Story
I always believed I was a decent dad. Not flawless, but there and trustworthy. I feel like I’ve been sprinting through thunderstorms since Liana was born on a stormy August night. Not nasty ones—just ones that remind you life is rarely tranquil. Mom Dana left when Liana was six. Said she must “find herself.” Not chasing her. I probably should have, but I was too busy braiding hair and buying school supplies without saying “my dad picked this out.” Liana is 12. Still young, yet not. She sounds more confident and less sing-songy. She listens to real crime podcasts and knows which students lie. She reads people well. From her mother. Nothing would stay down that night. She skipped supper, which never happens. She was huddled on the bathroom tile, shivering despite the blanket, hugging her kindergarten blue pillow by nightfall. The one she dubbed “Ocean” because of its hue, now grayer than blue. I initially hovered in the hall. After bringing her water and crackers, I placed the garbage can next her. Perhaps she wants space—she’s been asking for more, locking her door more often, and concealing secrets I pretend not to notice. Something pulled me in when I saw her shaking, eyes half-closed, and skin pale as candle wax as I leaned in. Instead of changing out of my pajamas, I grabbed the couch cushion and lay next to her. Without hesitation. I draped half of the blanket over us and laid my arm on her shoulder. She said little. She turned and whispered, “Thanks for staying.” I meant “Always,” with every cell in my body. Time slowed. A hard floor pressed against my hip and shoulder, but I didn’t care. I heard the hallway clock ticking in the quiet. Time was passing swiftly even though the moment felt stuck. Her growth is too quick, I thought. Not many evenings will be like this. She’ll eventually push me away permanently. She’ll be among pals or in her room with music, texting, and secrets. I’ll return outdoors. I wasn’t sure I heard her mumble something weak about 3 a.m., just when I believed she’d fallen asleep. “Dad… I must inform you. Mom called.” I blinked. Her last mention of Dana was months ago. The last card we received was generic with no return address and a barely discernible signature around Christmas. Liana remarked, “She said she wants to talk.” before I could inquire. Only to me.” Something stiff and icy settled in my chest. Not envy. No, not rage. I had almost forgotten about that old anguish. What did she say? Asking carefully, I tried to speak evenly. “She asked how I was. She said she’s been thinking about me. She wants to call again. But she said not to tell. It would complicate things.” Swallowed. Dana made things tougher, whether she wanted to or not. This wasn’t about her. The topic was Liana. I didn’t want her to hold secrets to preserve peace. “You can talk to her,” I said. “I won’t stop you.” Her eyes glinted in the dark as Liana turned her head. “You’re not mad?” Of course I’m not mad, sweetheart. Still your mom.” “But she left.” “Yes,” I sighed. “She did. However, you may still adore and chat to her. That’s OK. Really.” She was silent for a time, so I assumed she was asleep. I was ready to close my eyes when she spoke again. “She said she might visit.” My body clenched unconsciously. We didn’t cross that line. Since she relocated to Arizona with a used motorbike dealer, Dana hadn’t seen Liana in over two years. Did she say when? Maybe next month, she said. She requested.” “Do you?” Liana paused. “No idea. I miss her. What she’s like now is forgotten. I don’t know her, but I recall her talking and singing in the car. What if I see her and feel weird? Slow exhalation. “It feels odd. Come back to me. Nonjudgment.” She turned over and approached. Would you join me? If I asked to see her?” A knot formed in my throat. “Yeah. I’d come.” Nobody answered, but she rested her forehead on my shoulder, which was enough. Two weeks later, Dana flew in. Liana and I met in a park. While they went slowly under the trees, I sat on a seat respectfully away. Dana nodded, laughed, and touched Liana’s arm while she spoke with huge hand motions. Liana gazed at me from a picnic table. Just a look. It stated everything. She was safe. She had company. She was growing. I remained her anchor. After Dana went, Liana and I had ice cream despite the cold. “She smells the same,” she added between bites. “Jasmine and coffee.” “Remember that?” “Yeah. She also differs. Older. Quieter. I like her, but I’m not sure I trust her.” “That’s okay,” I responded. You don’t need to know everything right away.” She grinned. “Thanks for coming.” “Always.” Although she now calls her mom from her room, she always gives me a brief overview. No secrets. No muddle. A youngster attempting to reconcile two love stories. I learned something essential that night on the bathroom floor: sometimes the best thing you can do for someone is lie down next them. Stay put. Lack of lectures. No shields. Simple presence. Perhaps the solution to how to stay connected to your child when they draw away is easy. Stop moving. Not when they need you close. Would you lie on the bathroom floor?
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