Emilia

By the time I make it downstairs, the girls have already left. Given I’ve never missed seeing them off to school before, my eyes well up with tears. If Lucas notices, he doesn’t mention it. Instead, he scurries about the kitchen, putting my breakfast together with practiced ease.

It looks like he’s changed his clothes. The dark-wash jeans and black form-fitting t-shirt he’s wearing mold perfectly to his chiseled frame. Looking at him now, it’s hard to believe the hulk of a man standing before me is the same lanky 17-year-old boy I used to know. Though he’s always commanded whatever space he’s in, the adult version of him is far more assured, and his presence in my kitchen is almost larger than life.

When he catches the way I’m staring, he shoots me a knowing grin. “Alright, come on. Have a seat.”

Embarrassed, I avert my eyes, hoping he doesn’t spot the warm flush creeping up my cheeks. When he sets the plate in front of me, I’m surprised by what I see.

“You made all this?” While I didn’t think I was hungry, the combined sight and smell of the homemade breakfast burrito—complete with eggs, cheese, bacon, and veggies—makes my stomach growl.

 “Aaah, yeah,” he says this as though I’ve offended him. “I’ll have you know I’m an excellent cook, Ms. Embree.” The mischievous smile on his face makes my stomach flutter. “Now eat up. Then we’ll figure out what comes next.”

Picking up my fork, I ask, “Did you eat already?”

“Yep, with the girls.” Moving to the kitchen sink, he starts working on the dirty dishes. “Got up early and figured I’d go all out to impress you fine ladies with my cooking skills.”

“I’m sorry about this morning. For not helping with the girls…”

“Not trying to be rude, but I’m stopping you right there. There’s no need to apologize. You needed the time, and the girls and I were happy to give it to you.” He says this matter-of-factly, as he looks on from where he’s loading the dishes into the dishwasher. There’s so much wrong with this picture, and yet, it’s like he and I have been doing this all our lives. Sharing not only domestic responsibilities but also time with the girls.

“Still, I want you to know I appreciate all you’ve done for us.”

“Anytime. It’s my pleasure.” Closing the dishwasher, he dries his hands on a dishtowel, then leans back against the counter facing me. 

Filling in the awkward silence, I tell him, “If you need to work today, you can use my office.” 

“Nope, I’m good. Things on that front are quiet for the moment, and Ben knows where to find me if he needs me. How about you? What’s on your list for today?”

It’s entirely my fault that he’s asking this. Between my breakdown this morning and the depressive state that’s overwhelmed me the past four days, he’s taking it upon himself to coax me out by pushing me to look forward instead of dwelling on the past.

No longer hungry, I set the fork down. As my mind struggles to sort through what needs to get done, I’m crushed by the weight of what I have to do. I have to tell them. All of them. My mom and Harold. Our friends. And oh god…the girls! What do I say? How in the world do I explain?

Just thinking about it sends me into a panic. My heart pounds in my chest, which makes it hard to breathe. With the world suddenly teetering around me, I reach for the edge of the kitchen island just as my vision begins to blur.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Embree!” In an instant, he’s at my side, holding me up and drawing me close. “Christ, I got you. I got you.” Like the anchor he’s always been, he steadies me. “Are you okay? Please tell me you’re okay.” Pulling back, he cups the side of my face as his eyes scan for visual confirmation.

“Yes… I think so.” Though I’m still unsteady, I try to reassure him.

“Okay. Think you can walk for me? I’ll help you. Just over to the couch.” He doesn’t wait for an answer. Instead, he helps me up and, with great care, leads me to the living room. 

“Here, sit for a second.”

Once he’s helped me onto the couch, he stands in front of me like he’s unsure of what to do next. Running a hand through his hair, he blows out what sounds like a frustrated breath. Something that’s confirmed, when with hands on his hips he declares, “You need food, Embree. You haven’t eaten anything substantial in days.”

He shakes his head like he’s disappointed in me, then with a pointed look, he adds, “I need you to eat. I won’t be able to concentrate on anything else until you do, so here.” He grabs the remote from the coffee table and hands it to me. “Put on something you like. I’ll be right back and we’re not moving from this couch until you eat.” And then he’s gone.

