SORRY! So sorry that this has taken me this long to get up! I work at a busy retail chain and we're having our huge summer clearance sale... I've had 3 days off since June 2nd, so really, my time is not my own. Many many apologies! Hope you like it! This is Mark with his girls; next chapter is Addison without them. ;) And I'll try to get it up sooner - swear!
Disclaimer: I don't own Grey's Anatomy, et al.
Days blend together, one after the other, flashing by in that stereotypical "New York minute," especially now, since most of my days are spent alone. I wake up, shower and head to work, grabbing a coffee and a muffin on my way into the practice every single day. When people… who am I kidding, when women… learn that I am a plastic surgeon, they assume that it's for boob jobs and lipo, nose jobs and scar removal. I'll be perfectly honest – it used to be that way. But since my oldest daughter was born… something changed, and I switched focus, specializing in pediatric plastic surgery, working with kids who were scarred from accidents and fires, or were born with cleft lips and palates, or other physical birth defects.
A lot of that, admittedly, was Addison's influence. She referred several of her newborn patients and their families to me, which inspired the practice that I now own and work in every single day. I can't help but think of her every time I step into my office, or I see a patient she referred to me at a post-op check-up – knowing that we can still work together, at least professionally.
My routine changes, though, every other weekend, as our girls are mine for two and a half days, as we agreed in our court-settled custody arrangement. I leave work early, make sure the apartment is cleaned up, and meet my ex-wife and my little girls at a playground in Central Park. The benefits of working in a private practice shine every time one of my weekends rolls around – no work, no on-call shifts, no surgery – from 2 p.m. Friday until 7 a.m. Monday. My attention is focused solely on my girls.
Surgery today, though, runs late, and I know I have to run if I want to make it to the park by 4:15, the designated bait-and-switch time. I only live a couple of blocks from Central Park – my apartment is on Fifth Avenue, after all, the heart of the city – so if I'm going from home, it's not a big deal. When I'm coming from the practice, it's a cross-town subway ride and a good-distanced walk, and I always make it in time. But if I'm at a hospital – it could be in any of the burrows, but luckily, I was only up the street at Mount Sinai today. It's a good jog from the hospital to the playground, and I am cutting it close. And God forbid I show up late.
Breathlessly, I reach the playground just shy of 4:15. I pause to catch my breath, and I watch as Ella and Maddy swing on the swings. Addison sits on a bench, surrounded by the girls' stuff that we have to lug through the park, bouncing Gracie on her lap. Grace never takes her eyes off of her mother, and a bout of jealousy (with a touch of guilt) courses through my veins.
It's now or never though. "Sorry I'm late," I say before she can even make a sound.
"You're not," she smiles at first, but then narrows her eyes. A breeze whips around us. "Ella tells me you're taking the girls to the game tomorrow." Her tone is colder, almost a warning now.
I, almost involuntarily, sigh. "We have box seats, a thing from a prospective supplier," I tell her the truth. "We'll be in a suite. I'll douse them with sunscreen, Addison. I won't even have a beer, for God sakes. I'm bringing a sitter—" Frustration seeps through my words.
"That's fine, then, Mark. I just didn't want Grace…" she defends, adjusting the baby on her hip, her expression still cautious.
"I know," I say shortly. "Jesus, Addison, I'll be careful."
"Fine," she replies, clearly pissed off.
At this point, I know it's useless to argue with her. She knows I'm a good dad, but it's shit like that… I shake my head and bite my tongue. The conversation is over, and we fall into an awkward, but not unusual silence, as we wait for the girls to notice that I'm here.
Five, four, three, two…
"DADDY!" the girls yell, each abandoning their swing on the playground and running towards us as fast as their little legs could carry them. "Daddy, daddy, daddy!" Ella continues as Maddy falls behind, panting slightly.
I scoop my oldest girl up and she peppers kisses all over my cheeks, squeezing me with all of her might. I glance at Addison, and her expression tenses – my relationship with Ella has always been a sore spot in our marriage. But so has her bond with Gracie.
