Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 103050 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 515(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 344(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103050 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 515(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 344(@300wpm)
She comes running over, her smile wide in excitement.
“My own suitcase?” she asks. “Wow, Daddy! Thank you.”
“Well, you’ll need to take some of your things to your mommy’s place. And then you will need to bring some stuff back when you come home on Wednesday.”
She grins at me like she’s about to go on an adventure. “I made a pile of these toys that I want to take with me.” She steps aside to reveal a great mound of toys on her bed.
“That’s a lot. And they’re all soft toys.”
“Stuffies.”
“You’re half British. We call them soft toys.”
“It’s not as cute as calling them stuffies,” she says on a frown.
“Is that all you want to take?” I ask.
Gabby and I have worked hard with Lucia over the last couple of weeks to make sure she has everything other than toys at both houses. Her shampoo and hairbrushes, bobbles and headbands. Even her clothes have been distributed between both houses, so Willow has everything she needs logistically to manage at either house. Willow has been to see Gabby’s place and has picked out new bed linen for her first night.
Lucia will act as a bridge between the two separate parts of the week.
I can’t do anything but fixate on what might go wrong. Because of the stress of the new arrangements, she might start sleepwalking and end up letting herself out of the house. She might get sick in the middle of the night and something might go wrong because the hospital is two blocks farther away.
Logic tells me that she’s almost certainly going to be okay.
But logic isn’t the only voice when it comes to my daughter.
Willow’s trying to push as many soft toys into her case as possible. She hasn’t even thought about nightclothes or a toothbrush. Which is fine. Her favorite pajamas are at Gabby’s waiting for her. I wanted her to feel cozy in her new bed.
Eventually she sits on the suitcase, squishing them all in. “Daddy, can you zip it up?”
I don’t bother suggesting she doesn’t need as many soft toys as she’s packed. If it makes her transition easier, then she should take what she wants.
I zip up her suitcase and then scoop it off the bed, using my right hand. Ever since seeing Aurora in the lift, since touching her that very last time, I have been conscious whenever I use my hands not to use my left.
I know it’s ridiculous, but it’s like there’s something of her on me still, and I don’t want to use it up. I want to keep that last memory of her as strong as I can, for as long as I can.
Saying goodbye to Aurora was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do, and the thought of her sits heavy inside me. I don’t think it will ever leave. I never expected to feel the way I did about her. If only the timing had been different, and I could have given her more.
My stomach curdles and I try to push away the regret and hurt, but it’s impossible.
Willow tugging at my hand pulls me from my thoughts. As we head out, Willow blows a kiss at her room. “See you Wednesday, bedroom. Love you!”
I hope she stays as upbeat as she seems to be at the moment. I hope nothing’s lurking in her that will come out tonight, in the middle of the night.
“Ready to go?” I ask her.
“Ready,” she says with a determined nod of the head, as we take the steps down to the front door. “I’m a little bit excited,” she says. “I can’t wait to show you my new room.”
I smile. “I’m not sure if I’ll be able to come up and see it,” I say.
“Why?” Willow asks. “I want you to.”
Gabby and I have always been very respectful about not loitering around the house when the other one arrives for their time with Willow. I can’t imagine she’ll want me wandering about her house and hanging with Willow in her bedroom.
“I don’t know, princess. We’ll have to see.”
My driver puts Willow’s case in the car and we climb inside.
“Can we walk, Daddy? Mommy says it’s not far to walk.”
“Maybe another time,” I say. I’ve always known Gabby is nearby, but never actually seen her place.
We only cross two intersections before pulling up at a townhouse that looks very similar to the townhouse.
“Here it is, Daddy,” Willow says.
“How are you feeling?” I ask her.
“I can’t wait to see my new bedroom.” She bounds out of the car, onto the pavement, and to the steps of Gabby’s house.
“Hang on,” I call out. It didn’t seem very long ago that I had to lift her out of her car seat, dress her, and change her nappy. Now she can manage almost everything herself.