All this Time

Gabby

12th February

Lydia still doesn't want a bar of me when she gets home from school on Wednesday afternoon. She's talking to me, small and only necessary sentences. But she's deflated and hurt and I understand it more than she knows.

I keep hoping that Josh will call and at least be honest about his plan not to come back into his daughter's life.

It's sickening, the conversation is on repeat in my head, the coldness in his voice and detachment on his face. The person I fell in love with in high school was not the person I confronted on Tuesday night.

The old Josh was so sweet and devoted. He had this kindness and gentleness to him that translated in how he loved me. It makes me wonder if I did something to change him. If I asked too much of him, if I nagged him too hard or neglected him. Perhaps there was something I'd broken in him and I just didn't want to admit that at the time.

Nathan loads the dishwasher, getting the kitchen clean before dinner. He's in sweat pants and a black Henley with the sleeves pushed to his elbows. I'm at the breakfast bar going over some notes I'm doing for Wiremu's tutoring. I have a new student coming tomorrow and then Wiremu again on Friday.

It's hard to focus though, when Nathan is wearing a couple of rings on his fingers and a few black bands tight around his wrist. His veins crawl up his sun kissed skin.

Looking down again, I read a sentence on punctuation for the fourth time. The words go out of focus as I drag my eyes back up to Nathan running dishes under the faucet.

He snatches a dish towel off the countertop and dries his hands, slowly sauntering toward me. His eyes flick up as gets closer and his lips curl into a grin, having caught me staring.

He's about to say something when Lydia appears from the hall. She's been in her bedroom colouring since she got home from school.

Marching right up to me, she slaps a piece of paper down on the work book I have open. Her hand remains spread on top of the drawing and when I look at her, she's glaring at me.

I can't stand it when she's upset with me.

Bringing my attention back to the drawing, I look at the stick figure people. Her pictures always amuse me because of the too big heads and the three long lines for fingers on tiny little arms. But when I see a momma stick figure yelling at a daddy stick figure, who appears to be sick, it's not so amusing.

Lydia's stick figure is in the corner of the page crying and I know this is her way of telling me, she's heart broken.

"Lydia," I swing on the bar stool but she runs off to her room before I can get a word in.

Nathan stands beside the breakfast bar with his shoulder leaning on the support beam. Worry wrinkles his forehead and he palms the back of his head, staring at the hall.

"You mind if I talk to her?"

His question stumps me for a second, but I give him a small nod, knowing that whatever he talks to her about, he'll handle it well. He's developed a sweet relationship with Lydia and he cares about her. Nathan gives me a quick kiss, his smile reassuring before he heads off to her bedroom.

After a moment, I slip off the stool and follow him. Creeping down the hall, my footsteps are quiet and I keep a decent distance from Lydia's door so there's no chance I'll be heard breathing or sobbing or whatever ends up happening to me while I listen to Nathan gently talking to my daughter.

"I don't know, kid, sometimes I don't have all the answers. It's hard though, huh?"

"It's sad because I haven't seen my dad in a long time," Lydia sounds sad, quiet. I lean on the wall, my hands behind me on the cold wallpaper. "What if mommy isn't telling him where I am."