The Truth

“Totally,” Ace assures me. “Your kid’s going to have their own different set of issues, but not because they won’t be loved. You’re going to protect, and love, and raise that kid regardless of what happens. Because that’s exactly what a mom has to do.” Ace snags a fry before I eat them all and chews. “And I’m going to teach him or her to color outside the boundaries you try to set. I’ll help the kid know when it’s okay to break some rules and have an adventure. Maybe do something crazy.”

“That’s . . . terrifying,” I admit.

Ace smiles. “I promise no tattoos until they’re at least sixteen, no skydiving until they’re eighteen, and I’ll drive the night they turn twenty-one.”

I shake my head, chuckling despite myself. “You are such an asshole. I love you. And I’m already calling veto on all of that.”

“Love you too, Sis. But really, you’re gonna be great. And Harper and I have your back,” Ace continues, using the even, no-nonsense voice that I used for so long when I was trying to talk sense into him. “And Mom and Dad will too, you know that. They’ll be over the moon to finally have a grandchild.”

“Mom’s going to give you so much shit for not doing it first.”

“I promise that Harper and I will work on it when the time’s right,” Ace says easily. “But seriously, you need to talk to Daniel. He’s a good man, Tiff.”

“And if he doesn’t want the baby? Or me?”

“Then he’s a damn fool,” Ace says matter-of-factly. “But also . . . what if he does? How great would that be? Have a little faith, and trust him.”

Chapter 28

Daniel

I don’t remember how Frankie’s became ‘our place’. More than likely, it was that sort of random connection that happens in life— we went because we were hungry, had a good time, and did it again. That again became another time, and another time, and soon enough, it was our spot. And sitting at a picnic table with Elle makes it feels like old times.

And just like old times, Elle looks me up and down, her eyes evaluating so much as her mouth says little until she’s made up her mind. She’s got a mind like a sharp scalpel, able to precisely excise the smallest millimeter of information that she wants and separate it from all the fluff that surrounds the rest of what’s in front of her.

I should know because she learned the skill from the best—me. While I doubt I would have made a very happy surgeon, simply because I don’t honestly like the idea of blood and cutting people up, I put my mind to work in other ways, and my daughter has followed in my footsteps.

So, it’s no surprise when she drops her mess of half a burger back to the wrapper. “Dad.”

“Something you’d like to discuss? If so, we could’ve done that just as easily in my office,” I point out. “Better air conditioning.”

“Yeah,” Elle says, “except there, you’d try to make me drink those nasty, dirt-tasting smoothies you claim to like, and we’d be interrupted every five minutes with something ‘urgent’.” She rolls her eyes when I shrug in agreement with her. She knows the way I work better than anyone.

“I can’t help it that I’m busy and people need me.” I don’t bother fighting her on the green smoothies I actually do enjoy because we’re way past the phase of me making sure she gets her fruits and veggies every day. And in my opinion, the smoothies are better than a plate of green beans.

“Dad, you’re a workaholic with micromanagement issues,” Elle says with the candor that only she can get away with. “Colton was the same. Was being the operative word there. I think it’s fair to say that half the things you sign could be rubber-stamped by Vanessa without your ever laying eyes on them.”

I make a stabbing motion at my chest, right over my heart, mainly because she’s right. “You wound me.” Elle flashes a fake smile at my dramatics. “But I’m guessing my work hours are not what you want to talk about?”

“Oh, we’ll get to that. Mainly, I wanted to tell you that I know we talked about this before, but actually seeing you and Tiffany together last night was an eye-opener to me. It’s different when it’s words in a conversation versus what I see with my own eyes.”

“And how do you feel about that?” I say carefully.

Even as I ask, I’m not sure I want the answer. I have done everything, willingly and happily, with my daughter’s best interests in mind. But my relationship with Tiffany is different. If, after seeing us together, Elle says that she’s not okay with it, I’m not sure I’ll be able to put her feelings first this time. For the first time in a long time, I might need to put myself first—my needs, my wants, my happiness.