Chapter Thirty-Seven: Hope Dies Last

"My real Mummy's still alive isn't she, Danny?" Zoe came out with, completely-out-of-the-blue, while we stood in the kitchen.

That was something we all seemed to have in common; though Cindy said it was mainly Zo and me, that it was one of the reasons why we got along so well – we had a talent for the random.

She looked up at me then, as she waited for me to hand her down the chips, while I took the bowl of popcorn. Zoe couldn't be trusted to walk the length it took to the couch because she'd scoff half of them before we'd even sat down; no joke, I'd seen her do it – and it wasn't the prettiest sight afterwards. Course I left most of it up to Cindy afterwards – being the completely incapable male that I am – but it didn't exactly fall completely in my favour (my ingenious plan, I mean) cos while Cindy was lumbered with stripping the sick-covered Zoe, and cleaning her up; I got stuck with washing all the vomit off the floor – not the most pleasant of jobs I can tell you. But then, as Cind so kindly reminded me, I spent half of my time with dead people, so a little bit of sick was hardly going to faze me. It didn't – not really anyway – but that didn't mean I wanted to have a repeat performance.

"Yeah, Zo, she is," I replied.

And she's a Goddamn whore, so don't go mentioning her around Cindy, I spoke viciously into myself.

Though I suspected she already knew this – or the more child-friendly version anyway – since she was bringing it up with me, and not our blonde-haired (the brown hair-dye had washed out a short while later) mutual… what would you call her?

Lover?

No that sounded too crude when a child was involved.

Partner?

No, too business like.

Acquaintance?

No, too distant.

Other half?

No, we aren't married, and even then…

Significant other?

Ha, oh the laugh Cindy would get out of that, significant other!

But I suppose that was actually what she was to both of us. Me and Zo. And our blonde-haired mutual significant other.

It was a bit of a mouthful, and I doubted I would be able to say it again in my head, even once more, never mind share it with a five-year-old and expect her to get it. But it didn't matter, I didn't need a label for her and neither did Zoe – we knew how we felt about her, and we knew how she felt about us, and that was all that mattered.

And there I went with the damn sappiness again; I could really kill Cindy sometimes for the crap she's put me through. But oh the kicks she would get out of hearing how she 'victimised' me – besides she had too much of a hold over me now for me to even bother trying. As much as I hated to admit it, I loved her.

That's right, I, Danny Messer, loved someone. Actually loved her – really an truly.

And now that damn five-year-old had infected me with her Zoe-isms too, I doubted there was really any room left for me anymore. Apparently I was still appealing in some ways, however, cos the next part stopped me short.

"My real Daddy's in Heaven isn't he?"

I stopped where I was then, fingers still grasping each handle on the cupboard doors, and took a moment to process what she'd said, and how exactly to respond. She beat me to it.

"That's why Cindy's looking after me. That's why she's my Mummy," the youngster carried on, and I just looked at her then, before finally composing myself.

Fingers released their grips, hands dropped from the cabinets, and knees bent as I crouched down before the little girl beside me. I knelt in front of her, and placed a hand on each one of her upper arms as I spoke to her seriously then.

I wasn't exactly sure if I should be the one to have this 'talk' with her, but she'd 'sought' me out, in a way, and I knew Cindy wanted to tell her what had happened, but she couldn't bring herself to tell the daughter of one of her best friend's that he was never coming back. That him going to Heaven wasn't the same as us all going to Central Park, that he was dead, that yes, he'd gone up to Heaven, but he wasn't going to come back, he was gone… forever.

I also wasn't exactly sure how Cindy would react to me telling Zoe, not to mention Flack either who was her other Godparent, but I knew it had to be done sometime, and I knew that this was probably the best 'opportunity' any of us were ever going to have to tell her about her dad.

I had to do it – I knew I did, but that was probably worse, cos not only did I know I couldn't back down, was the fact I didn't want to back down. I wanted to be the one she came to to find out anything and everything; to ask questions and get both helpful answers and ones just meant to cheer her up and stall for time while I waited for Cindy to come home and deal with it, or Flack to help me and lemme know what to say, or simply to do it himself. I wanted to be the one she came to; not just Cindy as her 'surrogate' mother, and Flack as her Godfather; I didn't want to be simply 'Auntie Cindy's boyfriend' or 'Uncle Flack's best friend', I wanted to be her 'stand-in dad', not the real one because I could never replace her own father, and I would never try to either, but just someone she could feel she could come to about anything. Not her 'real' dad, and not a 'replacement', but the 'permanent stand-in' – I thought it had a certain ring to it, and obviously she did to.

"Will you be my new Daddy, Danny?" Zoe asked in a small voice then. "I don't think my Daddy'll mind. He'd have liked you, an he told me Cindy was my new Mummy, an you two are having a baby together, aren't you, so you could be my new Daddy, and I could be your baby too?"

And just like that, I was almost positive this little girl could be the death of me.

I nodded, smiled at her reassuringly, and suddenly she was in my arms.

"You are my baby, Zo," I whispered into her hair. "You'll be my baby forever."

And I kissed her affectionately on the head, stroking her soft light-brown tresses gently, as I felt the salt prickling at the corners of my eyes, while I held my daughter in my arms.

And for once I didn't mind the fact that I seemed to be going soft, I didn't even mind the fact I'd nearly been reduced to tears by a five-year-old; none of it bothered me just then, because for that split second, I felt a surge of hope. Hope for this little girl whose mother had abandoned her, and whose father had died before they'd even had a chance to really get to know each other. Hope for the young woman who'd suffered so much tragedy in her life, and yet didn't give up on trying to find the one – the one that would last, the one that would remain, the one that would be with her forever. And hope for the man who let his emotions run wild, but refused to accept he'd finally encountered the greatest emotion of all in this woman; until she'd made him; and then brought along a little helper and hidden a surprise to make him feel it all over again – twice.

As the saying goes, hope dies last.


TBC…

Thanks for reading, and please let me know what you think – means a lot!
Steph
xxx