Take This Regret

  “Hey,” Scott said almost breathless when he realized what he’d just walked in on.

  While I felt Scott surveying the room, wary of its occupants and the distinct tension that had just set in the air, I couldn’t even look at him.

  My attention was on Christian. His face paled when recognition dawned, and his eyes flashed to mine, grieved, and then fel to the floor. His hands shook as he stooped in front of Lizzie and helped her into her thin coat.

  “You ready, sweetheart?” he murmured to her as he used both hands to free her long hair that was trapped inside her jacket, his tenderness for his daughter unaltered in his distress.

  It was clear Lizzie was not immune to the intensity of the room, of the sadness in the quiet of her father’s voice, or my discomfort for causing the whole situation. Her focus darted between her father and me, her worry salient.

  I took a step forward and placed a hand on her shoulder as I leaned down to her. “You have a great time with your daddy tonight, Lizzie. I’l be home before you are.” My words were meant as a reassurance for them both, an attempt to pacify my daughter’s concern and a promise to Christian that I would be back.

  “Okay, Momma.” Lizzie took her father’s waiting hand, and he led her out without a parting word. Christian paused for a passing second when he encountered the smug demeanor Scott wore. Every slanderous word I’d said against Christian played across Scott’s face, a gauntlet thrown. It was as if Christian watched it fal to the ground, an unreciprocated provocation, unarmed for battle, his feet treading my sidewalk in surrender.

  The heavy breath I released was not in relief the way Scott interpreted it.

  “You’re not kidding,” Scott said as he stepped through the threshold. His expression was sympathetic as if he felt bad for me. “That was real y . . . uncomfortable. You’re a saint for putting up with al of that.” He waved toward the sidewalk in the direction Christian and Lizzie had just departed, as if he understood everything, how I felt, how hard it was to watch my daughter leave with the man I loved every Friday night and act as if it didn’t affect me.

  His assumptions roused a spark of bitterness, an irritation with him for goading me into this date. But I knew I couldn’t blame him for this. This was my mistake. Yes, he’d badgered me into it, pestered me until I’d given in, but that was only because I’d never been clear with him. So many times I’d told him we could only be friends, though my reasoning had come weak, given with a false hope that maybe in the future I’d be ready, even though I’d known I’d never be. I’d just never wanted to hurt my friend’s feelings.

  Scott handed me the smal bundle of purple, pink, and white flowers, which I thanked him for and took to the kitchen to place in a vase of water. I used that moment to regroup, to remind myself that it was only dinner. It was only dinner.

  By the time I’d placed the vase in the center of the table and locked the door, Christian was about to get into his car, having already buckled Lizzie in the back. This time his eyes didn’t fal . They burned into me, blue anguish fol owing me to the curb where Scott was parked on the street, unwavering as Scott settled me into the passenger seat of his black sedan.

  Did this hurt him as much as he’d hurt me? Could he feel anything close to the devastation I’d felt the night he’d thrown me from his apartment? His expression told me yes, at least some of it.

  I found no satisfaction in it, no triumph in his misery.

  Instead, I wanted to cal out to him that I was sorry.

  “Ready?” Scott asked as he dropped into his seat and

  started his car.

  Forcing a smile, I lied with a nod, hating the person I’d become.

  I ran upstairs, rushed through the buttons of my blouse, the zipper on my skirt, kicked out of my heels, trying to shake off my guilt.

  It didn’t work.

  I was a terrible person, plain and simple.

  I’d used my friend.

  Digging through my dresser, I pul ed on a pair of sweatpants and a tank top. Aggressively, I pul ed a brush through my head ful of product and ironed in curls and twisted my hair into a loose ponytail, wishing the action could somehow erase every memory of this night.

  Scott had been so eager, excited even. He seemed sure I’d final y crossed that bridge and I would be his at last.

  It had been there in his eyes, in the way they gleamed when they’d wash over me, in the light brushes of his leg against mine under the table—in the kiss I’d avoided with a jerk of my head, the one that had landed in rejection against my jaw. I’d felt it then, standing at my doorstep, the way Scott withdrew his unreturned affections, his hands stil firm in their hold on my shoulders while he tore the rest of himself away.

