An Innocent Thanksgiving (Holiday Heat Book 2) Page 7

  Since then, I’d told myself that Cal was always a jerk, that he was awful, that I should’ve known better. But it was just self-defense. And now he was taking it upon himself to be in his daughter’s life when I’d given him every opportunity to walk away. In fact I’d been awful to him, giving him even more reasons to turn his back—pushing him away so that he wouldn’t consider getting close.

  Of course, I knew underneath it all the real reason: if I let myself think of him as a good person, I’d never get over him. It was hard enough already.

  But now—now he was saying that he wanted to be in his daughter’s life. And of course he wasn’t going to rekindle the connection between the two of us. Not that I’d hoped for that, or realized that I’d hoped for that until now.

  Could I handle having him in Fern’s life, and therefore in mine, even while knowing that we could never be together? I had been carrying a torch for him all this time, unable to stamp out the flame of my feelings no matter how hard I’d tried. Even with how awful our parting had been, I was still drawn to him, as last week had proven. Could I accept that he would never feel the same way about me that I felt about him, especially if I was forced to be around him all the time?

  Could I really put myself through that? Risk having my heart hurt in that way all over again?

  13

  Cal

  Maggie still seemed to be contemplating. If I had to guess, I would say that she was softening towards me, or at least towards me being in Fern’s life.

  It surprised me to realize that I’d once been able to know her moods so well, and I only became aware of it as I saw now that I couldn’t really guess her moods at all. I’d known Maggie for years before we’d ever slept together, and while she’d grown in leaps and bounds emotionally and intellectually, at her heart she had always been the same person, same sense of humor, same honesty, same upbeat spirit.

  Now, though… I couldn’t be sure. Was she really still that same person, the way that I hoped she was underneath her angry bluster? Or had she changed so much that I could no longer reach her?

  “Mama!” Fern ran up. “Mama, push me! Swing me!”

  “What do we say?” Maggie replied, still sounding caught up in her reverie.

  “Swing me please?” Fern said.

  She was fucking adorable. I had never really thought of kids as cute or adorable or whatever. A bit, yeah, in a quick glancing kind of way, but I’d never really stopped and cooed over a kid before and I’d doubted that I ever would. Now here I was thinking that Fern was the cutest damn thing and feeling my heart melt.

  Damn it.

  I jumped up before Maggie could say anything more. “I’m game, Fern, I’ll push you.”

  Fern grinned up at me, looking delighted. “Yay!”

  I helped her up onto the swing, starting by pushing her gently and then giving her bigger and bigger pushes until she was swinging up almost as high as the swing could go, shrieking with joy the entire time. It was cracking me up. I wanted to pull out my phone and film her, except that would mean I’d have to stop pushing her.

  Maggie was having a hard time with this, and I hated to see her upset. Honestly, I did. Maybe our recent behavior towards each other didn’t show us in our best light, but I wanted her to be happy. I didn’t want to be a source of frustration for her. But I also knew that I couldn’t give in without coming to some agreement about Fern. I already liked her, was falling hard and fast, and I couldn’t wait to know her better.

  I pushed Fern on the swing for… God knew how long, I didn’t keep track. Maggie watched us from the bench, a contemplative look on her face that I couldn’t decipher. At last Fern made me stop the swing and hopped off, running over to Maggie and demanding a hug.

  Maggie didn’t hesitate for a second, sweeping her daughter up and hugging her tightly. I could see in an instant how close they were. I’d never been close to my parents in that way. Not that my relationship with my parents had been bad or even all that distant. But it hadn’t been this close—in fact I hadn’t seen many parents and kids with this kind of bond, period. It warmed my heart, and my only sadness was that it was the loss of a father, and Maggie’s youth, that had probably created such a fierce and intense relationship between the two of them.

  Every time I thought about Maggie having to go it alone, raising Fern and struggling with all the issues that came with having a baby and a child, I felt the heat of shame and frustration licking up my spine again. If only I could turn back time so that I could be there. If only.

