Without You

13. Everybody

"So—will you stay?"

"Stevie.."

"What?"

"Are we just not going to talk about-"

"What is there to talk about?"

"You can't just ignore-"

"You're the one ignoring my question. So, will you?"

"Will you just let me goddamn speak? I don't know, Stevie. To be honest, I have no idea what I'm supposed to do here. Do I love Sara and want to spend more time with her? Of course, I do-"

"Then that settles it, just stay. Spend more time with her-"

"No it's not fucking settled. I'm still really mad at you for what you did-"

"I don't know what you want me to do, Lindsey! I've already apologized over and over-"

"It's not about apologizing-"

"Then what is it about," she practically shouted.

"It's about the fact that you can't just fix it with some blueberry pancakes and a blow job!" Her hand reached out to slap him for his crude remark, but he stopped her hand just before it fell against his cheek.

"Don't fucking touch me." He warned, throwing her hand away from him.

Drawing her arm back against her side, she replied snidely, "you certainly weren't complaining twenty minutes ago."

"Well I didn't really have much of an opportunity to." It was a bit difficult to think clearly when her hands were already on his dick.

"What are you implying?"

"Nothing," he sighed, "I just– we're talking in circles. It's barely afternoon. I'll think about it."

"Just stay for dinner. She'll be upset if you leave without saying goodbye. She wakes up around an hour before that, so you can spend some more time with her and then leave when we're finished. Please? Not for me, just her." Apparently, lacking contact with others hadn't affected her ability to manipulate them. Or maybe it was just him in particular.

"Just dinner."

He could hardly resist the grin that formed on her face at his words.

"Great, I'll get everything together," she responded before heading into the kitchen, leaving him alone in the living room. Looking around, he was drawn back to the photos on the mantel.

"Is pasta okay? It's all Sara ever wants to eat. I could make those little caprese things you like too, I'm pretty sure I asked for some fresh mozzarella. Or I could try and make something fancier maybe, with pesto?" He could hear her rummaging around, practically talking to herself at this point.

"Sure, whatever you want," he replied half-heartedly, already caught up in trying to memorize every captured moment, looking for any clues of who his daughter really was. She was a dreamer clearly, caught up in some magical place inside her mind, just like her mother. How was she like him? Was she at all? The thought that he might find no trace of himself in his daughter broke his heart a little. Her features were undeniable, of course, but perhaps her character and habits too? He yearned to know every little thing. 

"The others are in that lower cabinet." The sound of Stevie's voice was unexpected, his head jerking to find her standing just beyond his shoulder.

"Huh?"

"The photos. There are boxes of them in that cabinet," she said, pointing for reference, "her baby book too."

At his lack of response, she continued, "I think there's also some tapes in there, if you'd rather watch videos. I'm not sure how well they're labelled, but the year at least should be on there..."