Page 39 of Reclaim Me

“You’re right. You’re right.” He pushes out a settling breath. “Tell me where your head is at.”

I picture Hunter. Not just as he was the other night, all decked out in a suit, rubbing elbows with New Haven’s elite, but as he was in the gym when I went to see him and at the cemetery when we ran into each other out of the blue. Every time I’ve come across him, I’ve been able to see his commitment to his sobriety. Will always used to say that once a person chose to do the work, you could see the determination on their face.

Back then, when Hunter and I were deep in the madness of our love, that determination wasn’t there. He wanted to be clean, sure, but I think he wanted it more for me than himself. He wanted to be the kind of man who deserved me, and in doing so, he became the only version of himself that could have lost me. I’m confident that isn’t the case today. He didn’t get clean for me, or even for Riley; he got clean for himself, and knowing that makes me feel safe giving him access to my—no, our—daughter.

“Every day should be a mental health day, Mommy!” Riley shouts as she pumps her little legs as hard as she can to make the swing go higher. I offered to push her, but she said that Scarlett said big girls don’t need help, so I hopped on my own swing and channeled my energy into catching some air with her while also silently running through the advice Dee gave me last night about having this conversation with Riley. It all basically came down to being honest and open and not getting defensive if she gets upset.

When we were on the phone rehearsing, the words poured off my tongue easily, but every time I’ve tried to speak them today, I’ve gotten choked up, scared of ruining Riley’s good mood, terrified to make her hate me.

Aaron assured me that wouldn’t be the case when I expressed my fears to him last night. He’s been extremely supportive of my decision to tell Riley about her dad, and even though we’ve only been back on track for a few days, I think we’ve finally found our footing in New Haven.

Let’s just hope we can keep it.

“Every day can’t be a mental health day, Ri.”

“Why not?”

“Because we don’t need one every day.”

“But I needed one today?” she asks, still swinging high even though I’ve started to slow down.

“Yeah, baby, we both did.”

She looks over at me, concern pouring out of those big, brown eyes. “Why did you need one? Is there something wrong with your brain?”

Her question surprises a laugh out of me. “Something like that.”

“Wanna talk about it? You always say that sharing your feelings with a grown-up you trust can help you feel better. I’m not a grown-up, but you can trust me.”

Motherhood is mostly saying things you hope make sense and praying your kid is not just listening, but absorbing your words. Most days, I don’t know if anything I say sticks with Riley, but then, in moments when I least expect, she hits me with a line like that and I rejoice in the fact that the seeds I’ve planted have taken root.

“Thanks, Nugget.” I flash her a grateful smile, then reach over and wrap my fingers around the rusted chain keeping the swing attached to the frame. Riley stops kicking her legs, helping me curb her momentum until she’s completely still. “There is something I’d like to talk to you about.”

Her eyes light up, and there’s surprise lingering in the corners because she didn’t expect me to take her up on her offer. “Okay.”

I take a deep breath and send up a silent prayer that I’m making the right decision. “Remember when we went to Nana and Uncle Will’s grave, and we talked about how important it is to love people while we have them?”

Riley nods. “I wish I could have met Nana and Uncle Will.”

It’s not the first time she’s expressed that sentiment, nor is it the first time my eyes have filled with tears born solely from the knowledge that the three most important people in my life will never know each other.

“I know, baby. I wish you could have too.” Reaching over, I brush an errant curl away from her face. “And I don’t want you missing out on any more people who love you.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you know that Aaron isn’t your real dad, right?”

“Yeah, that’s why I call him Aaron.” Her deadpan response pulls a snort out of me that has her looking at me like I’m crazy. “When I meet my real dad, I won’t call him his name because that’d be weird. I’ll call him Daddy just like I call you Mommy.”

The certainty in her tone catches me just as off guard as the words she’s saying, and I find myself angling my body towards her. “Ri, have you been thinking about your real dad a lot?”

She nods and brings her hands into her lap to start twiddling her thumbs. “Yes.”

“But you never asked me about him. Why?”

“I didn’t want to make you sad,” she whispers with her chin tucked into her chest so the words are barely audible. “It makes you sad when you talk about Uncle Will and Nana. I thought maybe talking about him would make you sad because you miss him like you miss them.”

My teeth plunge into my lower lip to stop it from trembling. I don’t know what to say, so I just follow Dee’s advice and choose honesty. “It does make me sad to talk about your dad, but for different reasons than it makes me sad to talk about Nana and Uncle Will.”

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