"Hi princess," I greet my girl, pulling her tight and hugging her once again before I put her back down. I focus my attention on my middle daughter, my Madelyn. I bend down and hug her, pressing a kiss to her fine, blondish hair. "Hey, Maddy girl."
"Hi, Daddy," she says softly, pulling away from me. She then looks back up at her mother and sister.
"Okay, girls, say bye to your mommy," I say after an awkward pause, knowing that this is the part that kills Addison. Ella, always the good girl, immediately obeys and hugs and kisses her mother.
"Love you, mom," she whispers, and Addison kisses her cheek one last time.
"Make sure you take good care of your sisters," she whispers to our daughter, and I smile – at first, the statement pissed me off, but I realized that it was more of an Addison-control-freak thing than an I'm-an-inadequate-father thing.
Our toothless little girl smiles and nods and gives her mom one more hug, and her sister interrupts, throwing her arms around both Addison and Grace. "Bye, mommy," Maddy says sadly, her perfect pink lips folding into a pout. "I love you lots and lots."
"I love you too, sunshine, and you be a good girl for your daddy this weekend, okay? And stay with him and El tomorrow at the game," Addison instructs, and this time I do roll my eyes – we'll be just fine, and she knows it.
"K," she says softly.
Addison kisses her forehead, and then stands up, still balancing Grace in her arms. The baby buries her head back into Addi's neck, and Addison rubs her back slowly, whispering goodbyes and love yous to our baby girl. Ella and Maddy swing their glittery backpacks onto their backs. Addison kisses Grace's cheeks over and over again, as many times as she'll let her before she hands her over to me and the hysterics start.
It's like this every time, no matter what. She stretches her arms out to Addison and screams, crocodile tears splashing down her chubby baby cheeks. Grace kicks against me, and I almost struggle to hold her – she's strong (and strong-willed, just like her mother). Addison kisses her one more time, and I know it's taking every ounce of strength she has not to scoop the baby out of my arms. This is something we've discussed in the past – she has to let her cry it out, even though it's heartbreaking. For her and for me. She pulls a pink pacifier out of the pink backpack and pops it into Grace's mouth, somewhat muffling the sobs that escape our little drama queen.
"Bye, Gracie baby," she whispers, and I swear her voice almost cracks as she shoves the diaper bag and Grace's backpack toward me. "I love you girls, have fun with daddy, okay?"
"Okay," the older two reply, once again in unison. I nod at her, still struggling with Gracie, and I know she knows that it's my turn now, and that her staying will only make it worse. So she turns away from us, and I know it's killing her – after six months, it doesn't get any easier.
And I know this, because two days from now, the roles will be reversed, and my heart will be breaking during the goodbye session.
-xXx-
"What's for dinner, daddy?" an angelic Maddy asks somewhere around 6 p.m. She bats her eyelashes at me, awaiting a response. Ella, bent over her math workbook at the kitchen table, rolls her eyes at her sister and sighs.
"What do we always have for dinner on Fridays, dummy?" Ella retorts, speaking of the horrible pizza phase we'd gone through for the better part of the last six months.
I sigh. "Ella, don't call your sister names," I say. "Mac and cheese? And strawberries?"
"Yuck," my somewhat unpredictable four-year-old retorts.
"What? You don't like macaroni now?" Two weeks ago, it had been her sole request.
"Nuh-uh," she whines. "Can you make grilled cheese? And 'mato soup?"
"It's her latest thing," Ella explains. "They had a cooking day at school, and Miss Amy made them grilled cheese and tomato soup. And mommy made it for us last weekend, and it's all she wants now."
"I think I can manage some grilled cheese," I reply. "Is that good with you, Ella?"
"Yeah," she grins, exposing her pink gums and slowly incoming big girl teeth. "It's easy to eat."
