Take This Regret

  Even so, both my attorney and I thought it safest if it official y rested in Elizabeth’s hands, in the hands that now shook as she fisted them and pressed them into her thighs.

  “You can’t buy us, Christian,” she final y said as she pushed the papers away.

  I rubbed a hand over my face, frustrated with the situation but not surprised by the backlash. This was exactly why I had said nothing, why I would have kept the money in my name had I been given any other choice.

  Leaning in closer on my knee, I turned to face her while she tried to hide her sadness behind the wal of blond waves that concealed her face. With an unsteady hand, I reached out and brushed them back, hoping to coax her from her anger. “Elizabeth, baby, look at me.” She flinched at the affection, at the touch of my hand, at the endearment that fel from my lips so easily. It was one that had been uttered so many times before but never since she’d walked from my door years ago.

  I withdrew my hand, cursing myself for the act that had felt so natural—comforting Elizabeth, loving her.

  I shrank away from the rejection and looked to the floor as I choked through the words, offered more of my regret. “I just want to take care of my daughter.”

  To take care of you.

  She chewed on her bottom lip, fighting another round of tears, her jaw quivering. She looked at the papers on the table and then final y back at me when she asked, “How long?” It was an accusation.

  “I don’t know”—I shrugged with vagueness—“A while now.”

  She shook her head in clear irritation. “I asked how long, Christian.”

  Sighing, I looked away and answered quietly, almost wishing she wouldn’t hear. “Five years.” Her expression raged from confused to hurt to bitter to broken. Like an idiot, I reached for her again. This time she jerked away and put a hand out to stop me. She closed her eyes, guarded herself, put the wal back in place. “I need you to leave.”

  I opened my mouth desperate to reason with her, to make her understand what my intentions had been, but nothing would come.

  Swal owing, I nodded and stood as it hit me just how badly her refusal had stung.

  While there were so many things I had to apologize for, providing for my daughter wasn’t one of them.

  I paused in the archway to look back at her, my voice sounding just as despondent as I felt. “If you don’t want the money, Elizabeth, then fine, don’t touch it. Save it until Lizzie turns eighteen; but one way or the other, it belongs to her.”

  I knew she’d be upset, that every time money was mentioned, Elizabeth would tense, that she fought ferociously to be independent because she’d had to do it for so long. Even so, I’d believed we’d talk through it and together we’d make a plan for Lizzie’s future, for our future.

  I guess I’d been a fool to think we’d come so far.

  With my hopes crushed, I started my car and backed out of Elizabeth’s driveway.

  I was halfway home when my phone rang. Elizabeth was on the other end sobbing. The only thing I understood her say was please come back.

  As I weaved my smal car through the traffic heading downtown, I felt a bit nervous, though I wasn’t quite sure why. It wasn’t as if I hadn’t spent almost every day with Christian for the past two months or more.

  I’d just never been to his place before. Lizzie, on the other hand, could hardly contain herself.

  “Mommy, look!” Lizzie squealed from the backseat. I glanced in the rearview mirror to see her pointing at one of the towering buildings ahead. “There’s Daddy’s house.” Her eyes were wide in anticipation, her body humming in excitement as she squirmed in her booster seat.

  Tonight would be the first night she’d ever slept over at her father’s house.

  Switching lanes, I pul ed into the underground parking lot and entered the code Christian had given me.

  Chuckling, I rushed to keep up with Lizzie as she unbuckled her seat belt and grabbed her things. She swung her door open wide and stood impatiently at mine.

  “Come on, Mommy!” She ran ahead, her backpack bouncing with each step, her dol tucked under her arm.

  Adorable.

  She pressed the button to the side of the elevator; it was obvious she was familiar with the routine. She was grinning as she yel ed, “Hurry up, Mommy!” She was forever excited to be with her father.

  I wondered when that had stopped hurting.

  I caught up to her and entered the elevator. We rode it the ten floors to Christian’s condo, and I fol owed her down the hal way to his door.

