What she doesn't know is the why and the how. And I'll figure out how to tell her when she's ready to hear it. Sophia nodded slowly. You're a good father, James. That's not a compliment I need from you right now.
He said. Not unkindly, just honestly. She flinched just slightly. Okay, fair. He looked at her.
I don't say that to hurt you. I know. I say it because we're He searched for the right word. We're still in the early part, the part where I don't know what I think yet, and I need to be straight with you about where I am. I understand that.
Do you? She turned to look at him directly. Yes, I'm not expecting anything from you, James. I told you that. You told me you're not expecting anything, but I think we both know there's a version of this where things get complicated in a direction neither of us has said out loud yet.
The living room was still filled with Ava's baby talk nonsense and Noah's gleeful responses. The sound of it was so relentlessly cheerful that having a serious conversation nearby felt faintly absurd. Sophia looked into her coffee mug. What do you want me to say? I want you to be honest with me.
That's all. However uncomfortable it is. Because the one thing I cannot do, the one thing that will end this immediately in a way that can't be undone is find out later that you were managing me. She looked up. I would not do that.
You left without an explanation. "That was different, was it?" The words sat between them. Sophia held it and James watched her face do that thing again. The careful internal composing, the gathering of courage from somewhere he couldn't see.
There are things I need to tell you, she said. Things I haven't said yet, and I need you to know that I'm not avoiding them because I'm trying to manage you. I'm avoiding them because I'm Her voice dipped. I'm scared of how you'll respond and I know I don't have the right to ask you to be patient with me. So, I'm not asking.
I'm just telling you it's true. James set his mug down on the counter. He looked at his daughter on the floor with the baby. He looked at this woman standing next to him in his kitchen with the old gold hoop earrings and the shadows under her eyes and the six years of silence between them that was apparently not as empty as he'd believed. "I'm not going to push you tonight," he said.
"James." But Sophia, he looked at her soon. She held his gaze, nodded once. Soon she agreed. Noah picked that exact moment to produce a sound so startling that both adults looked over to find Ava collapsed sideways onto the mat in a fit of genuine uncontrollable laughter.