"Right," I smile back at her and tell the girls that I'm going to check on Grace, who had cried herself to sleep. She's still asleep in her playpen, thumb in her mouth, little baby tush in the air. She wiggles around as she dreams, and I can only hope that she'll wake up soon and in a better mood.
I pad back down the hallway toward the kitchen, and open the cupboards, praying that the loaf of bread I have is still edible. It is a bit stale, but not yet moldy – perfect for grilled cheese. I open a couple of cans of condensed tomato soup and dump it into a pot and add the water. I stir it around and turn the heat down to medium-low so it heats to the perfect temperature. I grab the butter and cheese from the fridge, and fish the griddle out of the oven where I keep the pots and pans.
I butter the bread, and it sizzles as I toss it on the heated griddle. I add the cheese and top piece of bread and turn the heat down on that burner, too. I grab the strawberries out of the fridge and cut them up anyways – this way, they'll get a somewhat balanced meal, something that I know is important… and is something that Addison has coached me to over the last few years.
"Ella," I call out, "can you go grab Gracie from the bedroom, please? And Madelyn, wash your hands for dinner, okay, sunshine? And make sure Gracie and Ella do, too."
"Okay, daddy," they echo as I flip the sandwiches over, revealing a perfect golden-brown half. Just a few minutes more.
I cut the heat as I hear the girls return to the table, hands washed and waiting. Gracie is chattering away with Ella about something, and Maddy chimes in every couple of seconds. It's these moments – the unexpected ones – that I miss them the most. I grab three bowls out of the cupboard for the soup – I'll share mine with Grace – and divvy it up; before I take it to their table, I toss an ice cube into each bowl, a trick I learned, of course, from Addison, and one that I know will make them feel more at home.
"Ooh," Madelyn says, her brown eyes wide and appreciative as I set the bowl down in front of her.
"Careful," I say as I turn on my heel to get their plates.
I cut the sandwiches into 4 pieces, and for Grace, I cut it into more manageable pieces, and add some strawberries to their plates. As a throwback to my prior job as a waiter, I balance the four pink, plastic plates on my arms and head back to my hungry, waiting kids.
"Dinner is served, girls," I say as I set the plates down, and immediately I know I must have done something wrong.
Madelyn wrinkles her nose. Here it comes. "That's not how mommy does it, daddy," she whines, pushing the plate away from her.
"How does Mom make it?" I ask, trying not to take it personally – grilled cheese is a new endeavor for us, but at the same time, it's times like this where I wish Addison were here. She knows how to cook for picky little girls; I sure as hell don't.
"Maddy, shut up and eat it," Ella groans as she takes a bite of her sandwich. Maddy pouts.
"Ella…," I warn.
She looks up at me apologetically. "Sorry, daddy," she says softly, taking a sip of her juice box.
"How does mommy do it?" I ask Madelyn again, who now has the same crocodile tears her baby sister cried just a few hours earlier streaming down her face.
"I want mommy!" is her only response, and my heart pinches. "I miss mommy!"
I want your mommy here, too, is the one thing I want to tell her – but I know I can't. I take a big, deep breath in attempt to uphold my confidence and look to Ella for help. Grace happily chews on a strawberry, unaware of the meltdown happening in front of her.
"Well," she says, shooting daggers at her little sister, a look I know she perfected from Addison, "for one thing, Mom cuts the crusts off, Dad. Duh. And she cuts 'em up into triangles, like an X in the bread," she explains as she takes another bite of her sandwich.
"I can cut the crusts off," I offer, shrugging my shoulders as I glance back to Madelyn, who looks like neither Addison nor me, the perfect mix of us. She wipes at her face and begrudgingly nods. "Next time, I promise, I'll cut it into triangles, okay, Mad?"
She sniffles and nods, her cries subsiding into hiccups. I reach over and grab her plate before standing and walking back toward the kitchen.
"God, Maddy, you're such a baby," Ella almost-whispers, her tone obviously not pleased. "You're making daddy sad. You know we can't talk about mommy when we're here. Knock it off, okay?"