  But I was here now and I was going to do what I could to make things right.

  They made a beautiful picture together, mother and daughter, Maggie with her blonde hair and Fern with her soft brown hair, Fern’s green eyes contrasting Maggie’s hazel ones. It tugged at my heart, and I wasn’t sure who made me weaker—Maggie or Fern.

  “I’m hungry,” Fern announced, poking her mother.

  “Then we’ll head home and make dinner,” Maggie declared, setting Fern down and taking her hand.

  “Can Uncle Cal come?” Fern tugged at Maggie’s hand, then pointed at me, as if Maggie might be confused about who Uncle Cal was.

  I smiled and waved at her, trying not to feel too smug that Fern liked me so much already. I felt a little like I was just skating along, seeing as I was just pushing her on the swing and hanging around, but I would happily do that all day, and more, if it got Fern to like me.

  Maggie pressed her lips together, a sure sign that she wasn’t pleased. But she sighed and nodded. “Sure, Uncle Cal can come.”

  Hey, it wasn’t an all-out victory, but I’d take what I could get.

  Fern took my hand while we walked back, swinging our hands between us and chattering at me about her art, about the cloud she saw earlier, about her favorite kind of food, about everything and nothing. She reminded me a bit of Maggie, and it warmed my heart.

  Once we got back to the apartment… it was a nice apartment. I liked it. And I could see how Maggie had done a lot of work to make it homey. There were prints of paintings all over the walls, photos of Mark and Violet, Maggie growing up, Fern growing up, Maggie with friends. The furniture all seemed to be secondhand but lovingly and carefully chosen, and the walls were all painted various colors.

  I just couldn’t help thinking that Maggie and Fern deserved a better place. A bigger place. Something with enough room for Fern to really run around and be a kid, and a nice big proper kitchen, and a backyard where Fern could have her own swing set…

  I jolted myself back to the present as I realized I was, of all things, envisioning a house with the three of us, a house where I was living with Maggie and Fern, all three of us together as a family.

  Dammit, I did not need to be getting swept up so early. I was still basically auditioning to be in Fern’s life, to be in Maggie’s by default as well, and I couldn’t afford to mess it up by going too fast.

  “Mama!” Fern pushed some more ingredients towards Maggie. The kid was obviously trying to help out with dinner, but her help was… well, it was little kid help. If she kept at it, nothing edible was going to get made.

  I had to stifle some laughter. It was adorable, no doubt about it. But it was also making Maggie’s job harder.

  “Hey, Fern!” I pointed at what looked like some finger paint work hanging up to dry by the window. “Are these yours?”

  Fern’s face lit up and she dashed over to me, already full of explanations and chatter. I grinned helplessly, listening to her and asking questions. She was very proud of her work, the way that all kids were. I wished that people could hold onto that simple pride and pleasure in their endeavors—whatever those endeavors might be. Whether it was art, writing, cooking, or whatever, when we were kids we didn’t care about what people thought of us or if the end product was ‘good enough’. We just did it because we enjoyed the process.

  Then we became adults and we spent our time feeling judged and inadequate. A lot of my work in my art was trying to unlearn all t
he criticism that I had taken on and into myself, trying to get back to just being like a kid and enjoying my art because I enjoyed the process of making it, not because I was thinking about creating the perfect end product.

  Fern couldn’t be occupied just with her finger painting for long, however, and I quickly asked her to show me around the apartment so that she wouldn’t go back to bothering her mother. Fern eagerly took me to her room immediately.

  “You need to meet all my friends,” she announced, waving her hand at the array of stuffed animals on her bed.

  “You’ve got a lot of friends,” I said.

  “Of course.” Fern climbed up onto her bed and grabbed a stuffed penguin. “It’s because they’re all very sad and I make them happy.”

  “…sad?”

  That was how I learned that these various stuffed animals all had the most tragic of backstories, having lost family members in floods, fires, and in an attack of rabid werewolves. Apparently everyone had to have a tragic backstory, ‘just like superheroes and television’, and well, I wasn’t about to argue with that logic. Fern was very serious about the health and wellbeing of these poor persecuted stuffed animals and gave them all a cuddle after she introduced them to me.