  I went to knock, but Lizzie turned the knob before I could. She ran in unannounced, squealing her delight as she cal ed out for her father. Christian didn’t seem surprised by her entrance but turned from where he sat on the couch, a computer resting on his lap, black-framed glasses on his eyes, and a welcome on his face.

  Breathtaking.

  I shook away the thought and instead, focused on my daughter’s joy.

  Christian set his computer aside just in time for her to jump on his lap. “Hi, Daddy!”

  “Hi, princess.” He nuzzled his nose in her hair, held her.

  My chest swel ed as I watched them and internal y celebrated their reunion, thankful my daughter had this.

  Christian looked over his shoulder and smiled at me from where I stil stood in his doorway. “Hey, Elizabeth.”

  “Hey.” I offered a smal smile and stepped forward. For the first time I took in my surroundings. It was the typical loft, one large room that served as living space and kitchen.

  There was a hal off to the right that I assumed led to the bedrooms. The view of the ocean was beautiful, but the home on scale was much smal er than I’d expected, less assuming, warmer.

  It surprised me, much as everything seemed to where Christian was concerned.

  As I crossed the room, Christian watched me as if he relished each step that brought me closer to him.

  I stil hadn’t come to terms with the revelation of last weekend—a savings account in my name that held more money than I’d make in five years at the bank. The amount of anger I’d felt when I’d opened the fattened envelope had been blinding enough to make my head spin and my blood boil.

  Of course, I understood what Christian was trying to do, that he desired to provide for his daughter and, though he never said it, provide for me as wel .

  What he couldn’t understand was how in the process he had trivialized the trials I had overcome, the difficulties I’d faced, and the hardships I’d endured. It made light of the nights I’d spent awake while I’d worried for my daughter’s future and wondered how we would survive.

  Part of me had argued that I couldn’t blame him, that he didn’t know what I’d been through.

  But, real y, that was the issue; he didn’t know because he had never been man enough to check.

  I stil didn’t know if I could ever forgive him for that.

  As deep as my resentment went, that anger paled in comparison to the void his absence had left, and I was on the phone begging him back before I’d even realized what I was doing, before I could comprehend the hold he had on me.

  It scared me to feel my resolve slip as Christian chipped away at my heart, a little here and a little there, slowly rendering me weak just as he had done so many years before. Sometimes I wondered why I fought it, fought him, that no matter how hard I tried, we’d end up in the same place—the place where he had control of my heart, the place where he could shatter it just as easily as he could make it whole.

  That pain was fresh enough to know it was not a place I wanted to be.

  I remembered it as I sank down beside the two of them on his couch, conscious to leave a smal amount of space between us—distance.

  It didn’t stop his eyes from their touch, from the embrace of his gaze as it washed over me, lingering on my mouth.

  I closed my eyes to shield myself from it, my only defense. Even then, I felt him.

  I opened them when I felt his attention shift and the weig
ht of his gaze subside, his voice only for our child. “So, what do you want to do tonight, sweetheart?” It was easy to regret that I wouldn’t be spending the evening with them as I listened to them make their plans, an evening of games, stories, a quiet night in. Having watched them play enough, I was sure there would be lots laughter, plenty of hugs, tender embraces.

  The clock against the wal indicated it was getting late, so with reluctance, I declared that I needed to go.

  At the door, I knelt to hug my daughter to my chest and whispered for her to have a great time with her dad.

  She nodded and squeezed me tighter. “I’l miss you, Mommy.”

  I released a heavy breath against the side of her head.

  “I’l miss you, too, sweetheart.” Even if I was looking forward to the evening, there was a part of me that hated any time spent away from her, the part that would always rather stay.

  Christian stood to the side of us, his hands burrowed deep in the pockets of his jeans, his eyes soft as he watched us say our goodbyes. I wondered if he felt anything like I did when I watched them say goodbye.

