Page 81 of Waiting for Tuesday

She stared at me. Her green eyes burned with passion, heat, and heartbreak. “We both lied, John. But I came to tell you the truth. The truth is I fell in love with you, not knowing I was pregnant. But I also fell in love with this baby. I realize it’s not an ideal situation, because no matter what happens, Austin will always be my baby’s father. He will always be a part of my life.”

I stepped toward her, shaking my head. “You think DNA makes him a father? You think he’ll be there because his blood is in that baby?” I shook my head. “Well that’s bullshit, Tuesday! Myfatheris the man who gave me this scar.” I flicked my thumb over my chin. “The man you met at the cabin, that was mydad.He was the man who was there at every one of my baseball games, the man who put me through college, and still calls me to talk about the Dodgers when I really know it’s because he wants to hear my voice. Just because that other guy got you pregnant doesn’t make him that baby’s father. Don’t even pretend they’re the same thing.”

My jaw tightened with anger as I looked at her. “You want to know what the truth is? I don’t give a shit that baby isn’t mine. I know what makes a father, and it has nothing to do with blood.”

I turned around, pressing my thumb and forefingers against my eyes, trying to calm myself.

“I’m so sorry that happened to you,” she whispered. “And I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about the baby as soon as I found out. But never once have I compared the two. My father walked out on me before I was even born. Austin is this baby’s father, and he wants to be a dad. I know this is hard for you, and I’m so sorry, and I know you want me to choose, but I can’t. This baby didn’t choose this life, and I’m not going to take away her father because I fell in love with you.”

She turned around then, and I pressed the back of my head against the wall. “Tuesday…”

But she was already running down the steps away from me. I pushed myself from the wall to go after her, but she was already at the bottom of the stairs. “Tuesday!”

Ginger ran halfway down the steps then turned and looked up at me, as if telling me to go after her, but I didn’t. I watched as she ran around the side of Becky’s red sports car and yanked open the door.

She looked up for a brief moment, meeting my eyes, her face red and streaked but stunning, then she ducked into the car and disappeared from view. She slammed the car door, and I watched as they pulled out of the parking lot and turned the corner. I fought the urge to go after her, because I needed time to process all she had said. I needed to figure out what was going on inside my head.

Ginger followed me back into the house, where I slammed the door. I didn’t know what to think anymore. I didn’t know what to do. I looked around the room, trying to find my cell phone because I needed to call someone. Lisa or Em, or someone who could help me sort this out. I walked over to the couch, sat down, and ran my hands through my hair. My eyes locked on a letter on the coffee table.I picked it up, my finger running across the name I’d hated since the day he gave me up.

Gabriel Mucci.

My father.

* * *

Twenty-Three years earlier.

“He’s here!” I shouted over my shoulder. It was the first time I’d seen my daddy in days and days and there he was, right outside the window. He was standing big and tall because my daddy wassostrong, and his face was nice and friendly, so I knew he’d kept his promise. He wasn’t talking like a monster anymore. Not like the day he had to take me to the hospital.

Lisa was holding my hand, and I couldn’t wait for her to meet him. She would like him.Because when my daddy didn’t drink from the brown bottles, he was the best daddy in the world. He took care of me, and he read me stories, and we made big tents in the middle of the living room, and he bought me rainbow cereal and let me eat it right out of the box.

The lady was asking him questions though, and I was scared he was in trouble. Everyone was frowning and looking at me, but I knew my daddy was being good. He told me at our last visit. He told me he was going to be good so he could get me back. He told me he would get me back, and he would buy me a big box of Legos so we could build a whole house.

I looked over to Mr. and Mrs. Eaton because I was pretty sure I saw Mrs. Eaton crying. I hadn’t seen her cry since she came to pick me up at the other foster home, when Em cried and we had to leave her behind. Mrs. Eaton was always so happy, and I wasn’t sure what was making her so sad. She wrapped her arms around me and whispered that she was sorry, but I didn’t know why. Why did she want to hug me so hard?

Then my dad turned around so I could just see his face, and he looked like he was crying too. My daddy never cried. Why was my daddy crying?

A lady pulled a sheet of paper out of her bag, and he looked over at the house before he bent to sign it. He looked at me, but I didn’t think he really saw me, ’cause he didn’t smile like he normally did.

“Daddy!” I called out, but he wouldn’t look at me anymore. He picked his things off the top of her car then started walking down the sidewalk away from me.

“DADDY!”

Lisa squeezed my hand in hers, and Mrs. Eaton hugged me from behind, and everyone was crying. Then my daddy disappeared from view, and I started kicking and screaming.

“DADDY! Where’s my daddy going?”

Mrs. Eaton shook her head and pulled me into her arms, squishing my face against her shoulder. “It’s okay, baby, everything will be okay…”

I shook my head, fighting against her arms and kicking my legs to get away. “Daddy! You said you would take me to the park! You promised!”

The door closed again, and I couldn’t see my daddy anymore. Mrs. Eaton hugged me tighter, and I realized my daddy was gone.

* * *

The tortured screamsof a little boy played in my head as I sat down heavily on the couch. It was midnight, the screams still vivid in my head from my nightmare as I leaned over to pick up the envelope. The weight of the letter felt like a thousand pounds in my hands. A thousands pounds covered by the piles of dirt I’d piled on top of it trying to forget.

I tore open the envelope open, took out the folded yellow paper gingerly with my fingers, and spread it out on the table. In my mind, I’d read it a thousand times. A thousand letters from him that never came. I wanted so desperately to know he hadn’t forgotten me. I looked down at his handwriting, elegant and beautiful, just as I remembered it.

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