“I can't believe she's almost a month old.” It’s the tenth time she’s said it in the past couple of days, the implication clear. Our little babymoon is over. Tessa’s car is already packed, and she’s getting ready to make the drive down to LA. From now on, we’ll coordinate our time with Charlotte and begin our life as long-distance co-parents.
It fucking sucks. Might as well give voice to it, even if it hurts to say the words out loud.
“I wish you didn’t have to head back to LA.” I should say more. Ask if she can stay a little longer, but I know it’s impossible. She’s already given up so much of her time for me, and I can’t offer her any enticement worth staying for, not when my business and family life are still in shambles.
All I can do is sit here, feeling so gobsmacked by how much I love both of them that I can’t even articulate my feelings.
Part of what I’m feeling is fear of the void. There will be no kissing and holding Tessa the way I have been doing so freely. No pretending our little bubble of living together is real. No future where we teach our daughter to ride horses and tumble down dirt hills.
“I know. It's going to be a long car ride, but I think she's up for it,” Tessa says.
I look for a sign that she’s feeling what I am, that she wants to stay here, even though I know it’s impossible. But she’s back in list-making mode, only concerned about the concrete logistics of a two-hour drive with a baby in the car.
“Well, she made it up here from the hospital,” I say, trying to muster enthusiasm for her discussion about the drive. Tessa’s hair falls into her face, and I start to reach for her, ready to tuck it away and be there for her. But she doesn’t need me to do that. She’s a strong, independent woman with a kick-ass job back in LA. I shouldn’t make it any harder on her to leave than it needs to be.
“Yeah, but she was a brand-new baby then. Do you think she'll notice the difference now?”
“I think she's smart like her mama. She'll probably notice everything.” I pull Tessa a little closer to me on the couch, and she folds herself against me. If she’s not going to offer me what I want, I’ll take it. I love the feeling of having the two most important women in my life this close. For as long as I have them both here.
I know I shouldn't be thinking of Tessa in any way other than as a partner and the mother to my child, but at moments like this and, let's face it, lots of other moments, I can't help imagining what it might be like if we were permanent.
I imagine days of waking up next to Tessa, checking on Charlotte, making breakfast for both of us, going off to work,having Tessa do her legal work in the next room, Charlotte in her little bed in the room next door.
Then I stop myself because that little dream isn't reality, and it won’t ever be. It doesn't fit into either of our lives. All along, we’ve been applauding ourselves for being so mature about the decision we've made. Now isn't the time to fuck it all up.
Or maybe I already have.
Being stoic and afraid to let myself love her. And now the heartbreak of watching her leave. But it’s not up to me. Our lives don’t make sense together, and we both know it.
“I think someone's going to miss you,” Tessa says.
For a second, I think she's talking about herself. I'm about to tell her how much I'll miss her, too, and ask her to stay. It's something I've been thinking about constantly, and maybe it's worth putting it out there.
Then I look at her and realize she's gazing down at Charlotte. Of course, she's talking about the baby, not herself.
“Oh, well, I'll miss her too, of course.” I run the palm of my hand over our daughter’s soft hair, which feels like duck fluff. “But Daddy's going to see you in just a few days. That's what we decided, right?” I don't know where my singsong baby voice comes from, but it just sort of happened as soon as she was born.
“I'm going to miss both of you, if I'm honest,” I say. Might as well put it out there and see what response I get.
“Aw,” Tessa says. “That's sweet.” She looks like she might say more. Her mouth is open, but then she closes it again and looks down at her lap. She busies herself eating another couple of bites of eggs. I wonder what she was about to say, and then I think maybe it's better if I don't know, especially if she was going to tell me to stop saying things like the fact that I will miss her too.
I busy myself packing up Charlotte's overnight bag, which is more like a suitcase, which is really more like three suitcases. “I never knew babies had so much shit.”
“That’s your fault. You bought her most of it,” Tessa teases, picking up one of the little outfits, which has yellow pants with monkeys on them and a matching shirt with a banana on the chest.
“I just picture her in it, and I want to buy another one,” I say.
“I'm not gonna talk you out of it. I love this side of you.”
I should be grateful that she loves a side of me, but I’m not. I want her to love all of me.
I don't want her to leave.
I pull her in a little tighter and plant a kiss on her temple. Then another on her cheek.
She lets out a little sigh and leans and snuggles into me. We could almost have this.
“Could you maybe stay a little longer?” It’s not what I want to ask her. I want her to stay forever.