the same kid who delivered them to me just two days ago. Has it really only been two days?
The kid winces when he hands over the flowers. “Still in trouble, is he?”
I laugh, putting the beautiful arrangement next to the others that haven’t even begun to wilt. I reach into my purse on the entry table and pull out a tip for him. “No, he’s not. He’s just trying to stay on my good side now.”
“Oh. Good,” he says. “Thanks for the tip. Have a nice day.”
“Yeah, you too.” I close the door and stare at my entry way that now looks like a flower shop before the prom.
I pull out the attached note and read it.
Bay,
These flowers got nothin’ on you, darlin’. Your face is more beautiful than I remembered. I could stare at it forever. I took a picture of it while you slept and you look just like an angel. Utterly divine.
Love,
Gavin
I feel a pinch in my chest and I wonder if a tiny piece of the armor surrounding my heart has broken away. I shake the thought from my head as I re-read the note, amused by the way he writes exactly as he speaks—with a southern drawl. I take the new bouquet into the kitchen. I top the vase off with water and place it in the center of the table.
Smiling, I head back to my home office, wondering if this romantic gesture will spark my creativity. But before I get the chance to find out, my laptop dings, alerting me to an incoming e-mail.
It’s from Mrs. Chandler, Maddox’s second-grade teacher. I read through the e-mail that says she thought I should see the journal entry Maddox wrote this morning during their writing time. I open the attachment she scanned in and recognize the messy handwriting of my seven-year-old.
The first thing I want to do with my dad when I meet him is that I would want to get to know him like I would want to know what his job is and how old he is and when is his birthday. My mom said he played soccer. I play soccer to. I would like to know if he likes other sports like football and what is his favorite team. Then I would ask why I did not meet him until now. I would say why did it take so long for me to meet you. I saw him at that hotel. He said I was a good swimmer. So maybe he likes me. So I can’t wait till I meet my dad on Saturday.
I close my eyes.
Please let this be good for him.