Part Seventeen
Sydney's hands are shaking as she pulls the rental car up to her father's house the next day. She has just dropped Michael off at the law firm; he'd given her a kiss and a "Are you sure you don't want to just hang out with me this afternoon, baby?" before she'd pulled away. Though she'd assured him that she'd be fine, it is only now that she realizes that it has been awhile since she's faced her father without Michael by her side. She's more than a little nervous.
He has made his way out to his front walk by the time they have gotten out of the car, and Emily runs for him, crying "Grampy!" as she throws her arms around his legs.
"Hello, sweetheart," he says, clearly taken aback.
"Hi, Grampy!" she chirps.
"Hi, Grandpa," Jack adds. He hugs his grandfather, too, albeit a little less enthusiastically.
"You've got to come say hi to Sam, Grampy!" Emily exclaims, bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet.
"Sam?"
"The baby in Mommy's tummy!"
"Give your grandfather some breathing room, darling." Sydney can't think of anything that would be more awkward than having her father place his hand on her stomach and greet Sam.
"You can't tell Sam is in there, because he's too little to kick or make Mommy's tummy much bigger," Emily tells her grandfather seriously. "But Mommy knows 'cause she went to the doctor and we know 'cause Mommy told us."
The bewildered expression on her father's face is almost enough to make Sydney laugh. "She asks a lot of questions," she offers by way of explanation.
"That's good, sweetheart," he says, looking down at his oldest granddaughter. "That's how you learn things."
Emily nods. "So someday when I get big and have a baby, I'll know! Mommy wouldn't let Daddy tell me how the baby got in her tummy, though."
"You have plenty of time to learn that, princess." Sydney's father is actually smiling now, and she feels a rush of relief. Maybe this afternoon will actually be bearable after all.
"Look at Gracie, Grampy," Emily instructs. Gracie is in her baby seat, which sits on the hood of the car as Sydney busies herself gathering up the baby bag and playpen. "Doesn't she look pretty? I picked out her dress."
"She did," Sydney says with a smile, balancing the baby bag and her purse on one shoulder as she picks up the baby seat with the other hand. "We went shopping the other day, and Emily thought Grace should have that dress. She even found something for little Sam or Maggie, didn't you, angel?"
"Maggie?"
"If the baby is a girl. Dad, could you grab Grace's playpen for me?"
"Of course, Sydney." Her father has been standing there as if in a daze-- Sydney supposes her family is enough to overwhelm anyone-- but now he shakes his head as if to clear it. "I'm sorry, sweetheart, let me take your purse and bag, too, you have enough to handle with Grace."
"Thank you."
They finally make their way into the house, and Sydney asks if there is somewhere she can set up the playpen.
"In the living room, Sydney," her father instructs. He turns his attention to Jack and Emily. "And there are popsicles for the two of you, if you promise to eat them in the kitchen."
"We will!" they chorus. He ushers the two of them into the kitchen as Sydney begins setting up the playpen. He is alone when he returns a moment later.
"Do you need help?"
"No, thanks, I think I've got it," Sydney says, lifting Grace from her seat and laying her down gently. "You need a nap, don't you, angel? You've had a busy day, and you've just been too excited to get much sleep, haven't you?"
"Did she scream the whole flight?" he asks with a frown.
"She hated takeoff and landing, just like she did when we came out here for Christmas," Sydney tells him. "Then she settled down and actually did get some sleep, but you know how traveling can tire anyone out." As if to illustrate her point, Grace's eyes flutter shut.
"She really is a beautiful child, Sydney," her father tells her. "Exceptionally beautiful."
"Thank you," Sydney says with a smile.
"Why don't we sit down? Would you like a glass of iced tea? I made a pitcher of decaf."
"No, thanks, Dad, I'm fine." Sydney is a bit startled as he moves to sit on the couch. "You don't want to go sit in the kitchen, with the kids?"
"In a minute. Why don't we talk a little first, catch up?"
"Ooookay," Sydney says slowly. Her father has never been much for conversation. Maybe he really is trying. She sits gingerly on the edge of the couch.
