Minutes pass with me staring at the ultrasound picture. It’s not clear to me what’s on the black and white paper, but still, it feels sacred. A piece of Abby’s beginning. I don’t even realize I’m crying until wetness falls onto the thermal image. Not wanting it to get ruined, I tuck it into the letter, fold it, and slide it back in the stack.
Though I’m grateful for these letters, they’re also a reminder that each day we don’t tell Abby the truth is another day where I’m not in Abby’s life as her father. I get it, though. This would be a lot for anyone to handle, much less a teenage girl. I don’t know the first damn thing about teenagers, but I’m pretty sure learning the identity of your absent father requires more than a few days spent together.
Absent father.
The word makes my stomach roil. All my life I’ve done everything possible to do the right thing. To be beyond reproach. I’m the guy my friends and family can count on, the responsible one who will make sure everything goes as planned. Meanwhile, a kid was out there thinking she was fatherless. It makes me question everything I’ve thought about myself. Not only the man I thought I was, but that night, too.
I regret nothing other than the minor personal details we left out. Which happened to become major details. Why didn’t I at least give Jo my last name? That would have made it possible to find me.
The only thing making this easier is this box of letters. Whoever suggested that to Jo deserves my thanks. They’ve given me a glimpse into a past I was absent from, and while reading, I hang on every word, rereading each one multiple times like somehow they hold the power to turn back time.
My tears come in choked breaths at what a gift Jo has given me. To her they might be a box of letters, but to me they’re everything. I pull my glasses from my face to clean them, then reach for the next ink-ridden page. I read one after the other, until I come to one that includes a photo. Forcing myself to read the letter first, I clutch the photo in my other hand like a lifeline to the past.
Dear Tyler,
I look like I swallowed a beach ball. Included is photo evidence of this. My feet are swollen and our dear daughter’s favorite game is let’s kick Mom’s bladder. I’m in the final stretch with two weeks to go. Wish me luck. You don’t know how desperately I wish you were here.
Josie
The photo I’m gripping shows Jo, looking as stunning as ever. Long blonde hair draped across one shoulder, with faded purple streaks still peeking through. She’s smiling at whoever stands behind the camera, both hands holding her enormous baby bump. I lose track of time staring at it, agreeing with her sentiment. I wish I’d been there. Rather than placing it back in the box, I pull my wallet out, tuck it inside, and start on the next letter.
Dear Tyler,
Our daughter was born today. I labored for sixteen hours until finally they did an emergency C-section. Abby was in distress, and they couldn’t wait much longer.
Oh, I named her Abigail Nicole Thomas. Thomas is my last name, by the way. Guess we probably should have told each other that bit of information. :)
Abby is without a doubt the most beautiful baby I’ve ever seen. God, I wish you could see her. She has a head full of dark hair like her father, and earlier, when the nurses wheeled her into my room, her eyes opened, bright and curious. I think I already see a hint of you in them. The nurses told me eye color won’t be known for months, but I swear she has your eyes. I just know it.
The minute I had my hands on her, I unwrapped her swaddle and kissed all ten of her tiny fingers and toes. Her teensy tiny hand wrapped around my finger, and I whispered intoher ear, “it’s you and me kid. I’ll love you with my whole heart.” She’s the most perfect creature to ever exist, Tyler. The first and only love of my life. There are no words to thank you for this gift you’ve given to me. I wish you were here to meet her.
Josie
Overcome by an insatiable desire to see into the past through Jo’s words on a page, I reach for another letter.
Tyler,
Abby is a colicky baby. I can almost count on it, like clockwork. 7 p.m. each and every night, it begins. She cries for hours until her cries turn to sniffles with the saddest little gasps in between.
A couple of nights ago, I got the idea that perhaps driving in the car would calm her. So that’s what we did. I buckled a wailing Abby in and we drove down one street of Singing River and up the next.
And guess what! It worked! But then I got scared she’d start right back when I lifted her from her car seat. So I drove and I drove, until eventually my low fuel light lit up and I was forced to head home.
Still, I was scared to wake her. I sat in my driveway, my eyes studying the star-laden sky.Did you know that every human is made of stardust? Tiny particles of past stars are in each of us. I like to think that maybe you and I share the very same star stuff which would explain that night, wouldn’t it? I know I sound like a silly romantic, but it’s a nice thought regardless.
Looking up at the night sky, thinking about the wonder of it all, I did it again. I know at this point most would call me delusional, but I made a wish. What wish, you ask? Once again, I wished the universe would find a way for me to keep you. Were you wishing on that very star Tyler? I choose to believe you might have been.
Josie
It’s been a week since I read the letters, and I’m seized by a fit of restlessness from this overwhelming desire to be near Jo, Abby, and Jay. True to my word, I’ve helped Abby with homework, and enjoyed my time around her. We haven’t talked beyond school and math, but I didn’t expect much else. She’s a teenage girl who assumes I’m nothing more than her tutor. A couple of nights I shot some hoops with Jay, and accepted every invite from Jo to stay for dinner.
But it’s not nearly enough.
Jo has punctured a hole in my normally calm reserve, and that first night around the dinner table with them awakened something I can’t shake, a fatherly instinct to step in and protect, to fix Abby’s bully situation once and for all. For a split second, I even pictured myself coaching Jay’s basketball team. Then there’s Jo. Spending that much time with her only sharpened the ache for things she clearly isn’t ready for, or doesn’t want.
It’s for these reasons that I need to be more than just an extra plate at their dinner table. I want to be all in, but I have to wait, to move at Jo’s pace. And it’s killing me.
With Austin taking things slower, there’s not much for me to do here, and I’m going stir crazy holed up in this apartment,with the scent of cigarettes wafting up through the slats of the wooden floor. Who the hell still allows smoking in public anyway? Don’t they have to pay hefty fines for that?
