Page 41 of Love Me Like It's Real
Caspian shrugs. “I don’t know, man. I’ve not heard them say they’re getting a new dad. I’ve heard them say you got a new boyfriend. It seems to me like they’re smart enough to know the difference.”
“Still.”
The bell above the door rings and an older man steps inside so Caspian has no option but to do things like…his job and leave me alone with my worry and my thoughts while I watch the girls make an absolute mess of their table.
They do look excited. And peaceful. Is it possible they’re happy because they think I’m happy?
I sigh, put my coffee on the counter and approach the girls. They’re both drawing on their own paper. Arya’s got stick figures and geometrical shapes, while Elsa, who’s a little more talented and advanced, is drawing full-blown people.
One of them has pink hair. The other one has big muscles.
“What…are you drawing exactly?” I ask even though it’s pretty clear.
Even if there’s no likeness, the features are telling. She’s drawn Hayworth and me holding hands.
“You and your boyfriend,” she replies.
I open my mouth to reply when Arya lifts up her own drawing. “Me too. Me too.”
There’s a pink stick figure with a mop for a head—I try not to take offense at that—and another brown stick figure, also holding hands. There’s also a tree and a house around them and a smiley sun.
Gosh. They’re already attached. How is that possible?
“Honey!” I look at both of them and crouch down. “You know Hayworth is not Poppy’s boyfriend, right?”
“Not yet!” Elsa says.
I take her hand and give it a squeeze. “He might never be my boyfriend. We just went out. As friends.”
From my peripheral vision I catch Arya frowning, putting her drawing down, dejected.
“Yeah, but the more you go out the more in love you’ll get and you’ll be happy again,” Elsa says.
“That’s really sweet of you to worry about me, baby,” I say and take a deep breath. “But Poppy is not that concerned about having a boyfriend right now. I just want to be a good dad and make a nice, safe home for you. I don’t have time for boyfriends.”
Elsa pouts for a second before she lifts a hand and starts counting on her fingers. “One, you’re a really good dad already. Two, we have a nice home. Three, we’re happy here.” She counts two for that. I’m guessing one for each of them. “Which leaves you, Poppy. You need to be happy too.”
“I am, sweetie.”
She shrugs. “But you’re not. You work all day and night, you don’t have any friends, and you spend your weekends with us.”
“Hey! I’ve got friends. And what’s wrong with spending my weekends with my daughters? Huh?”
Elsa exchanges a glance with her sister and Arya leans forward on the table, her elbow rubbing over some spilled cocoa and I do my best not to care about the washing I’ll need to do later.
“Nothing. But you do realize we get invited to play with our friends every weekend and we always refuse because we don’t want you staying in and working, right?”
I grimace. “You do?”
Both of them nod and my shoulders drop.
How did I not know that? And how did I not know they’re so emotionally intelligent? “I love my job and I love you, my babies. Maybe that’s enough for me.”
“If that were true, you wouldn’t watch all those romantic movies all the time.”
“I just like romance. It doesn’t mean I want or need it.”
“Then why do you always cry at the end?” Elsa asks.
