After finding out about the drugs, I thought it would be easy to forget about her, to push my feelings aside. It hasn’t been easy at all. In fact, it’s been damn near impossible. I think about her all the time, and when she showed up at my door, I was reminded of just how strong my feelings for her remain. But I can’t act on them. Despite what I feel for her, I can’t let her back into our lives because she’s clearly not who I thought she was. Even if she’s telling the truth, I’m not sure it’s worth the risk.
Pissed off that I’m letting my feelings for her override the anger I need to focus on, I slam the door shut and stalk down the hall, ignoring Nova when she pops her head out of her bedroom and asks where I’m going.
In my bedroom, I toss the box on my dresser and stare at the offending glittery paper, trying to decide whether or not to give it to Nova. And the fact that I’m even considering not giving it to her makes me a top contender for worst father ever.
Nova will love the dress, I’m sure of it. She’ll probably love it almost as much as she loves the woman who made it. But can I stand to see her in it day after day? Will it be a constant reminder of the life I could’ve had—the life I almost had? Who am I kidding, that life is a lie now.
For three long, lonely weeks, the box stays on my dresser. I’ve stared at it. I’ve cursed at it. I’ve even picked it up and thrown it in the trash—only to drag it back out seconds later. Now it’s sitting on the coffee table, bearing the weight of my heavy gaze.
The past three weeks have worn me down more than I ever could’ve imagined. Nova and I only had Lennon in our lives for a short time, but we feel her absence every day. I’m not sure who misses her more, me or Nova.
It took a week for Nova to start asking questions. Where’s Lennon? Why hasn’t she come by? Can we go see her?
In week two, I told her that Lennon wouldn’t be coming back. I made up some bullshit about Lennon having to go home where her family is. She’s too young for the truth. Even without it, she was a complete mess. Seeing my daughter cry like that was my undoing, and it was the first time I really second-guessed my decision to remove Lennon from our lives. But then I looked at the pictures on the internet and reminded myself that she isn’t the person I thought she was, and I can’t let someone like that into our lives.
So here we are, on day twenty-one of fucking misery, and the guilt has eaten at me so much that I have to give Nova the dress. I hope it will give her a nice memory of Lennon, as I can never tell her the truth. As much as I hate it, it isn’t right for me to keep something from her I know she’ll love, especially when it was made with so much love.
I’ve never—not once—doubted Lennon’s love for Nova. In a fit of anger, I may have said some things suggesting as much, but my heart knows Lennon loves my little girl. It’s that sentiment that drove me to bring the box into the living room.
“You’re finally gonna give it to her, huh?”
I nod, looking up at Mikey. “Looks like it.”
“You’re doing the right thing.” He hands me the beer he just pulled from the refrigerator and takes a seat next to me on the couch. “How ya holding up?”
“Still don’t want to talk about it, Mike,” I warn, taking a pull from my bottle.
“Okay,” he concedes—a little too easily. It typically takes him at least three tries before he gives up. Fucker is relentless these days. “How about we talk about Ricky.”
“Interesting change of subject.”
“He’s reopening his father’s shop.”
“No shit?” No idea how he’s managing that, but good for him.
“Yup,” Mikey says, taking a drink. “Big ol’ building downtown. New equipment and everything.”
Now that’s fucking strange. “How the hell is he doing that?” Ricky’s been up front with me about the debt he was left with after his father’s death. His dream has always been to reopen the shop, but that kind of equipment would cost hundreds of thousands of dollars that Ricky doesn’t have.
Downing the rest of his beer, Mikey puts his bottle on the coffee table and stands up. “You should go down there and ask him yourself.”
“Or you could just tell me.”
Because I don’t feel like going anywhere. I feel like staring at this goddamn box. Maybe if I stare long enough, it’ll reveal just how the fuck I’m supposed to move on once it’s opened. Or maybe answer the one question I can’t seem to get out of my mind:
Did I make a mistake?
A grin stretches over Mikey’s mouth. “Where’s the fun in that? It’s a great story, and he should be the one to tell you.”
I glance again at the box on the coffee table. My mom took Nova shopping today and won’t be home for another hour or so. What the hell.
“Let’s go.”
“Thought you’d never ask.” With way too much pep in his step, Mikey walks to the door.
What the hell has gotten into him?
I’m careful not to look at Lennon’s house as we climb into Mikey’s truck and pull out of the driveway. Every time I catch a glimpse of it, the feelings start creeping back in. Who am I kidding? They’ve never really left. But I’ve done a damn good job of trying to suppress them, and when I look at her house, I have to spend a couple of days pushing them back down again. So it’s best if I don’t even go there.