Defeated, I sink back in my seat and do as he asks, clicking on the channel button until an old Friends rerun comes on. I can’t remember the last time this TV played anything other than a kid’s show, which again reminds me how I wasn’t there for the girls when they left for school this morning.

I know it sounds like I’m overreacting, but the thing is, ever since that day at the cabin when I faced their father, I haven’t been the mother they’re used to. I’ve been distant. Detached and so in my head, I can’t even remember what they told me yesterday during dinner when I asked about their day. I’m running through the motions of caring for them, but I can’t find it in myself to be present. I can’t explain it. It’s like I left a part of me in that cabin, and now I don’t know how to be the mother they need.

I have no idea how to fix it, let alone what I’m going to do. I mean, how am I supposed to explain to them that their dad is never coming back? How do I tell them he gave them up? That he asked another man to step up to take his place, in a transaction that required nothing more than a signature. And to add more confusion to the mix, how do I explain to them that Uncle Lucas, a man who’s never been a part of their lives, is now their adoptive father?

“Here. Eat.” Lucas hands me the plate, then with his laptop, he takes the seat next to me on the couch.

“You don’t have to sit with me while I eat. You should use my office instead.”

Keying in what looks to be his password, he shakes his head. “Nope, I’m good.” Pausing for a minute, he looks over at me with a smirk. “Plus, the company is better out here.”

“Of course, because that would make more sense than you sitting here only to monitor my caloric intake.” I shoot him an annoyed glare.

When he laughs—something he doesn’t do often—it takes all my effort to hold back a smile. He’s so beautiful when he laughs. So light and carefree. It’s one of the few times when the burdens that weigh him down seem to lift.

“I don’t remember you being this sassy.”

“Well, I guess you could say a lot has changed…” I don’t mean to bring down the mood, but my comment is laced with so much pain, that it’s exactly what it does. “I’m sorry…”

“Don’t be. Everything will be okay.” He puts an arm around my shoulders and pulls me close to kiss the top of my head. “Now eat. There’ll be no more talking until most of that plate is gone.”

For the next half hour, we sit in silence side by side. He typing away on his laptop, as I eat and pretend to watch TV. Though it’s delicious, I don’t have much of an appetite. When I can’t stomach another bite, I attempt to get up to take my dish to the sink.

“Oh no you don’t.” He takes the plate from me, only to place it on the coffee table in front of us. “I would have liked it if you ate more, but since it’s more than you’ve had in a few days, I’ll let it slide. So…” With a warm smile, he rubs his hands together. “About that to-do list. What comes next?”

“You don’t have to do this, Luc.” Avoiding his gaze, I pick at the seam of my jeans. Though I appreciate everything he’s done, I hate that I’ve made him feel responsible for me. I’m a 31-year-old woman. An adult who’s been single parenting her children alone for over three years. By now, handling adversity should be as natural to me as existing, and the fact it’s not only makes me loathe myself more.

With a loud sigh, he sets his laptop on the coffee table. Grabbing the remote, he turns off the TV and then rises to his feet. “Come.” He extends a hand out to me, and for reasons I can’t fathom, I reach up to take it.

Pulling me up to a stand, he grabs my breakfast plate and then leads me to the kitchen. As I take a seat at the kitchen island, he deposits the plate in the sink before coming back to stand across from me.

“Whether you like it or not, yes, we are doing this. As someone who’s lived through bad shit, I know how easy it is to give up and let yourself drown. I won’t let you do that, Emb. I told you I’d help and I meant it. So let’s figure out what’s important, so we can get you focused and zeroed in on those things you can control.”

When I give him a slight nod, his face lights up. “Great! Okay. Are you ready?” He makes it sound like we’re about to do something super exciting. The twinkle in his eye speaks of mischief, but I know it’s purely an act he’s putting on to help lighten my mood.

“You’ve been spending way too much time with my children.” I should know since speaking in that tone is a trick I’ve used countless times with the girls.

“Let’s just say I’ve paid attention during my time here.” He smiles again, then reaches for the pad of paper and pencil I normally use for making my grocery lists. “Okay, first things first. Dinner tonight. I’m thinking pizza. It’s fast, easy, and from what I’ve heard, the girls love it. What do you say?”