  It was absolutely adorable. I wanted to find a way to preserve this forever. As Fern talked I could see bits of myself in her—namely in her love of art and her imagination. But I could see Maggie in her too, in the forthright way that Fern talked and her firm opinions, her odd sense of humor. Our daughter was a wonderful combination of the both of us, and it made my heart swell.

  “Dinner is ready!” Maggie said.

  Fern immediately kissed all her stuffed animals goodbye and then dashed back into the living room-slash-kitchen, chanting for sustenance.

  Yes, literally for ‘sustenance’. She was such an oddball, and I absolutely loved it.

  “C’mere.” I picked Fern up and seated her at the table. She wiggled in her seat, giggling, and my heart swelled about three sizes in that instant. I sat down in another chair, and helped Maggie to get the food onto the table. It wasn’t anything too fancy, just pasta with broccoli, but it smelled delicious. Maggie must’ve inherited Mark’s cooking skills.

  I tried not to think too much about Mark, or what he would think of this entire situation. That way lay madness and I was already dancing on the edge of that, being close to Maggie and not doing any of the things I wanted to do to her, with her, and not telling Fern that I was her father.

  “Thanks for the dinner,” I told Maggie, digging in. “I appreciate it.”

  Maggie shrugged, focusing on Fern. “Don’t mention it.”

  I dug into the food, staying quiet as I watched Maggie feed Fern and interact with her. She really was an amazing mother. Not that I’d expected her to be anything less, but it was still something else to watch her in action. They were clearly so close, Fern making Maggie laugh, Maggie making Fern grin and do this wiggle that I quickly realized meant that Fern was happy. They were an amazing little unit, and I only wished that I could share in it.

  14

  Maggie

  Fern was in an exceptionally good mood. Usually she was a fussy eater and I had to cajole, joke, and bargain in order to get her to eat. I honestly didn’t even care so much about health at this point—if I had to bribe her with ice cream to get her to eat her pasta, then so be it. I only cared that she actually got food into her body. She was growing like a weed and needed a lot of it.

  But tonight she was happy, giggling, eating whatever I gave her. It had to do with Cal being here, I was sure of it. Fern was always better behaved around people that she liked and wanted to impress, which was usually either Jenn or my parents. It seemed that Cal was now one of the other lucky few to end up in that category.

  I was surprised at Cal’s patience, actually. Fern could be an exhausting kid. I loved her, but she chatted a mile a minute and was always running around creating some new adventure for herself, wanting to drag me along with her. Cal had never really been around kids much, as far as I knew, especially not a kid as full of energy and inventiveness as Fern. She’d definitely gotten it from Cal, if you asked me. He was the charismatic, charming one out of the two of us. I was the blunt introvert who didn’t know when to gentle her tone and was happy to stay alone at home with a book every night for the rest of her life.

  But Cal was smiling and chatting amicably and seemed to be… actually excited by Fern. He listened avidly as she told him various stories about her day, and asked questions that prompted her to share more. He seemed to be genuine in his desire to know more about her and about her life. When Fern went on for a good twenty minutes listing the foods that she did and didn’t like, Cal listened and didn’t seem at all bored. I wasn’t sure what to make of it. He even would offer up his own commentary on things like how spinach was overrated or how he thought that cold sandwiches were a crime against humanity and all sandwiches should be toasted.

  I found myself smiling into my pasta a few times, taking hasty drinks of water to disguise it. I didn’t want Cal to realize how much I was… delighting in all of this. I hated myself, just a little, for finding this whole thing so adorable. The two of them seemed to fit well together, their personalities naturally similar, and I hadn’t realized until this moment just how much of Cal was already there in Fern—aside from her artistic talent, of course. I’d noticed that right away.