"Emily must run you ragged," her father observes.
"She certainly keeps things interesting," Sydney agrees with a smile. "Michael gets such a kick out of her."
"Of course he does," her father responds. "He doesn't have to chase her around all day."
Sydney winces. Well, they'd had, what, five, ten minutes of civil conversation? Expecting any more would have been pushing it. "Don't start, Dad."
"I won't, I'm sorry." A pause, and then-- "Something Emily said, though--"
Sydney sighs. "What, Dad? Whatever you're thinking, just say it."
"Well, out front she said, when I get big and have a baby. She knows that she doesn't have to ever have a baby, doesn't she? And that even if she does have one, she can still do other things?"
Sydney wants to scream. "When we went to the museum a couple of months ago, Dad, she said she wanted to be 'one of those people who digs up dinosaur bones,' and yesterday she watched some movie and said she wanted to be a surfer, so yes, I think she pretty much knows the possibilities are endless."
"Good." Another moment of silence. "It's just that I can tell she's a very smart girl, Sydney, and I'd hate to see--"
"Hate to see what? Hate to see her end up like her mother?" Sydney snaps.
Her father lowers his head. "I didn't say that, Sydney. You seem happy, so--"
"I am happy."
"Okay," he says in that infuriating tone, the one that means, I don't believe you, but I'm not going to argue. Then, "I'm just afraid that you're confusing Michael's happiness with your own."
"Oh, what the hell does that even mean?" Sydney's hands have clenched themselves into fists, as if she is ready for a fight.
Her father sighs. "He has everything he's ever wanted in life, Sydney, so of course he's happy, and you're happy for him. But where does that leave you?"
"You know, you are seriously messed up if you think that having someone who loves you isn't the most important thing a person needs to be happy."
Her father just stares at her.
"Michael knows that, he has his priorities in line," Sydney says, tears flooding her eyes. "He woke up on a Saturday morning a couple of months ago thrilled that the pond had frozen over, because that meant that he got to spend the whole day outside playing hockey with his kids. He didn't even give a thought to how he usually goes into the office on Saturday morning, and do you know why? Because it wasn't the most important thing."
Her father looks away, but not before she sees the bitterness, the defensiveness in his eyes.
"He let his colleagues clean up a mess at work Valentine's Day weekend because he had plans to take me to Jamaica. And it's not that I wouldn't have understood if he'd cancelled the trip, or that Jack would have even known the difference if he'd gone into work instead of playing hockey with him. But we come first, we always come first."
"And you didn't with me," her father counters. "That's what you're getting at, right? That's the point you're trying to make by telling me all about how your husband hung the moon?"
"I don't know what point I'm trying to make," Sydney confesses. "You just act like Michael goes off and does whatever he wants and leaves me to do the dirty work with no consideration for what I want, and that's not, true, Dad. I wish you could see how much he cares about me and the little ones. I do, because it comes through in everything he does, in the little things. And I hate that you don't even seem to see the difference in being the kind of person that puts his family first when it's really important, when it's life or death, and the kind of person that puts his family first all the time."
"I see the difference, and I know what kind of father I was," her father says, his words clipped. "I wasn't the kind of father who spent time with you just for the hell of it. Hell, I wasn't even the kind of father that made a point to get to your dance recitals and track meets. I was the kind of father you could count on if you got a broken arm or needed me to write a check for school clothes, and that's about it. I know that, Sydney, and I wish things were different, but I can't change the way I was."
"You can change the way you are," Sydney insists. "You can stop second-guessing every choice I make because it's not the choice you would have made for me."
Her father shakes his head. "Just wait, Sydney. You're a parent. You won't admit it now, but you have all sorts of hopes and expectations for your children. See how you feel when their lives take completely different paths."
Sydney wants to tell him that maybe she'd have done a better job of living up to his expectations if he'd ever let her know what those expectations were, or that he even had any. She wants to explain why she has made the choices she's made, wants to make him understand. She knows that doing any of those things would be futile. So instead she just says something she knows he can't misinterpret.
"I'm sorry I'm such a disappointment to you."