  His eyes had been kind, lacking the reproach they should have held when he stepped back and uttered an apology of contrition. “I’m sorry, Elizabeth, I shouldn’t have forced you into this.”

  I’d choked on his apology, angry that I’d caused him to feel the need, and insisted that I was the one who should be sorry.

  He’d shifted in discomfort and tried to hide the wounded look on his face, as the idea of us became a firm disenchantment in his mind.

  He’d shrugged in indifference and said, “It’s okay.” We both knew it wasn’t. We both knew what I’d done.

  He’d left with embarrassment on his face and a halfhearted see you on Monday.

  In my bathroom, I scrubbed the makeup from my face, blotting out the last bit of physical evidence of this self-inflicted fiasco.

  Five seconds later, the doorbel rang, and it almost sent me spiraling to the floor in confusion. I no longer knew up from down, what I wanted and what I should run from, what to fear and what to embrace. When it rang the second time, I realized Christian probably thought I hadn’t yet made it home.

  I rushed downstairs, my bare feet landing with a heavy thud with each step I took. I fumbled as I raced through the locks to open the door.

  Christian seemed surprised by the sudden movement, even more so when he took in my disheveled appearance, my pajamas and frazzled hair, I could only guess the expression on my face to match.

  Lizzie danced in, her voice a sweet melody, singing praises for her and her father’s night. She crooned about how they’d made dinner together at his apartment, shared it while they counted the lights of the boats floating out upon the water, how she wished I could have been there to see it.

  The entire time Christian stood in my doorway, his face flat, mouth slack in surrender.

  I leaned against the edge of the door, gripping it for support as I prepared to cross another line. “Wil you stay?” His eyes flitted over my face, searching, seeking answers that neither of us had. The only thing I did know was I wanted him here with Lizzie, with me—that I couldn’t bear to watch him walk away, that I needed him to stay—

  that I wished I didn’t fear that need so much.

  “Please,” I said, al but begging.

  His brow furrowed when my plea seemed to break through his numb defeat. His hands pressed into fists at his thighs, his mouth trembling as he looked over my shoulder, probed my family room to find it empty. His eyes bore into mine, molten anguish. “I hate this, Elizabeth,” his words abraded, his breathing labored. “It shouldn’t have been like this.”

  I had no words in response to that truth. I only widened the door and stepped back in inferred summons.

  Please.

  Even if it were only for tonight, I wanted to pretend that it wasn’t like this, that he hadn’t hurt me and in turn, I didn’t have to hurt him—that I hadn’t hurt Scott in the process.

  I wanted to pretend as Christian relented and stepped through the door that he wasn’t unsure of his welcome; pretend as we dimmed the lights and the animated fairy tale sprang to life across the screen that we didn’t look at each other with uncertainty, rattled nerves, and pounding chests; pretend as the three of us gathered on the couch that we did it every day and that it was normal for Lizzie to sit between us snuggled i
nto her daddy’s side to share a bowl of popcorn and a blanket spread over our laps; pretend that together we’d seen this movie a hundred times just as Lizzie and I had, and that he’d been there when we’d seen it the first time more than two years before; pretend that later this thirst would be slaked, that Christian would lay me down, and that I would be his and he would be mine.

  The way it should have been.

  But make-believe could only get me so far, and I knew it was time I measured my strength and resolved how far I’d al ow my heart to go.

  I glanced across at him. His arm was draped over Lizzie’s shoulder and he played with strands of her hair. His attention was not on the television but on her, attentive to the way her face lit up in laughter, the way she sang along, the way she hid her eyes when the film turned dark even though she already knew the result and her hero would live.

  He leaned down, nuzzled his mouth against her hair, and looked up at me through thick, black lashes as he held her close.

  And I knew I wanted him a permanent a part of my life, not as lovers, but in a partnership for our daughter, for him to take a place as a part of this family.

  Switching lanes, I accelerated through traffic, thankful the I-5

  flowed free; the Saturday mid-morning traffic was light as I traveled north. Wind pounded my hair, windows and sunroof wide open.