  So many times I had been tempted to tell her, you get your art skills from your dad. But I’d known that the moment I said that, Fern would want to know more about her father, and once that door was open I couldn’t close it again. Pandora’s box was staying firmly shut, thanks. Fern was still young enough that she didn’t really notice the fact that she only had a mom. I knew that of course someday she was going to notice, and then she might start asking questions, but I’d just decided I’d cross that bridge when I came to it. For now, she didn’t know that things were different in her family than in the families of some of her friends, so I hadn’t wanted to rush it.

  Now, though, I had to wonder if keeping Fern secret from Cal was such a good idea. There was the whole thing with my parents but… surely we could’ve kept it from my parents, right?

  I didn’t know. But Fern and Cal were getting along so well and meshing so well… maybe I should have let them know each other this whole time.

  No. No, that would’ve just created a mess. And sure, Cal was good with her now, for one day, but would he be good with her consistently? When she was upset and crying, or being difficult? When she’d been a baby and crying, or during her terrible twos when she’d been teething and up at all hours?

  That sobered me up, and I got up to start clearing the able. “I think it’s time for a bath,” I said, “if someone’s finished eating.” I would clean up the dishes once I’d gotten her to sleep. That was the story of my life—having to put off chores and then spend my free time on that and doing work. I didn’t really have time to relax. I was lucky that my friend Jenn had so much free time and was okay with hanging out at odd hours, or always coming over to my house. Jenn was a fun-loving, free-wheeling, party kind of person, but she never complained and I appreciated her so much for it.

  “I can do the dishes,” Cal said, standing up. “While you give her a bath.”

  “Oh, I—I couldn’t—”

  “Hey, you made dinner, that’s how it works.” Cal winked at Fern. “One person makes dinner, the other one cleans it up. Sound fair, Fern?”

  Fern nodded.

  Cal pointed at the dishes. “All right, start cleaning then!”

  He was obviously joking, and Fern giggled. I got up. “Okay, bath time!”

  Bath was good—but Fern wouldn’t stop chatting about Cal. She thought he was amazing, that he was funny, and she was just delighted. I didn’t know what to do. I just agreed with her, my stomach in knots, remembering when I had wanted to praise Cal just as much to anyone who would listen. Of course, unlike Fern, I’d also had a crush on him.
I had been so into him—and seeing him with my kid was doing things to me that I hadn’t expected.

  I had never let myself think about Cal with Fern, and what that would look like. I had never wanted to imagine something that I’d known—or thought I’d known—would never happen. But now I was listening to my daughter talk excitedly about ‘Uncle Cal this’ and ‘Uncle Cal that’ as I toweled her hair dry, after watching Cal listen to her and chat with her all evening, and it was… it was doing things to me, definitely. It was making me melt and I couldn’t stop it no matter how hard I tried.

  I got Fern into bed and told her I was going to check on how Cal was doing. “You really don’t have to clean,” I yelled as I walked back into the living-kitchen area. “Honestly, I can finish it up, I’m used to… it…”

  I paused.

  The kitchen was cleaner than it had been before I’d started making dinner. The whole area was practically sparkling. I stopped dead, feeling my mouth open a little in surprise.

  Cal was sitting at the kitchen table, scrolling through his phone, probably checking emails or something. He had just up and moved to Nashville, had he even warned anyone? Did anyone know about this? If they did, what excuse had he given? He couldn’t have possibly told them the truth.

  He looked up, smiling softly at me as I stood there staring at the kitchen. “You—you really didn’t have to do that,” I said, knowing how stupid I sounded even as the words left my mouth.

  “I wanted to.” He pocked his phone. “What’s up with Fern?”

  “I’m—it’s her bedtime, I’m going to put her to bed.” Jesus, Maggie, could you sound more stupid if you tried?

  “Mind if I lend a hand?” Cal asked.

  “Um…” Part of me didn’t want to let him spend any more time with Fern. I felt like I was at the top of a cliff, the top of a deep hole, and about to fall off, and I was terrified that if I let him spend more time with her that I would fall in and be lost. Or more lost than I already was, because the fact is that if I’d ever thought I was over him, I was quickly being proven wrong.