Total pages in book: 122
Estimated words: 115288 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 576(@200wpm)___ 461(@250wpm)___ 384(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115288 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 576(@200wpm)___ 461(@250wpm)___ 384(@300wpm)
I reach out and squeeze her hand. “Is it hard to see your dad upset?”
She tips her head to the side. “It depends. Every time I watch the movie Onward with my friend Abby, and her mom watches with us, she cries. But that’s a different kind of sad. Granny always cries when she takes me to visit Mom at the cemetery. And then she hugs me a lot and tells me I look just like my mom when she was my age.” She kicks at the stone in the dirt, her eyes on the ground. “I don’t like going to the cemetery, but Granny says it’s important to visit Mom. Sometimes I feel bad because I don’t ever cry about her. I know I grew inside her, but that was before I had memories, and she died before I could meet her. I like it better when we look at the photo albums at Granny’s house.”
“Do you do that a lot? Look at photo albums?” I ask. This is the first time Peyton has ever opened up about her mom, and I can’t pass up the opportunity to learn a little more and maybe understand Karen better, and how Gavin has dealt with this loss as well.
All I have are my memories of Peyton as a baby, and Gavin sometimes struggling with being a new father and losing his partner. Seeing it through a different set of eyes helps give me perspective.
“Oh yeah, every time I stay at Granny’s overnight. Before my bedtime snack and stories, we always pick one album, and Granny will tell me stories about my mom when she was little just like me. I think you would have liked my mom,” she tells me.
“I think I would have liked her too.” I give her a soft smile. “Do you and your dad ever talk about your mom, or look at photo albums together?”
Peyton shakes her head. “It always makes him too sad, so sometimes I’ll look at the albums we have on my own. My favorite is the wedding album. She looked so pretty in her dress, and Dad was all dressed up. In pictures, he looked at my mom the same way he looks at you.”
I feel like I can’t breathe for a few seconds. As if the air has been stolen and my lungs are frozen. “Oh? And how is that?”
“Like you’re one of his favorite things.” She pumps her legs again. “We still have Mom’s wedding dress, but I’m not supposed to touch it. He keeps it in the closet in the spare bedroom. Once I tried it on, and he got really mad at me. I got grounded and couldn’t play with my friends all weekend.”
“Oh no. That must have really upset him.”
“It did. Sometimes when he’s working, I sneak in there and look at the dress. It’s in a plastic bag, so I never get to touch it, but I can look and not get into trouble for that.”
“I bet it’s a beautiful dress.”
“It is. One day maybe you can look at it too.”
“Maybe one day,” I agree.
“Dad said you might sleep over at our place sometimes.”
The abrupt change in topic throws me. “Oh? And how would you feel about that?”
She pumps her legs harder, swinging higher. “I think a sleepover would be fun. You used to live with us before, when you were my nanny.”
“That’s right. I did.” I swallow down my nerves, uncertain where she’s going with this, and what I should or shouldn’t say. I probably should have asked more questions about what all Gavin said to her.
“You had your own bedroom. But Dad said it would be different because now you’re his girlfriend and not my nanny.”
“Do you understand what makes it different?” I want to get a good sense of how she feels about all of this. If she’s confused. Or if she feels okay about it. And especially if she doesn’t.
“When you were my nanny, you took care of me when Dad was at work.”
“That’s right. It was my job to take care of you. And even though I got paid to do it, I loved taking care of you very much.”
“Do you get paid to do that now?”
I shake my head. “No. I spend time with you because I care about you and it’s fun.”
“And because you like my dad.”
“Yes, I do. I like him very much.”
“He likes you too. He told me that if you sleep over, it wouldn’t be in the spare room or my room, but in his room, with him.” She glances up at the sky, following a bird making circles above our heads.
“How would you feel about that?”
She lifts a shoulder and lets it fall. “Sometimes I get scared in the middle of the night, and I want to sleep in his room with him. If you’re in his room, would that mean I can’t sleep in there too?”