  The trip flew by, and faster than I could have imagined the GPS instructed me to exit, and I was hunting for an open parking spot. I slipped into the first one I could find, cut the engine, and jumped from my car. Black flip-flops that just months ago I’d sworn to never wear crunched against the loose pavement under my feet, flinging sand as I fol owed the walkway up and over the embankment.

  I shielded my eyes, scanning the beachgoers dotting the shore below.

  They weren’t hard to spot.

  Elizabeth sat on a blanket in beige shorts and a red tank top, long legs stretched out in front of her as she reclined against her elbows, hair whipping around as she watched our child playing in the sand. She attempted to tuck a thick tress behind her ear before it was thrashed with another gust of wind.

  Hurrying, I wound down the path and hit the heavy sand, sinking with each step I took.

  Lizzie noticed me first.

  “Daddy!” she cried out, dropping a plastic bucket and waving wildly. Elizabeth sat up and turned toward me, her lips stretching into a smile I was certain could bring any man to his knees.

  I waved as I increased my speed, meeting Lizzie halfway when she ran to me. “Lizzie,” I sang as I lifted her, swung her around, and brought her to my chest in a playful squeeze. “How’s my baby girl today?”

  She wrapped herself around my neck, kissed me there. “I missed you, Daddy,” she said against my ear.

  I’d seen her only last night, yet I’d missed her too. So much.

  I set her down and took her hand. She skipped beside me as we made our way to her mother, Elizabeth’s face aglow and peaceful as she watched the two of us approach.

  “Good morning, Elizabeth.”

  She pushed the hair from her face and squinted against the sun as she looked up at me. “Hey, Christian.

  Did you find it okay?”

  “Yep.” I contemplated for only a second before I plopped down on the blanket beside Elizabeth and pul ed Lizzie down with me. I nestled her between my legs and held her around her smal shoulders.

  I shook off my shoes, buried my toes in the cool, damp sand, and took in the beach that both Elizabeth and Lizzie had so many fond memories of. This place was something sacred shared between the two of them, and I felt honored to be included. I knew it was rare for even Matthew and Natalie to be a part of it.

  And to think only last night I’d felt the bottom dropping out of my world.

  Something had touched us in the parking lot of Elizabeth’s work Tuesday afternoon, a new connection after I’d walked headlong from my father’s firm. I’d been so sure of it that on the drive over to pick Lizzie up, I’d planned to ask Elizabeth to join us, daydreamed of her in my kitchen preparing dinner with Lizzie and me, saw her sitting next to me at my kitchen table.

  I’d gone weak when I’d caught sight of her on her staircase, the reaction she invoked from my body, the things I envisioned doing to hers.

  It had taken a few seconds for my mind to catch up with my flesh, and I’d realized she wasn’t dressed for an evening spent on the couch alone. She was going out.

  Then that touchy bastard from Lizzie’s birthday party had shown up.

  It’d felt like she’d run me over, the sharp sting of Elizabeth’s hand as it struck me across the cheek, spat in my face. I couldn’t help but turn to her, desperate to ask her why. Al I found there were the results of my spoil, as if she’d received the same blow, one I’d inflicted, a reminder that I had done this.

  Dinner with Lizzie had been difficult, but I’d forged through it, loved her, and made her smile, unwil ing to al ow my mistakes to steal any more of the precious little time I had with my daughter.

  Then Elizabeth had asked me to stay.

  “Are you hungry?” Elizabeth shifted to her knees and began unpacking the picnic basket, sandwiches wrapped in plastic, whole pieces of fruit, bottles of soda and water.

  She glanced at me with a timid smile as she set them between us.

  “Yeah,” I answered, helping Lizzie with the wrapper of a sandwich. I twisted the cap from a bottle of water for her and did the same for myself, and then I shared lunch with the two girls who owned me heart and soul. Lizzie rested against my chest between my bent knees, peeking up at me as I gazed down at her, grinning as she chewed her ham and cheese sandwich. Her hair flew around us, licking my arms, kissing my chin—it scared me that I might love her too much.

