Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 130307 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 652(@200wpm)___ 521(@250wpm)___ 434(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 130307 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 652(@200wpm)___ 521(@250wpm)___ 434(@300wpm)
Before then, Ava had never really asked about her mom.
Then again, she hadn’t spoken much at all for a long time. That hadn’t worried me, not until it was time to start kindergarten and Uncle Mitch asked if I was worried about her falling behind. She wasn’t speaking up in class, wasn’t comfortable talking to her peers during activities.
But when Chloe had tutored her a bit in the first semester, it helped her tremendously with communication. Since becoming our nanny, she’d somehow managed to make a chatterbox out of my daughter. Ava was gabbing away most nights, and the more she talked, the more questions she had.
Apparently, those questions were shifting toward Jenny.
I wanted to punch myself right in the fucking nose, because this was completely natural for a little girl who’d lost her mom. What wasn’t natural was how I had done such a shit job telling Ava about Jenny. She should have known so much about her, but I’d been too caught up in my own grief to give her anything.
“It wasn’t her favorite thing,” I admitted, setting the book in my lap.
Ava kept her head on my shoulder, fingers plucking at the shiny fins of the orange stuffed fish in her arms. “How come?”
“Your mom was always on the go. She loved to be outside, or traveling, or doing something new with friends. That didn’t really leave much time for reading.”
“Oh,” Ava said, nodding.
We were quiet for a long while, and I searched every corner of my dumb fucking brain for something more to say. But I came up empty.
“I’m sorry I don’t talk about your mom more,” I finally landed on. “I… would you like me to do that?”
Ava shrugged, but then nodded again — like she was afraid she’d hurt my feelings if she admitted that she would very much like to know about her own mother.
“Well, then — I’ll do that,” I promised, kissing her head. “Maybe we could even plan a trip for you to go up and visit MorMor this summer. Would you like that?”
Another nod, though it was a bit more unsure. Jenny’s mother was born in Denmark, and when we’d had Ava, she’d asked to be called MorMor just like Jenny called her grandmother, and so on.
Jenny’s mom was around a lot in the beginning, when Ava was born, and then again when Jenny passed. But since then, we’ve only seen her twice — and both times, she came to Florida. I had never taken Ava up to Wisconsin where Jenny was born and raised. I’d never made an effort for Ava to have any sort of relationship with her aunt or her cousins, either.
I guessed since my family was so small and didn’t really make an effort to see one another, I just thought that was normal.
“Okay, then. I’ll work on that. And again, I’m sorry if I haven’t…” I clamped my jaw shut, chewing on the words I didn’t know how to say.
“It’s okay, Daddy,” Ava whispered, and she looked up at me with those beautiful green eyes, the same shade as her mom’s. “We are doing our best.”
My throat constricted, jaw tight as I did everything I could not to break into a million fucking pieces right there. I nodded, kissing her forehead once more before I climbed off the bed. I tucked my daughter in as she yawned, and with an I love you and goodnight, I clicked on her night light and slipped out the door.
I stood in the hallway for a long moment afterward, eyes shut and head resting against the wall.
Some days, I really sucked at being a father.
My heart ached wondering what it would be like if things had happened differently — if Jenny were still here. A flash of what could have been hit me like a life in fast forward. I imagined bath times full of adventure and giggles and water splashing everywhere. I saw Ava traveling and exploring with her mom — beach days, theme parks, markets, and bike rides. I saw a life where I had a friend by my side to help in this wild thing called parenting. She would have been so much better at it.
Emotion stung my eyes when I finally opened them, and I sniffed, standing straight and composing myself.
The conversation with Chloe in the pool resurfaced in my mind again.
“Maybe it’s something we can do together. We can start introducing Ava to her mom one thing at a time. A food she loved, a place she enjoyed, a song, a movie, a photograph, or memory.”
I swallowed past the knot in my throat, pushing off the wall behind me and making my way downstairs like a zombie. Soft laughter wafted up the stairs as I descended, and when I rounded into the foyer, I found Chloe and Chef Patel at the small dining table — each with a glass of wine in hand.