  When I rose I brushed his arm, and I hoped it wasn’t too obvious when I pul ed away. Other than by chance, I’d only reached for him once, the day at the beach when he’d extended his hand. It was a connection that had proven to be too much, and I’d released his hold just as quickly as I had taken it.

  If he noticed it now, he didn’t acknowledge it. Instead he smiled. “Thanks, Elizabeth.”

  I shook my head and released a smal laugh at his needless thanks. “I asked you to keep her tonight, remember?”

  “I know.” He inclined his head toward Lizzie. “This just means a lot.”

  I nodded. I had long since accepted his devotion to our daughter, though I stil couldn’t keep myself from praying that trust wasn’t a mistake. But even if it were, I wouldn’t steal this time from Lizzie. It was hers, and for now, she was adored. And as long as she was, I wouldn’t let my fears get in the way. I smiled down at my wide-eyed daughter and then directed it at Christian. “You two have a great time tonight.”

  Christian looked at his feet and then back at me. “Wish you were staying with us.”

  Me too.

  Instead of saying it, I nodded and started out the door, waving over my shoulder with a laugh as Christian’s tone turned teasing, and he cal ed out, “You girls don’t get into too much trouble tonight.”

  There wasn’t much risk of that.

  I drove across town and pul ed up to Mom’s house a couple of minutes after six. The street was already lined with the cars of those I loved.

  Mom had cal ed a girls’ night as these nights were so aptly referred to, a night of reprieve from the everyday stressors of life. This was a night to laugh and unwind, to joke, to uplift, to renew the everlasting bonds of the women of this family. It served to remind us of why we’d flocked back to this city. I always appreciated the time set aside to back to this city. I always appreciated the time set aside to remember just how much we needed each other.

  I walked up the narrow sidewalk to the smal house I’d grown up in. The neighborhood was old but valued by its residents, wel -kept and wel -maintained. The dark green shutters showed evidence of a fresh coat of paint, and the planters under the windows were bursting with fal color.

  Lush trees grew along the house, tal and proud.

  With my overnight bag slung over my shoulder, I walked through my mother’s front door without a knock. I was hit with the sound of high-pitched laughter coming from the kitchen. It was apparent girls’ night was already in ful swing. Grinning, I set my bag aside, made my way across the family room, and swung the door open to the kitchen.

  Immediately everyone welcomed me, a resounding Elizabeth engulfing me as I entered the room.

  Mom and Aunt Donna, the family matriarchs, our cornerstones, sat at the smal kitchen table. They were laughing as they drank beer from cans and ate potato chips. Both of their voices were a deep alto, a rich vibration that spoke of security and stability. I went straight to Mom, kissed her cheek, and told her how happy I was to see her.

  Next I hugged Aunt Donna and then her daughter, Kel y, Natalie’s older sister. Kel y was two years my junior, sweet and shy. She always seemed to linger on the outskirts of conversation with not much to say but always had a permanent smile on her face.

  Their sister-in-law, Samantha, stood at the end of the bar that separated the kitchen and breakfast nook, her bel y round with her first child. She sipped from a glass of lemon-mint water I was sure my sister Sarah had been thoughtful enough to prepare for her. I went to her, pressed my hands to her stomach, and told her how I excited I was to meet her baby boy. She held her hands over mine, her smile endless, exuding joy.

  On the other side of the bar at the kitchen counter, Sarah was arranging cheese and crackers on a tray, mixing dips, and slicing vegetables. True to form, her hands were never idle. She only paused long enough to offer me a tight hug and tel me she was glad I was here before she was hard at work again.

  We’d long since given up trying to get her to relax.

  Natalie and Carrie sat on barstools and swiveled around to face the table. I leaned in to place a kiss on their cheeks, raising my eyebrows and shaking my head in mock disapproval as it became quite clear the two of them had been sucking down cocktails faster than Sarah could make them.

  There were only eight of us, but within the confines of my mother’s smal kitchen, it felt as if it were crawling with people, overflowing as we moved around the space but comfortable at the same time.

