Proving Paul's Promise(50)

He nods. I hand him more pictures, and he flips through them. I have looked at them so much that they’re dog-eared in places. He holds one up from when Jacob was about three. “You can’t tell me he doesn’t look like you. Look at those eyes! He’s so handsome.”

My eyes fill with tears again, but I smile through them. He is perfect. And I should be able to hear someone say so.

“Look at that smirk!” Paul cries when he sees the most recent one. “That is so you!”

I grin. I guess he’s right.

“Where is your family, Friday?” he asks.

“I don’t know,” I tell him. I lay my head on his shoulder and watch as he takes in the photos over and over, poring through the stack so he can point out ways that Jacob looks like me. “They kicked me out when I got pregnant. Terminated their rights.”

Paul presses his lips to my forehead and doesn’t say anything.

“I thought I knew everything back then.” I laugh and wipe my eyes with the hem of my dress. “Turns out I didn’t know shit.”

“Do you ever think about looking for them?”

I shake my head. “No. Never.” I point to special pictures of my son. “His mom—her name is Jill—she sometimes sends me special milestone pictures. This is his first tooth he got and the first tooth he lost. And this one is from his first step. That wasn’t even part of the agreement. She just does it because she wants me to know how he’s doing.” I try to grin through the tears. “He’s doing so great. He’s smart. And they can send him to college and to special schools. He takes piano, and he plays sports. And Jill says he likes to paint.” My voice cracks, and I don’t hate that it does. I just let it.

“Of course, he does. You’re his mother.”

“I just wanted to do what was best for him, you know?” This time, I use Paul’s sleeve to wipe my eyes. I blink hard trying to clear my vision.

“That’s what parents do. We do what’s in the best interest of our children.” He kisses me softly. “Thank you for showing me these.”

“Thank you for looking at them.” I reach into the box and pull out the letters. “She writes me these long letters. Do you want to read them?”

He looks surprised. “Do you want me to read them?”

I nod. “If you want to.” My heart aching so f*cking much right now, and I feel like I’m hanging out there on a tightrope, just waiting for a stiff wind to send me careening into a ravine full of vipers and alligators.

“I want to.”

He grabs my tightrope and steadies it, like I need him to do, with just a few simple words. I want to. “I’m going to go play with Hayley,” I say.

I get up and go to Hayley’s room, and as I turn the corner, I can hear the first envelope crinkle. I have read them a million times. I know every word by heart.

I don’t know why I wanted to share them with him, except for the fact that he loves me. And since he loves me, I want to let him inside. He promised not to tear down my walls, but he wants to come inside with me. And since he does, I’m going to let him.

His voice calls me back. “Friday!” he yells. He looks at one of the envelopes.

“What?” I ask, turning back to face him.

“Your real name is-”

“Don’t say it!” I cry. “I never want to hear that name again.” That person no longer exists.

He grins at me. “I’m just honored that I get to know the person you were.” His face softens. “And the person you are.”

I shake my head and flip him off. I can hear his laughter all the way down the hall.

“Hey, Hayley,” I say as I sit down and pick up one of her action figures. She has Barbies, too, but she would rather play with her Legos and building blocks. Maybe she’ll be an engineer one day. Or maybe she’ll be an amazing tattoo artist like her dad. I make her action figure kiss her Barbie, and she giggles. “I think they’re in love,” I whisper.

“Like you and my daddy,” she says back quietly.

I nod. And emotion clogs my throat again. I turn my head and cough, and then I dump a box of Legos on the floor. “I think Barbie needs a fortress,” I say.

She nods, and we start to build a plastic fortress together, because sometimes a girl just needs a f*cking fortress.





Paul

I’m surprised to find that two hours have passed when I finally close the lid of Friday’s box of secrets and push it to the side. I rock my head back and forth and crack my neck, stretching because I have been sitting in one place for way too long. But once I started reading, I just couldn’t stop.

Jacob’s adoptive mother, Jill, had poured her heart out on the pages in more than one letter. There was no doubt about it: she wanted Friday to be a part of her son’s life. If she didn’t, she wouldn’t have reached out to her with the heartfelt emotion that she did.

Jill had been married for ten years when she and her husband adopted Jacob. He was their first and only child. For years, Jill frantically reached out to Friday, begging her to come visit with Jacob. She wants Friday to meet him. She made no mistake at all in the words. Jill is his mother and she always will be, but she firmly believes that Friday can have a place in his life, too. I happen to agree with her.