My heart sinks.
"K," Madelyn sniffles.
I quickly cut the crusts off, and cut the tiny squares of sandwich into 8 triangles, hoping this would please my middle daughter. I take a deep breath and pick the plate up and head back to my girls.
"Thanks, Daddy," Maddy says, smiling at me, her cheeks still tear-stained and eyes glassy.
"You're welcome, baby," I reply, setting her plate back down in front of her, holding my breath. When she sees the 8 tiny triangles, she squeals with delight, and happily picks one up. Yes. "Better?"
"Much," she answers between bites, and we fall back into a normal dinner routine as we finish our meal.
-xXx-
An hour and a half later, after dinner is cleaned up, and the girls are bathed and in matching princess jammies, we sit together on the sofa, Gracie on my lap, Ella to my right and Madelyn on my left, using my arm as a pillow. Some Disney movie – The Little Mermaid, I think – dances before us on the screen. My little girls fight sleep, and as I glance to the clock and see that it's almost 8, it's time for them to go to bed.
"Well," I say, shifting to pause the movie. "We've got a busy day tomorrow, girls. What do you say we go to bed?"
"Okay," the oldest two say, and Grace pops her thumb into her mouth and twirls her red hair in her fingers.
"Go brush your teeth," I tell them as they stand and Ella takes Maddy's hand in hers, the name calling from earlier already forgiven and forgotten. I turn Gracie in my arms, and she rests her head on my shoulder, and I breathe in her scent – baby shampoo and sweetness – as I stand. I tell the girls I'll meet them in their room, and they tell me okay.
For now, all three girls share a room in my two-bedroom apartment. When they get older, and when my lease is up, we'll move into a bigger apartment, where at least Ella can have her own room. This was only supposed to be a temporary fix, though; the separation wasn't supposed to lead to divorce. But now? It's done.
I lay Gracie down in her crib, and she snuggles right up to her blanket. I lean over and kiss her baby cheeks and tell her I love her. She sleepily smiles at me and blinks once, twice, three times before succumbing to sleep.
I wait for Ella and Madelyn to join us in the room, and within seconds, they're racing into the bedroom and hopping into their shared queen-sized bed. They erupt into soft giggles, and I hate to do it, but I shush them, so they don't wake their sister.
"She sleeps through anything, daddy," Ella whisper-giggles, flopping backwards onto the bed and pulling the covers over herself and Maddy. Maddy nods enthusiastically and grins at me, and my heart pinches – they've got me wrapped around their little fingers, and they know it, too.
"Okay, okay," I say in a tone not much louder than a whisper. "Which story do we want tonight, girls?" I ask, even though I already know the answer.
"Good night moon!" they say in unison, and I smile, knowing that they haven't changed yet.
"All right," I reply, pulling the book off the makeshift-nightstand (aka TV tray) beneath the window sill. "In the great green room there was a…"
"Telephone!" they say together.
I continue the story, with my little girls interjecting every so often. I glance to them in between words and phrases – I don't even need the book, truth be told, but it's part of the routine, and my therapist tells me routines will help the girls during the divorce and its aftermath – Maddy's eyelashes flutter as she fights sleep, much like little Gracie did, and Ella plops her thumb into her mouth, a habit that she's recently reverted to (but both Addison and I were told that's normal, too).
"Good night stars, good night air," I whisper as they both drift off to sleep, peaceful smiles on their faces. "Good night noises, everywhere," I add, leaning over to kiss Ella on the cheek. I stand up and kiss Madelyn good night, too, and pull the covers up over them, re-tucking them back in.
I pull the window shade down, blocking out the New York City street lights, and flick their little nightlight on.
I pause at the door and take a deep breath; I listen to double check that they're all asleep, their gentle inhales and exhales filling the room. I smile. They're here. I step out into the hallway, carefully shutting the door behind me – click. We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow – a long day that will be filled with sunshine, laughter, and plenty of daddy-daughter memories.
-xXx-