I Love You, I Hate You: Part 2

Molly looks at me again, then begins to sign what I assume are the letters of my name. She smiles and claps her hands.

There’s a pang of disappointment that Molly won’t call me Dad, but I ignore it. Like her mother, this girl is going to make me earn my title. I tear my gaze away from my daughter and focus on Danika. “She doesn’t talk?”

Danika exhales loudly, a small frown falling upon her face. She quickly hides it with a sip of her drink then says, “She can, but chooses not to. I thought she might be autistic but her doctor said the tests were inconclusive. Her therapists have gotten her to say a handful of words, but it’s slow coming.”

I nod, not fully understanding. I’ve heard of autism, but don’t personally know anyone with it. A heads up about Molly’s potential condition would have been nice. I could have done some research and better prepared myself.

“She could understand us, but refused to speak to anyone. Listening to her scream when she was unhappy, or watching her destroy a classroom because we didn’t understand what she wanted was heartbreaking.” Danika hides another sad smile with her coffee. Sarah reaches back and squeezes Danika’s knee, comforting her in a way I’m not allowed.

I wish I had been there to help shoulder the burden. Babies aren’t easy.

“Molly had a great teacher last year who introduced us to sign language. My little princess soaked it up like a sponge. You wouldn’t believe how smart she is, Logan.” A proud smile curls Danika’s lips. “But her therapist said I shouldn’t sign to her. I need to talk and encourage Molly to use her words or else she may never speak.”

Molly’s still sitting beside Sarah, signing what I’m almost positive are the letters of my name over and over again. I pull out my phone and do a quick Google search. Satisfied I understand what I’m supposed to do, I scoot a little closer. “Molly?”

She looks up at me, her gaze settling on my nose. I use my hands to sign “I am Logan” despite her mother’s disapproval. I need an in with my kid. If being the only person to sign with her is what it takes to bond, then so be it.

Molly gasps and bounces in her seat, her hands flapping like a bird at her side. She signs hello, then looks down at her lap. Her little throat bobs with a big swallow. She clenches and unclenches her fists. Her tiny mouth opens a fraction of an inch then closes.

She opens it again, eyes still trained on the floor, and lets out a soft, breathy, “H...h...hi.”

Danika drops her mug. Dark liquid spills all over the tile floor, but it doesn’t shatter. I smile, a feeling of pride so powerful flooding my body that tears pool in my eyes. My daughter, who doesn’t speak, spoke to me. She’s quiet, and breathy, and stutters. Just like I did as a kid.

Molly stands, her gaze still focused on her feet, and takes small careful steps towards me. My heart races in my chest faster than Pierre Gasly when he set the record for the fastest lap at the 2019 Chinese Grand Prix.

Molly sits herself in my lap, her tiny head resting against my chest.

I look up at Danika for confirmation that it’s okay to hug Molly. She nods, and I wrap my arms around her. Molly snuggles into me, getting herself comfortable. I blink back tears because for the first time, I am hugging my daughter.

22

Danika

I want to be mad at Logan. I mean, I am mad at him for making me move back to this oven of a state, but I wish I was angry with him for signing to Molly. For all of ten seconds, I was. But then she spoke. It’s the first word I’ve heard her say that wasn’t probed from therapy.

I’ve tried all week since to get Molly to talk to me, but she would only sign and most of what she signed was asking where Logan was. For the record, he’s been working. Three nights on, two nights off. Apparently his schedule rotates every two weeks and it’s set to switch again on Monday.

Molly screams from her booster seat at the table. She doesn’t like being strapped in but I don’t want her wandering this house alone. Sarah has a lot of expensive knickknacks. Until I can finish wrapping them up, I don’t want to take any chances of Molly breaking them. Lord knows I can’t afford to replace anything.

I turn around from the counter and jump, nearly dropping Molly’s lunch. “For heaven’s sake, Logan, don’t sneak up on me like that!”

He chuckles and steps into the kitchen. “Sorry. I knocked but you didn’t answer. When I heard Molly crying I thought something might be wrong.”

Molly opens her eyes at the sound of Logan’s voice. She dries her tears and smiles up at him. She makes each hand into a fist then crosses her arms over her chest in the form of an X. When Logan doesn’t immediately respond, Molly begins to cry again.

“What’s wrong with her?” he asks, crouching down to rub circles on Molly’s back.

“She wants a hug.” I set Molly’s plate on the table and run my hands down my face. Things with Molly have become almost unbearable since moving here. I don’t have insurance, so I can’t continue Molly’s speech therapy. She signs “Teacher” everyday, asking when she can see Ms. Tabb again, then gets mad and screams when I tell her we aren’t going to school. On top of that, she’s refusing to eat anything except apples and peanut butter because Nona would make most of Molly’s meals and she misses her.

Needless to say, I am exhausted.

“Oh.” Logan unclasps the buckle around Molly’s waist and lifts her into his arms.

Molly stops crying and wraps her tiny legs around his waist and clings onto his neck. Her breaths are shaky from all her screaming and it kills me how easily Logan is able to soothe her. When I pick Molly up in that state, she thrashes and refuses to let me comfort her.

“Isn’t she a little old for a booster seat?” Logan asks, rocking Molly in his arms.

“What? Did you read a parenting book and suddenly become an expert?” My words are harsh, but if he did, I want that book. Logan is a natural with Molly. I sag into one of Sarah’s dining room chairs and take a peanut butter covered apple slice from Molly’s tray. “The short answer, yes, but I need to know Molly is safe when I’m in the kitchen.”