  Sated and relaxed, Elizabeth and I sat in silence as Lizzie jogged back to her playthings, far enough away that she submerged herself in her own imaginary world of castles and dragons and princesses but not close enough to the water to cause us alarm. The sun washed over us, its heat the perfect contradiction to the coolness of the ocean breeze.

  Elizabeth stared ahead, but I could almost hear the click, the quickening of her pulse, triggering the same reaction in my own, the rush of nerves as she hugged her knees to her chest.

  “Did you think of us?” Her voice was pained, and her question hung in the air as a doorway to our past, one she final y asked me to step through. Up until now, every time I’d tried to talk to her, she’d shut me down; but now it came without provocation, her own instigation. As much relief as it brought me, I knew there was no way this conversation would be easy.

  “Every day.” I looked over at her and watched the pain gather in the creases at the corner of her eyes.

  She turned and rested the side of her face against her knees as tears pooled in the honeyed amber. “Why didn’t you come for us?” It was a solicitation for me to final y account for what I’d done.

  No. There would be nothing easy about this.

  I squirmed while I debated how to explain myself, knowing there would never be any justification. My conscience assaulted me, and I looked to my daughter for strength. I brought a knee to my chest and anchored myself to it as I dug my other hand in the sand, pul ing out a handful and watching it fal through my fist as an hourglass.

  Exposed in al my shame, I turned back to Elizabeth in confession. “I did.”

  I watched her as my words sank in. Her irises widened and a tremor shook her body. “What?” The word fel as a smal cry from her lips.

  Exhaling some of the pressure in my chest, I focused on Lizzie, knowing I wouldn’t be strong enough to handle the disappointment on Elizabeth’s face while I described to her how I’d not only walked out on her once, but twice. “The night after Lizzie was born. I came to the hospital. I planned on apologizing to you, asking you to take me back.” I swal owed the lump in my throat and pressed on. “But Matthew was there . . . and I . . . left.” I mustered enough courage to look at her, to watch her have h
er heart broken al over again. She turned from me and buried her face in her knees, her body convulsing as she tried to stil her racking sobs. She jerked up, burning with anger, unable to speak, and then closed her eyes, tripped back into sadness.

  “That’s how you knew about Matthew,” she said under her breath. She seemed disoriented as she tried to acclimate herself to this most dishonorable revelation.

  I couldn’t stop now, even when I was certain my words would do more damage than good; but when I came back into this, I’d promised myself I would always be truthful with her. “That night I convinced myself I was doing the right thing . . . sacrificing for you so you could have a normal life with Matthew. I realize now it was just an excuse, Elizabeth.

  I walked away from my child because I thought I couldn’t have you. I never even knew if she was a boy or a girl.” This admission flowed like poison from my mouth, vile in its offense.

  “I regretted it every day. I’d always expected to hear from you with a request for child support or . . . something. I waited, but none ever came.” No apology could ever rectify this wrong, but stil I needed her to understand.

  Elizabeth’s bottom lip quivered, and she shook her head, a clear dismissal of my reasoning. “That doesn’t make it any better, Christian.” She looked out upon Lizzie, and then leveled her eyes back on me. “Maybe it makes it worse. For so long I believed we never even crossed your mind, that the moment I’d walked out of your apartment we’d been forgotten, and to find out you . . . you waited for me to come to you”—she stressed the words—“. . . it’s just

  . . . ,” she said at a loss for what to say as her voice trailed off.

  “I thought you were happy.”

  She sniffled and rocked herself. “How could you think that? Did you not believe that I loved you? That I wanted to spend my life with you?”

  “Of course I knew you loved me.” My voice rose in frustration. “There’s nothing I can say that can make any sense of the decisions I made. Bottom line, I was a selfish asshole.” I splayed my hand through my hair, helpless, losing the grip I’d had on my control. I angled toward her, capturing her face with my eyes as I pled with her. “It doesn’t change anything, Elizabeth, but I truly am sorry. If I could, I’d take it back, right back to the moment I made you choose between me and our child. That was the worst decision I’ve ever made.”