Page 130 of Resorting to Romance

“Yes. I love her. Love doesn’t even start to cover what I feel for Mila.”

“Then you have to tell her.”

Do I love her?What a question. For me, the line between fake and real has been completely obliterated. It’s all real to me. I want to run around screaming about how much Mila means to me. To whisper it in her ear every night for the rest of our lives. I want to sing it and have it sky-written, to etch it in the sand and watch the waves wash the words into the sea only to grab a stick and write them again and again and again until the ocean is filled with my feelings for her and even then it couldn’t contain them.

I love you, Mila.

I love you, Mila.

I love you, Mila.

But more than all that, I want to hear her say it too—to tell me she feels the same pull between us. To admit she can’t wait eleven long and wasted years to finally be together. If only she would say she wants me the way I want her—with everything I am.

“Yes,” I answer Phyllis again. “I love her.”

“Then you know what you need to do.” And with that, she leaves my home.

THIRTY-SEVEN

Mila

It’s not flesh and blood,

but the heart which makes us fathers and sons.

~ Johann Friedrich von Schiller

“Why did Aunt Connie say Mister Brad is my dad?”

I stare at my son and swallow hard. This was not how I planned for this critical moment to happen. But if my life has taught me anything it’s that the biggest things, those events that matter most, rarely, if ever, go as planned.

“Well, sweetie.” I take a seat on the edge of Noah’s bed. “Let me tell you a story and then I’ll give you your answer, okay?”

Noah nods. But he’s studying me closely.

I let out a long breath, and then I tell him what I’d planned to tell him. Only I hoped I would have more lead time before we got here.

“There was this woman who found out she was pregnant. And the man she married was scared. He didn’t know if he could be a dad, even though most dads feel a little scared, but they get past the fear and get the hang of it over time.But this man was sure he couldn’t learn, so he left because he didn’t know how to stay.”

I repeat the words Phyllis told me the day Brad left. Words she said over and over so I would never blame myself for Brad’s lack of capacity to step up to the plate.

“Good men stay.”

“I know, Mom. You always say that thing, good men stay.” Noah looks at me earnestly. “Like Unko Kai. He stays.”

“He does. You’re right.” I smile at the simplicity of Noah’s perspective.

“Anyway,” I continue. “This man never met his son, because he left. And one day he called the woman saying he was very, very sorry and he wanted to meet his son. But the woman didn’t want the man to hurt her son. He’s not a bad man, but the son didn’t know him at all. The woman had raised the boy alone. But with lots of people around.”

“Like me with Aunt Phyllis, Auntie Chloe, Aunt Connie and Aunt Joan … and Unko?”

“Yes. Like that. Anyway, the woman knew the boy should meet his dad. But she was concerned that it might upset the boy. And she would do anything to protect her son from being sad or upset when he didn’t do anything wrong. So she told the dad he could come around but just as a friend. And in time she would let her son know that was his dad.”

“But I don’t want Mister Brad to be my dad!” Noah’s brows draw up and his eyes plead with me.

Noah figured it out. I’ve confirmed it. As messy and inconvenient as this is, Brad is his dad. And Noah isn’t any happier about that fact right now than I am.

Maybe Noah figured it out as soon as I started telling the story. He’s a bright boy. Either way, the truth has come home to roost. And instead of eggs, this chicken is laying a bag of bricks. My son looks crushed by the reality of his situation. And there’s nothing I can do to spare him this pain.

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