But at twenty-eight, I was still thinking with my dick and my wallet.
At thirty-three, I was thinking with my brain and my daughter’s happiness in mind.
“When is this charade going to end?” I cut Sonya off, getting tired of running in circles around the real topic at hand. “Name your price and I’ll pay it. What would it take for you to go private with us?”
Sonya had been working for a private institution partially funded by the state and partially funded by the likes of yours truly. She couldn’t have made more than 80k a year, and I was being extremely fucking optimistic. I’d offered her 150k, the best health insurance on the market for her and her son, and the same amount of hours if she’d agree to come work with Luna exclusively. Sonya let out a long-suffering sigh, her azure eyes crinkling. “Don’t you get it, Trent? You should be focusing on getting Luna to open up to more people, not allowing her to depend on me for communication. Besides, Luna is not the only child who needs me. I enjoy working with a wide range of clients.”
“She loves you,” I countered, plucking dark lint from my impeccable Gucci suit. Did she think I didn’t want my daughter to speak to me? To my parents? To my friends? I’d tried everything. Luna wouldn’t budge. The least I could do was make sure she wasn’t terribly lonely in that head of hers.
“She loves you, too. It will just take more time for her to come out of her shell.”
“Let’s hope it happens before I find a way to break it.” I rose to my feet, only half-joking. My daughter made me feel more helpless than any grown-ass person I’d ever dealt with.
“Trent.” Sonya’s voice pleaded when I was at the door. I stopped, but didn’t turn around. No. Fuck it. She didn’t talk about her family much when she came over for a quick fuck after Luna and the nanny were already asleep, but I knew she was divorced with one kid. Fuck normal Sonya and fuck her normal son. They didn’t understand Luna and me. On paper, maybe. But the real us? The broken, the tortured, the curiosities? Not a chance. Sonya was a good therapist. Unethical? Maybe, but even that was debatable. We had sex knowing there was nothing more to it. No emotions, no complications, no expectations. She was a good therapist, but, like the rest of the world, she was pretty bad at understanding what I was going through. What we were going through.
“Summer break has just started. Please, I urge you to make room for Luna. You work such long hours. She’d really benefit from being around you more.”
I twisted in place, studying her face.
“What are you suggesting?”
“Maybe take a day off every week to spend time with her?”
A few slow blinks from my end were enough to tell her she was grossly overstepping. She backpedaled, but not without a fight. Her lips thinned, telling me she was growing tired of me, too.
“I get it. You’re a big hotshot and can’t afford the time off. Promise me you’ll take her to work with you once a week? Camila can watch over her. I know your office building offers a play room and other amenities suitable for children.” Camila was Luna’s nanny. At sixty-two, with one grandchild and another on the way, her employment with us was on borrowed time. So whenever I heard her name, something inside me stirred uncomfortably.
I nodded. Sonya closed her eyes, letting out a breath. “Thank you.”
In the lobby, I collected Luna’s Dora the Explorer backpack and stuffed her toy seahorse into it. I offered her my hand and she took it. We made the silent journey to the elevator.
“Spaghetti?” I asked, glutton for disappointment. I’d never get a response.
Nothing.
“How about FroYo?”
Nada.
The elevator pinged. We strode inside. Luna was wearing her black Chucks, a simple pair of jeans, and a white tee. The kind of stuff I could imagine the Van Der Zee girl wearing, when she wasn’t busy mugging innocent people. Luna looked nothing like Jaime’s daughter, Daria, or the other girls in her class who preferred frills and dresses. Just as well, as she found zero interest in them, either.
“How about spaghetti and a FroYo?” I bargained. And I never bargained. Ever.
Her lax hold of my hand tightened a little. Getting warmer.
“We’ll pour the FroYo on top of the spaghetti and eat it in front of Stranger Things. Two episodes. Break bedtime routine. You can go to bed at nine instead of eight.” Fuck it. It was the weekend and my usual willing bodies could wait. Tonight, I was going to watch Netflix with my kid. Be a seahorse.
Luna squeezed my hand once in a silent agreement.
“No chocolate or cookies after dinner, though,” I warned. I ran a tight ship when it came to food and routines in the house. Luna squeezed my hand again.