  Now that I was here, I no longer regretted that I wasn’t spending the evening with Lizzie and Christian. They needed their own time together, and I certainly needed this

  —a night to loosen the binds of my wound up heart, to leave it unguarded, and for once not to feel the need to hold myself in restraint.

  With that thought, I graciously accepted the glass of white wine that Sarah offered and pul ed a chair from the table. I curled my legs up under me and al owed myself to relax. I grinned at the conversations happening around me.

  It was no surprise that Natalie and Carrie were the most vocal, forever entertaining. They’d always been close from the time they were smal children, and their bond had only grown over the years. While Natalie and I were like sisters relying upon each other in day-to-day life, Natalie and Carrie were best of friends. They’d spent years talking about boys, first kisses, first loves, details, and every secret.

  Sometimes I was surprised it caused me no jealousy.

  When Matthew had come along, Natalie had needed Carrie and had relied on her as someone she could count on who wouldn’t judge, who’d only listen. Just because I had given Matthew and Natalie my blessing didn’t mean that it hadn’t caused them a great amount of guilt, that there wasn’t talk, that everyone in the family had viewed their newfound relationship with approval.

  I’d seen the shame Natalie bore, and I was the last person she could talk to during that time. I’d just been thankful Carrie had been there to keep her together while I’d helplessly watched her fal ing apart.

  Mom and Donna dove into their favorite topic—greatly exaggerated stories of our youth. Each of us added our own memories to them. Laughter rang out, our smiles wide, the volume of our voices increasing with each story told, every glass emptied.

  I found I was real y enjoying myself, unable to remember feeling so relaxed in a very long time. It wasn’t as if I didn’t treasure every second with Lizzie. But Mom was right. I needed a break, a night without responsibility.

  Natalie and Carrie grew louder, giggling and chatting amongst themselves but not so wrapped up in each other that they weren’t a part of the rest of us.

  Sarah final y moved from her post in the kitchen and took a seat beside me at the table. She groaned in pleasure when she propped her feet up at the edge of my chair and sipped one of the drinks she’d been feeding Natalie and Carrie al night. I flashed a meaningful smile in her directi
on, one that told her she deserved a break too.

  As the night progressed, we went around in a circle, each one fil ing in the rest of us on her life, what had happened since the last time we’d al met. Some stories were of little significance, others of great importance, our joys and struggles, the everyday, the life changing.

  “So, how’s my sweet little Lizzie?” Mom asked, turning the attention to me.

  Apparently, it was my turn.

  “She’s doing great,” I answered without hesitation. I’m sure the smile on my face was a mile wide as I gushed with mother’s pride. It was so strange that my baby girl was now already in kindergarten, and I told them of how wel she’d adjusted from preschool to “big girl” school as Lizzie liked to cal it, how she blossomed every day, and how I worried if I closed my eyes for too long, when I opened them, she’d be a woman.

  I opened and closed my mouth, unsure how to phrase it.

  “Christian’s around . . . a lot,” I said careful y, hopeful not to upset Mom. Every time she’d asked, I’d skirted around the subject and never answered her directly. It wasn’t that I was trying to be dishonest or hide it from her. I just knew I wouldn’t know how to answer the questions she would have.

  Just like now.

  She frowned, the natural creases that lined her face deepening. “What does that mean?”

  I tried to sound casual. “He just . . . tries to spend a lot of time with Lizzie.”

  “Pssh . . . spend a lot of time with Lizzie?” Natalie cut in as she waved her hand in a gesture that said my statement was ridiculous. Shaking her head, she leaned forward as if she had the juiciest bit of gossip to share. She should have known better, because to the occupants of this house, it was. “That man is at her house every day, and it’s not just to see Lizzie.”

  I shot her a look that told her to shut the hel up.

  “What?” Natalie asked in defense as if I should have no problem with her sharing something so private. “It’s not a big deal, Liz. I think it’s great . . . so does Matthew,” she added with a shrug.