I thought I was humiliated when I realized Zoey took care of me when I was sick, seeing me at my worst. Smelling me at my worst. And now … this.
What must she think of me?
And why haven’t I sent her home?
Zoey doesn’t need to be dragged into the mess that my orderly world has turned into. I thought a divorce would end the drama. That paying Eleanor well enough would keep her out of my life forever.
Wouldn’t she have asked for more money? For child support?
This is what I’m clinging to—the idea that this is another of Eleanor’s games. Dumping some other man’s daughter on my doorstep while she traipses off to who knows where. The other thing I’m clinging to like a lifeline is the blue of Zoey’s eyes.
She’s grounding me in a way that doesn’t make sense, given our relationship in the past. Consummate professionals. Ignoring my raging attraction to her, anyway, which is what I’ve managed to do for two years. One flirty text exchange, a fever, and suddenly it feels like we’re playing house.
But I’m going to completely lose it if she leaves me alone with Ella, who has yet to speak to me. After Zoey told me that Ella is mine, the girl silently got out of the pool and disappeared in her room. Clearly, I didn’t handle the announcement well. Is there a way to handle this well?
Zoey must sense my desperation because she hasn’t tried to leave. Eventually, I know she will, and I’m not sure what I’ll do.
“Hello?” Eleanor’s voice shocks me. Both because it’s been so long and because she sounds completely bored.
“You’ve got some explaining to do,” I practically growl into the phone. Zoey winces and I remind myself to breathe.
Eleanor laughs. “Well, when a man and a woman are intimate—”
“Not funny, Eleanor. Is Ella really mine?”
“Yes.”
There was no hesitation. She fired off the word like a bullet in a gun. It’s just as powerful, and I take a moment to collect myself.
“Pardon me for not trusting your word, but how can you be sure?”
I don’t want to mention the other men. Not in front of Zoey, who doesn’t need to bear witness to any further embarrassment. I’m so emasculated at this point that I’m like a cartoon drawing, not an actual man.
Eleanor sighs. The sound takes me back to our married days, and how her unhappiness permeated everything.
“Because I ruled everyone else out with paternity tests. Proof by exclusion. Congratulations. I guess I owe you eight years of Father’s Day cards.”
I lean my head between my knees, gripping my hair in one hand. Eleanor has topped herself this time. In her lack of humanity, in her bitterness, in her utter selfishness. I almost wish I were a cartoon. Then I could punt her into outer space, dust my hands off, and the credits would roll. In the real world, I wouldn’t wish violence on her. I’d just like her to disappear.
“How’s fatherhood treating you so far?”
“Why did you bring her? Why now? What am I supposed to do with her? Is she in school?”
“It’s summer break.” Eleanor laughs, the sound making my jaw clench. “She’d probably love to travel or go to museums. Maybe a camp. Have some daddy-daughter time. I’m not sure, but you can figure it out. Or pay someone to figure it out for you.”
A hand touches my back, tentatively, and I realize that Zoey is beside me on the couch, her cool palm making circles on my back. I want to sink into her touch, her comfort. At the same time, I don’t have words for how much I hate her being here. Witnessing this.
“I’ll be back in a month,” Eleanor says, and I stand abruptly, knocking Zoey’s hand off. I can’t even think about that as I pace to the windows. Because: a month?
“I have a job. I don’t even know her. You can’t just do this—”
“It’s done. And unless you plan on getting her a replacement passport and flying her to Spain, you have Ella for a month. Now, considering the time difference, I’m heading back to bed. Speak to you soon.”
Eleanor hangs up the phone. And I’m left with a puzzle to solve, only it’s missing half the pieces. I know Zoey is behind me, watching me. I can see her reflection in the window in front of me. I close my eyes, taking a few deep breaths.