Page 114 of The Cost of Forgetting You

I arch a brow. “I never said you were.”

“But you’re acting like I am.” She crosses her arms with a huff. “Why can’t you just say that Mom doesn’t want to spend time with you?”

“With me?” I splay a hand over my heart. My calloused thumb finds the opening of my button-down and scrapes against my skin. I grimace, telling myself it’s because of the sensation rather than Delilah’s words. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Well, the alternative is that she doesn’t want to spend time with me”—she pauses, lifting an eyebrow—“and that would suck. So I’m hoping it’s you.”

I’m momentarily stunned and a little bit out of my depth. Sure, Kimberly and I don’t always get along. What couple does? But I’d hoped we were doing a bit better at keeping that under wraps. I don’t know why I assumed—or at least hoped—our daughter was blind to the tension. Now I feel stripped bare and wholly unprepared, like an unqualified survivalist on that show Naked and Afraid.

And I am afraid. Afraid that Delilah will base her self-worth on her mom’s and my issues. Afraid I’ll fail her in this way, among so many others.

We finally roll through the intersection, silence unraveling around us like spilled thread.

“She likes to spend time with you.” I pause, choosing my words carefully, then add, “And with me. She just…prefers to do it in ways that she enjoys.”

“And sports isn’t one of them?”

I shake my head. “Sports isn’t one of them.”

She quirks a brow. “Or music?”

I wince. The sun-bleached red brick of the school appears on my right, and I flick the blinker on while clearing my throat. “Or music.”

Thoughts I’ve kept buried for so long come bubbling up, filling my head with pressure. I tell myself that’s why Kimberly never wanted Delilah to take lessons. Why she’d fill the house with angry sighs whenever our daughter would play around on my keyboard while I strummed the guitar. Maybe she really didn’t see how it could be a career for Delilah, or maybe she just doesn’t like music as a hobby. Deep down, though, I suspect the real reason is that I love it, and therefore our daughter can’t.

Is this really love? I wonder. Worrying the person you’re with resents all your passions, solely because they’re yours?

I shake my head, but the thought won’t come loose.

I grab a spot near the front of the recently repainted lot. All the spaces are outlined in a blinding shade of white. I turn away from it, blinking back the moisture in my eyes caused by the glare. Delilah’s watching me, gaze guarded. She doesn’t say a word when I wipe my eyes.

“You’re gonna do great today. And I’ll film it all so your mom can watch it later. With the volume down, of course.” I wink. The move is rusty. Forced.

She smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. That same nervous energy from before crackles through the air, bringing my pulse up a couple notches.

It’s the weirdest part about having a kid. The part that took me the longest to get used to. When they hurt, you feel like you’re bleeding out. When they’re happy, you’re on top of the world. Right now Delilah is anxious. That makes me terrified.

I rest a hand on her jittery knee and squeeze. “What can I do to help, Delilah?”

She peeks up at me, tears welling in her eyes. “I’m just glad you’re here. That’s all.” She turns to glance out the window, swiping a hand over her cheek where she thinks I can’t see. She’s a lot like me in that way. “Don’t call me Delilah, okay? No matter how old I get, I’m ‘sweet pea’ to you. Promise?”

A fist closes around my heart and squeezes. Still I manage to force the words out. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”

She nods. “Cool.” There’s a chill in the air when she opens her door, letting herself out into the September evening. Fall begins here, in the cool evening hours as the sun dips low. By late October it’ll encroach on the heat of day, making the air bearable once more.

“I’ll see you inside?”

I nod. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

She smiles. A real one this time, with shiny teeth and that lopsided tug on her lips that I love. Then she’s gone, jogging toward a group of her teammates who are making their way into the largest building on the school campus where the locker rooms and gym are housed. I huff a laugh, mostly to release some of the tightness in my chest, and run a hand through my hair.

So often I feel completely out of my depth with her. Like I’m screwing everything up. But at least she knows she can count on me to show up. To cheer her on no matter what.

I pull myself from the car, simultaneously weighed down and completely hollowed out. I’m wondering how that can be when my footsteps on the pavement are interrupted by a lilting voice drifting up from behind.

“How’s our girl feeling?”

I turn my head and find Lucy jogging up the sidewalk to meet me, Truett hot on her heels. There’s a bouquet of flowers in his hand, bursting with color. He ducks his head when he catches me noticing them, a blush rising on his cheeks.

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