She nods and tugs at one of her curls.
I want to tell her that she misunderstood. I want to tell her that it was just because people cry sometimes even in good relationships, that her dad was nevermean, just stressed out and upset sometimes.
But she’ll know I’m lying, and I can’t do that to her. Not anymore.
“He was mean to me sometimes,” I admit, feeling the words being wrung from me, “and I was sad a lot. I didn’t want you to think of your dad as mean, though. He loved you and Rosie so much.”
She nods again. “I know he did. I love Daddy. But I don’t want you to date someone who is mean to you again.”
Tears are burning in my eyes. Relief that she can separate her love for Rob from what she saw in the way he treated me. But sadness that she carried this with her, locked away like I did. “Is that why you’re telling me now?” I ask. “Because I’m dating again?”
“Yes. I didn’t think you wanted me to know and I didn’t want to make you sad.”
The tears spill over and I hug her close, then release her to say, “I don’t want you to be sad, either. But I’m so sorry I made you feel like you couldn’t talk to me about it. And I’m sorry I treated you like you see and understand less than other kids. I should have known better.”The guilt is a vise, squeezing me tight.
She shrugs. “I was really young.”
It was three years ago, and she wasn’tthatyoung, but I appreciate the out she’s trying to give me. And I do get the sense that that aspect doesn’t actually bother her very much.
She’s just sad for me. She wants the best for me.
God, what did I ever do to deserve such an incredible daughter? Let alonetwosuch incredible daughters—these bright, shining lights in my life. I wish I could make everything perfect for them.
It might help them to know their mother, I can hear Nate say.
Maybe he’s right. Maybe they don’t need perfect; maybe they just need to know me.
Not that I think they should know all the details, not this young. And I do think Rosie is too young for even this much. But one day, if they want to know—
“Do you think Preston is pretend nice or real nice?”Thea asks.
I pause, considering. “I think he’s real nice,” I finally say. “But I don’t know him very well yet. What do you think? You’re always good at reading people.”
She gets a mischievous smile. “I think Nate’s real nice.”
I raise my eyebrows, pretty sure I know where she’s headed with this. “I think so too.” I pause. “Did you spend more time with Nate today?”
“He stayed with me and Rosie while you were cooking. I asked him if he wanted to kiss you.”
I choke on my own spit, and she grins at me.
Oh my god.
Probably I shouldn’t encourage her on this, but I have to ask. “What did he say?”
“He wouldn’t tell me. But he didn’t say no!” She gives me a very pointed look, and I feel a little flushed.
“He can’t kiss me,” I say, trying very hard not to show the regret in those words—though it’sThea, so probably she can see it anyway. “He can’t date me. He’s a producer. I’m dating Preston.”
Sort of.
Thea wrinkles her nose. “I told Nate if the prince can date other people, so can you. It’s a double standard.”
She’s not wrong there. But—“Did he say he wants to date me?”
She squirms. “He said he’d think about it.”
What?What does that mean? He’d think about whether hewantsto date me? Whether it’s possible?
