Total pages in book: 121
Estimated words: 114192 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 571(@200wpm)___ 457(@250wpm)___ 381(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 114192 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 571(@200wpm)___ 457(@250wpm)___ 381(@300wpm)
The smile that grows on Magnolia’s face is contagious. Even if she is attempting to hide it behind her glass of red wine, which is barely even a glass compared to what Renee poured the rest of us.
“She’s a little lady.” Renee’s statement is Bridget’s defense and it makes her smile this toothy little grin. “And she can use the whole tablecloth as a napkin if she’d like,” Renee concludes and Magnolia cocks a brow in quiet protest before stating her opposition: “I think not.”
A rough chuckle leaves me, which brings Magnolia’s nervous gaze back to me. Ever since we sat down, I haven’t been able to say much. All I’ve done is watched Bridget. Griffin is playing the part of investigator, asking her a hundred questions. I’m damn grateful for Griffin and Renee being here and carrying on the conversation.
Dinner’s been easygoing, but there’s a stirring of anxiousness inside of me that won’t quit. I find myself staring at Bridget and then looking up to catch Magnolia staring at me. The second we make eye contact, hers lower to her now empty plate.
“She’s usually a little neater,” Magnolia comments and reaches over with a cloth napkin to wipe her daughter’s face. It’s more than obvious that she loves her daughter. She’s almost careful with her, but it’s something more. Defensive, in a way I haven’t noticed before. Closed off and protective, like she’s resistant to any and maybe even all of this.
We’re both walking on eggshells in this uncharted territory and that’s fine by me. I’m just grateful to be allowed to join them.
“Besides, the place mat is doing its job,” she adds. The traceable letters on the plastic sheet beneath Bridget’s plate are covered in smears of red sauce as well.
Griffin purses his lips and focuses on Bridget, who obviously loves all the attention. “I feel like she’s the kind of girl who will lick her plate.” I’ve discovered she’s bright, but funny. She could be a class clown or a star student; I’m not sure which would win out.
Renee agrees with the licking the plate comment and backs up his statement, saying, “She’s done it before.”
Bridget smiles wide and nods in agreement.
“She’s a smart girl and happy.” I don’t realize I’ve spoken out loud until Magnolia’s voice chimes in, laced with pride. “She is.” She’s a mini-Magnolia. A tiny carbon copy. Everything about her, from her mannerisms to her expressions, is reminiscent of her mother.
Magnolia’s place is small like my apartment, but I find myself thinking about whether or not we could afford something bigger, or if she’d want me to move in here. Or maybe she’d want to move in with me. I could see myself coming home to them. My imagination is rampant, my thoughts scattered. All of them focused on two very different questions:
What if I’m her father?
What if I’m not, but I don’t want to let go of Magnolia?
These are questions that shouldn’t be hitting me every five minutes since I’ve planted my ass in this seat. Every time I think it’s way too soon to even think about that, another side of me counters that it’s way too late and I’ve missed too much as it is.
With my throat tight, I’m overwhelmed by it all. “You said the bathroom is down the hall?” I ask Magnolia before I can stop myself. Heat flares its way through me and all I can think is that I’m embarrassed I’m not confident in a damn thing right now.
It’s too much in this moment. This little girl changes everything and I am barely keeping myself together.
The second I close the door to the powder blue half bath, I turn the faucet on high and lean my palms against the counter, bracing myself as I hunch over the sink.
Deep breaths in and out keep me still. My chest rises and falls with each one.
I shouldn’t be breaking down. I shouldn’t be thinking of my grandfather and my mother and how close my family used to be growing up. I don’t even know if Bridget’s mine or what Magnolia thinks of us being more than a rekindled fling.
I don’t have any answers and it’s fucking destroying me. “Keep your shit together,” I command myself as I lift my gaze to the mirror.
Even still, I can’t shake the feeling like everything has changed and that she’s my daughter. From deep within the marrow of my bones I feel it: she’s my little girl.
Stuffing that thought down, I head back expecting to see everyone right where they were, but that’s not the case at all.
Renee’s seated with Bridget in her lap, cross-legged on the floor of the living room. They’re leaned up against the coffee table with chocolate cupcakes in hand, laser focused on whatever cartoon is on the TV.
The clatter of dishes being washed turns my attention to Magnolia in the kitchen.