Page 112 of Deal Breaker
She nods slowly, like she’s not sure where I’m going with this.
“Well…there’s a reason I keep showing up. A reason I want to be around you so much.” I look at Landyn again, and she squeezes Poppy’s hand gently.
I inhale. “The truth is…I didn’t just come into your life because I think you’re cool—though you are. I’m here because…” I pause, my voice catching. “Because you’re mine,” I finally say. “I’m your dad, Poppy.”
She freezes.
“I didn’t know that until a little while ago,” I say gently, quickly, needing her to understand. “If I had known—God, Poppy—I would’ve been here every single day since the moment you were born.”
Her mouth opens slightly, but no sound comes out.
“I’m so sorry I missed so much,” I whisper. “But I’m here now. If you’ll let me be.”
Poppy doesn’t say anything at first. She just…stares. At me. And then at Landyn. Then back at me again. Her little chin wobbles and her lips part like she wants to say something but isn’t sure how. Her fingers curl in the fabric of Landyn’s skirt. My heart pounds so hard I’m sure they can hear it. Finally, her voice comes soft and trembling. “But…why didn’t you know?”
Landyn closes her eyes. “That’s my fault, sweet girl.”
“It’s not about fault,” I say gently. “Sometimes grown-ups make really hard choices. Your mom…she did what she thought was best at the time. But if I’d known you existed? I would’ve been here the whole time. I promise.”
Her bottom lip trembles, and tears slip down her cheeks. “You’re really my dad?”
I nod. “Yeah. I am.”
She swipes at her eyes, messy and overwhelmed, and it wrecks me. I’m on my knees in front of her before I realize I’ve moved. My hands hover in the space between us. I want to hold her so bad it physically hurts, but I wait.
“I know this is a lot,” I tell her. “And it’s okay if you feel weird or mad or sad, or even happy. Whatever you feel, it’s okay. I’m just…really, really happy I finally get to know you.”
She sniffles. “You taught me how to ride my bike.”
I blink. “Yeah.”
“You made me grilled cheese.”
A small laugh chokes out of me. “I did.”
She studies me for another long second. Then, slowly—so slowly—it happens. She leans forward and wraps her arms around my neck. I freeze for a second, not quite letting myself believe it’s real. Then I pull her in tight, burying my face in her shoulder, and I don’t even try to stop the tears.
“I love you already,” she whispers, barely audible. “Even if I just found out.”
I can’t speak. I just hold her tighter. Landyn’s hand is on my back, rubbing gentle circles, and all I can do is press my lips to the side of our daughter’s head and breathe her in.
This is it.
This is everything.
FORTY-ONE
Ford
It’s been three weeks.
Twenty-one days of waking up with the sound of Poppy’s giggles echoing in my head and going to sleep making plans of things I want to teach her, places I want to show her; of crayon drawings pinned to the board in my office and tiny pink socks showing up in my laundry; of brushing popcorn out of the couch cushions after movie nights and realizing I couldn’t care less about the mess. I’d sit through a dozen animated princess films and clean up a thousand kernels just to see her curled up on the couch between Landyn and me.
Poppy’s been spending more time at my place. She’s taken over the guest room and turned it into a shrine of glitter and picture books, a second home for her stuffed bunny, Cinnamon. I haven’t moved a thing.
Landyn and I… if you didn’t know any better, you’d think we’re just like any other family. Sunday mornings at the farmer’s market. An afternoon at a berry farm where Poppy’s face and fingers got stained deep red and Landyn laughed so hard she cried. P’s dance recital where I showed up with flowers and left with a lump in my throat because she looked like sunlight twirling across the stage.
And yet, not once have I kissed Landyn
