Chapter 6 - The Man at the Door
At nine the next morning, Rachel brought coffee.
At nine fifteen, we agreed the boys would spend the morning at her house.
At nine forty-two, Mark knocked.
He carried two enormous toy trucks.
I stepped onto the porch and closed the door behind me.
“Where are they?”
“With Rachel.”
His eyes hardened.
“You sent them away?”
“I kept their morning normal.”
“I’m their father.”
“They learned your name yesterday.”
He shoved one truck toward me.
“These are for them.”
“Thank you. I’ll give them to the boys when we decide how to introduce you.”
He looked past me at the closed door.
For a second, I wondered whether he would try to push through.
Instead, he set both boxes down so hard one tipped over.
“You had no right.”
“I know I should have told you.”
“You keep saying that like it fixes anything.”
“It doesn’t.”
That seemed to take some of the force out of him.
He had come ready for a fight. Agreement left him nowhere to put his anger.
“Did they ask about me?”
“Yes.”
“What did you say?”
“That families look different. That grown-up problems weren’t their fault.”
“You could have said they had a father.”
“I should have found a way to tell them the truth sooner.”
He looked away.
A jogger passed at the end of the sidewalk. Somewhere down the block, a leaf blower started.
The ordinary sounds made the conversation feel even stranger.
“I want pictures.”
“I can send pictures.”
“All of them.”
“There are thousands.”
“Then send thousands.”
For the first time, I heard grief under his anger.
It didn’t erase anything.
But it was there.
“I’ve contacted a family attorney,” I said. “We need help making a plan that doesn’t frighten them.”
His head snapped back.
“You’re getting a lawyer?”
“So should you.”
“We can handle this ourselves.”
“We couldn’t handle a baby shower.”
He stared at me.
Then he picked up one truck and righted it beside the other.
“I missed their first steps.”
“Yes.”
“Their first words.”
“Yes.”
His mouth tightened.
“You don’t get to ask me to be reasonable about that yet.”
“I’m asking you to be careful with them.”
He left without saying goodbye.
That afternoon, I sent a folder of photos.
Birthdays. Halloween. Luke asleep with a cracker in his hand. Owen laughing in the bathtub.
Mark didn’t respond.
At eight that night, Emily called.
“I need to ask you something,” she said.
“Okay.”
“Did he talk to you like that before you couldn’t get pregnant?”
May you like
I sat down.
Because she wasn’t asking about the baby shower anymore.
