Helena
"So…," I said, still reluctant to begin the conversation I'd been putting off since yesterday night.
"So?" Ali asked, obviously equally reluctant.
"So what do you have to say for yourself?" I clarified, serving us both a portion of lasagna and sitting down next to her at the table.
"What do you mean?" Ali asked with a clipped tone, the look on her face telling. Her multicolored eyes narrowed slightly, facial features tense. She wasn't any more ready to talk than I was. Worse, she seemed defensive enough that this could turn ugly.
This was going to be an uphill battle.
"What made you do that?" I asked. "And don't say 'do what.' You know what."
"You wouldn't understand," Ali said, gently pushing away her plate. I knew the feeling. I didn't have much of an appetite right now either, and the idea of food was overwhelming.
"Why don't you try me before making assumptions like that?"
"Okay," Ali said slowly, sounding completely unconvinced. "I needed to know who he was."
"Why?" I asked.
"I knew you wouldn't understand," she said, shrugging. Her tone was strangely neutral, not bitter or accusing at all. To her, it was a simple statement of fact. "You don't know what it's like to not know anything about your father."
"You think I don't? When's the last time we visited your grandmother?"
Ali's eyes widened, and her demeanor changed. The defensive posture was replaced by one of uncertainty as her features softened, and she looked as if the rug had just been pulled out from beneath her.
"I…we never have. She died before I was born."
"Long before you were born. Before I was your age," I said. "So don't tell me I don't understand what it's like to be missing a parent."
"But that's different," she said after a long period of silence. "You met her. Your dad talked about her. You never talked about Dominick."
"Because I had no idea who he was," I said, stating the obvious. "And neither did you, until you found that shady private investigator and paid him your life savings. Which, by the way, was almost certainly illegal. You're lucky that Dominick let it go so easily."
Ali drew her feet up onto the chair she was sitting on, wrapping her arms around her knees and hugging them against herself. She was very upset, but it was obvious that she'd had some deep need to get in contact with her dad. She'd put everything on the line to do it—her money, her safety, her relationship with me. We'd already talked about the safety aspect, but the rest remained unsaid.
I just wished that it could stay that way.
"You never would've agreed," Ali said finally.
"We could have discussed it."
"We could have. And then you would've said no."
"And what does that tell you?" I asked.
"That it's easier to ask for forgiveness than to get permission," Ali said, paraphrasing a quote she'd learned from one of her favorite novels. I didn't know whether to laugh, cry, or yell. People always said TV was a bad influence on kids, but clearly books weren't always better.
And besides, as much as I hated to admit it, she wasn't exactly wrong. What Ali had done was completely out of line, and I couldn't imagine suddenly intruding onto someone's life after they'd signed numerous waivers of responsibility and promises of confidentiality. If she had tried to talk to me about this, there was no way I ever would've agreed.
And yet this was clearly very important to her. Important enough to act completely out of character, her one and only major act of defiance since being born. More than that, I was having a very difficult time staying angry with her for just wanting to meet her father.
Hell, if I'd been able to do something similar to see my own mother again, I probably would've done the same thing.
"If you ever do anything like this again…," I said, trailing off at the end. Ali looked up at me and smiled in excitement, apparently relieved by my reaction.
"Of course I won't," she said quickly. "I only have two parents."
I nodded, still feeling raw and fragile.
"So what're we going to do now?"
"That's the question," I said carefully. Everything in me said to steer clear of Dominick Henderson, but one look in Ali's direction told me that doing so would've caused many, many problems.
Despite his flaws.
Despite my…increasingly problematic biological responses. The man was, as far as my research showed, an irresponsible playboy who would probably bail on us within a week. He was as far from father-of-the-year material as it got, and the kind of man I'd have hated to ever end up with.
Not that I could convince my body about any of that.
Stupid pregnancy hormones.
Stupid athlete pheromones.
"What do you want to do?" I asked finally, feeling more than a little lost.
"Promise you won't laugh?" Ali asked, her cheeks slowly turning a healthy shade of pink. The shy, awkward response reminded me that despite all of Ali's apparent maturity, she was still my little girl after all. It reminded me of reading "Goodnight Moon," to her every night, and the first days of preschool.
Except that she wasn't quite the carefree child she'd been back then. And I wasn't the center of her world anymore.
She needed more, and so far—so far—Dominick was willing to play the part of an interested father.
"I won't laugh," I said quietly, already knowing what she was about to say.
"I want to get to know my dad."
I nodded, chewing on my lip and trying to choose my words carefully.
"And what if he isn't the perfect man you're imagining? He's still a stranger to both of us, you know. He might let you down. What then?"
"Well, we'll make do, won't we?" Ali said.
We always had before.
As much as I wanted to cradle my head into my hands and moan a little, Ali seeing her mommy like that would've only added to the trouble and complication. I needed to be strong, at least until I got some time alone upstairs in my bedroom. Then, and only then, I could curl up and sob as much as I wanted.
Besides, Ali looked way too excited right now for me to cry.
"Want me to try to call him?" I asked, hoping this wasn't a huge mistake.
"Yes!" she cried, practically jumping to her feet and toppling the chair over behind her. Her enthusiasm was so intense that I smiled despite my worries. Maybe we'd get lucky, and this would all turn out for the best. If I tried hard, I could hold on to the improbable thought—for Ali's sake.
Pulling out my phone, I dialed the number Dominick had left for us.
"Hello?" Dominick's voice said after just a couple of rings. He sounded hoarse and annoyed, and immediately I realized it was a huge mistake. He was probably on a date with some model, or worse, in a hotel room with one. I felt ridiculous for interrupting, and worried that Ali would be the one who'd suffer from Dominick's playboy lifestyle.
Dammit. He'd seemed so reasonable this morning, but I'd never been worried about this morning. It was tomorrow that bothered me. Or next week, or next year. Why would I expect him to commit to Ali when apparently he'd never committed to anyone else?
"Hello?" the voice said again, and I wanted to hang up. Still, Ali's wide eyes—so like his—were locked onto me, and there was no way I could get out of this without at least giving him the chance to say no.
"Hi. It's Helena, Ali's mom," I said, unsure how much to explain myself.
"Helena! Hi! Is everything okay?" he said, with a new life in his voice that shocked me. Gone was the faintly aggressive tone, replaced by an enthusiasm that seemed to mirror Ali's.
My mind drew an absurd picture, of Dominick knocking over his chair the same way Ali had. I stifled a giggle, relieved beyond words that this was going better than expected.
"Everything is fine," I said, taking a deep breath. "Ali was wondering—we were wondering—if you'd like to see us again sometime."