Page 14 of Everything We Left Unsaid

Jacob

I don’t knowwhy Abby agreed so easily to let me take Chloe to story time and spend time with my daughter without her supervision, but I’m too grateful to question her. It was clear that it pained her to allow it, but I think she’s willing to do whatever’s best for Chloe and makes her happy, regardless of her own feelings. Appreciation for the wonderful, selfless mother she is to my little girl swells in my chest. I still don’t know what exactly went wrong between us, but I have to believe – from what I’ve witnessed the past few days – that she did what she felt was right, and that she always puts Chloe first. I just wish I could find the missing piece to this puzzle. Maybe then I could better understand the decisions she made.

I arrive almost thirty minutes early to pick up Ama and Chloe and my breath catches when I see Abby’s car parked in the driveway. Why isn’t she at work? Did she take the day off to go with us? Will she refuse to let me take Chloe now?

A ball of anxiety settles like a lead weight in my stomach as I ascend the front porch steps and knock on the door. It feels like an eternity before I hear the lock turn and the door slowly opens. Ama’s face appears on the other side, but my eyes instantly dart past her, searching for Abby.

“Hello, Jacob,” she greets and my gaze lands on her again.

“Good morning.” I smile weakly, trying to hide my trepidation. “Is Abby here?” I ask, trying to sound nonchalant.

“No, she’s at work,” she replies, a look of confusion settling over her features.

“But her car’s here,” I explain, my expression mirroring hers. She glances over my shoulder as if needing confirmation.

“Oh, yes,” she begins as realization dawns on her. “I asked if she could take my car to work so that neither of us would have to wrestle with that car seat. That thing is a pain in the ass.”

Before I can think better of it, a chuckle bursts from my lips at the sound of Ama cursing. A small smile turns up the corners of her mouth.

“What?” she asks in faux incredulity. “You’ve never heard an old lady cuss before?” Before I can answer, she continues, “Come on in and have a seat. Chloe’s finishing her snack, then I’ll get her dressed.”

Chloe is sitting in her highchair with a plate full of banana slices and graham crackers. When she sees me, she starts to kick her legs and squirm, a toothy smile splitting her face.

“Hey, baby girl.” I walk over and plant a kiss on top of her head and then freeze, unsure if Abby would be okay with that level of affection. When I lift my gaze, Ama is grinning at us and I breathe a sigh of relief before irritation settles into my chest. She’s my daughter, and I shouldn’t have to question whether I’m allowed to give her a hug or a kiss or hold her hand. Chloe giggles and reaches for me, reminding me that I need to shelve my resentment for another time.

After Ama cleans Chloe up and dresses her, we head outside to get in the car. “Would you like me to show you how to put her in here?” Ama offers, opening the rear door and motioning toward the car seat.

“Yes, I’d appreciate that.” I have a feeling that’s not on Abby’s agenda, but it’s something I need to know. She shows me how to buckle Chloe in and tighten the straps, then how to tell if the chest clip is in the right position. How you have to make sure none of the straps are twisted, and that you can’t put them in the seat with a puffy coat on because you can’t secure the straps tight enough. And if the chest clip is too high it can choke them, but if it’s too low, it can damage their internal organs during a crash. By the time she gets done explaining everything, I’m sweating, nervous as hell to take her anywhere.

“And here’s how you get her out.” She shows me where the lever is to release everything and loosen the harness. “Now you try,” she encourages, expecting me to demonstrate what she just showed me. My palms sweat and shake as I attempt to clip the contraption back together. “Very good,” she praises. “Now just tighten the straps,” she adds as I continue. “Pull the chest clip down just a little,” she instructs. “Perfect,” she announces with finality. Thank God.

When we arrive at the library, I get Chloe out without Ama’s help and she nods approvingly. I sink down onto the floor with the other parents, sitting cross-legged like the mothers filling the room. I’m the only guy over the age of three in here, but I’m okay with that.

I glance around and notice several of the women watching me, some with surprised expressions, some with demure smiles and a blush staining their cheeks, and a couple with eyes full of lust and a flirty, devious grin spread across their over-lined lips. I acknowledge them with a polite nod, but nothing more. I don’t want to encourage any of them. That’s not what I’m here for. My main focus is my daughter and I can’t let anything distract me from that, not even her mother.

“I’m going to have a seat back there,” Ama announces, pointing to a row of chairs lining the wall. “If I get down, I’m afraid I won’t be able to get back up,” she adds with a wry smile.

“Oh.” I didn’t think about that, and now I feel like an inconsiderate ass. “We’ll come back there and sit with you.” I start to get up, but she holds her hand out to stop me.

“No, you guys stay here,” she offers. “I’ll be fine,” she assures me, reaching down to brush a stray curl from Chloe’s face. “You stay here with Jacob and listen to the story, okay?” she instructs.

Chloe nods her head in agreement. “Dacob,” she confirms, pointing to me. A huge smile splits my face at the sound of her saying my name. I don’t know much about kids, but I can already tell she’s one smart little girl. I can’t wait to watch her grow and learn.

“That’s right,” Ama praises.

The same woman from yesterday who was reading to the older kids walks to the front of the room and settles into an upholstered armchair, signaling the start of story time. “I better go take my seat,” Ama announces.

Chloe waves at her when she walks away and then climbs into my lap. I look down at her in wonder, trying to comprehend how I can love someone so much after only a short amount of time. It shouldn’t come as a surprise. I fell in love with her mother almost as quickly. The thought of what Abby and I once had and what we could’ve been fills my soul with melancholy.

Chloe’s face lights up as the librarian starts to read from her vibrantly colored book, and my spirits instantly lift with her joy. When she finishes the second book, music starts up and all the children begin to dance. Chloe stands and joins in the dancing, twisting her torso and bouncing up and down. The uncoordinated movements are adorable, and I begin to laugh. I don’t remember the last time I was this happy, but I should already know it won’t last.

Ama starts on dinner while Chloe naps, leaving me with nothing to occupy my mind. I feel like an intruder in this house, like I don’t belong, and I hate that. I hate that I don’t really know my daughter. I hate that we need a chaperone to spend time together because I have no idea how to take care of her. We may have made some progress today, but I’m still worlds behind where I should be.

“Would you like to see some pictures?” I lift my gaze, realizing my head was in my hands, gripping my hair in frustration. Ama peers down at me, holding out a photo album. She gives me a friendly smile but the concern is there, brimming in her dark, assessing eyes.

“Sure.” I take the album from her hands and lay it in my lap before settling back into the couch. The first picture is of Abby holding up a black and white square with a smile on her face. The smile looks forced, and her eyes are red and puffy like she’d been crying. I study her for a moment, remembering how beautiful and subtly wild she was. How shy and demur she could be until she let loose and let her passion guide her. My eyes drift to her hand, and I finally realize what she’s holding. The reason for her smile and her tears. An ultrasound photo. My chest squeezes and my pulse picks up. My child. It’s the first glimpse of my daughter, and I wasn’t there to see it firsthand.

I have to move on before my anger and sadness get the best of me, so I turn the page with shaking hands, wondering what awaits me in this album. Fear and excitement knot my stomach. Each page holds four pictures of Abby, her in the same exact pose in all of them. I lift the album to my face to inspect it more closely. There’s something on each picture, a stamp of white letters and numbers that must have been added after the fact.

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