“Okay, fine. Pizza it is.” I roll my eyes but chuckle at the same time. I’m both amused and touched by his eagerness to help.

“Consider it done. What else is on the agenda for today?”

Pulling my phone from my back pocket, I open the calendar app. The benefit of writing books for a living is the ability to set my own schedule. I typically write or work on administrative tasks when the girls are in school, so I can be available for them when they’re home. Unfortunately, this hasn’t been possible since the situation with the FBI and Creed came to light. With all the distractions, my career has taken a huge back seat.

“Shit.”

“What is it?” He asks, his brows drawn together.

“I have a huge deadline coming up in a few weeks.” As my mind races through everything it will entail, my eyes burn. “I can’t do it.” Still staring at my phone, I shake my head. “I just don’t have it in me right now.”

“So what can we do? Who can we call?”

I’d forgotten how he does this. Even back when we were kids, he had this uncanny ability of encouraging me to face my problems head-on, while helping me work through potential solutions. It’s the thing I missed the most when he left. Suddenly, not only was I nursing a broken heart, but I’d lost my compass. My guiding light. The one person who could help me find my way when I was lost.

“My agent. I could explain some of what’s happened, I guess. Maybe beg for an extension.”

“It’s worth a try. Okay. Call. Agent,” he says out loud while adding it to the list. “Done. What’s next?”

For the next few minutes, we go through my calendar, adding to the ever-growing list, which he’s sectioned off by level of priority. 

“Oh no. God! How could I forget?” I’m staring at Friday, June 12th, and right there, written at the very top, Alyssa’s Father-Daughter Dance.

“What? What is it?” his eyes snap to mine. Unable to speak through the emotion building up in my throat, I turn the phone so he can see. It takes him a second, but then his eyes go wide. “Holy crap. What do we do?”

“It’s her first father-daughter dance.” My voice is raw with emotion as I try to explain. “I can’t believe I forgot.” Losing the fight, I bury my face in my hands.

“Fuck Emb, please don’t cry. It’s going to be okay. I got her. I can take her, just tell me what to do.” His concern is genuine and hurts my heart since I know my reaction to the situation is hurting him. 

“It’s okay.” I lay a hand over his on the counter, while wiping the tears from my eyes with the other. “I asked Ben to take her. But now…” Since finding out about the dance, I told her that her father would give anything to go to that dance with her. I made her believe he valued her above all else and reassured her repeatedly that someday soon, he would be back. But it was all I lie. Her father isn’t coming back, and that’s not even the worst part.

“Now what, Emb?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t got a clue. I have no idea what to do and I doubt there’s a parenting book out there for this type of situation. This is going to traumatize them, Luc. It’s going to change who they are. Who they’re meant to be. It will impact their self-worth and their self-esteem. After they find out, there’s a good chance they’ll never be the same and I don’t know how to protect them from that. Tell me, how do I protect them from that?”

When I burst into tears, he comes around and pulls me in for a hug. Kissing the top of my head, he says, “We don’t need to deal with that right now. When you’re ready to face it, we’ll get the best pediatric therapist we can find to help us. They’re experts in this sort of thing. They can help mitigate the risk so the girls come out of this healthy and whole. You’ll see. And then you, me, Ben, and Jenny, we’ll all be there to make sure they know how amazing they are. We’ll love them so completely, they’ll never think to question their worth.”

“Thank you.” This time the tears I cry are that of relief. It’s been a long time since I had someone I could lean on. Someone who could step in to help lighten the heavy load that is my life.

“You’re welcome. Now, about the dance, I’m their Uncle Lucas.” He pauses and pulls back far enough so he can look into my eyes. Wiping a trail of tears from my face with his thumb, he adds, “And though they don’t know it yet, I’m also their adoptive father. Even if they don’t find out what I am until they’re old enough to understand, in the end, it might mean something to them. Knowing I was there whenever they needed me might help lessen the sting. I can handle this, Emb. Let me be there for them. Let me do this for her and for you.”

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Author’s Note:

That the responsibility of explaining what's happened to the girls falls on Emilia further adds insult to injury. I really feel for her and I'm glad that Lucas is there to help her work through it.

What do you think of this chapter? Do you think Lucas is right when he says that his being there for the girls may someday lessen the sting of their father abandoning them?

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